Irish Vice: An Irish Mafia Jane Eyre Retelling Billionaire Marriage of Convenience Romance (Diamond Ring Irish Mob Trilogy Book 2) by Alix Key

Author:Alix Key [Key, Alix]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Diamond Freeport Press
Published: 2024-09-12T00:00:00+00:00

21

BRAIDEN

Fiona’s by the door to the infirmary, slouched against the paneling. Her shoulders are back, her arms crossed over her chest. The sole of one foot rests against the wall behind her.

She’s been waiting a while. Samantha and I took our time downstairs.

I’m not about to justify what I’ve done.

Instead, I say, “No,” and turn toward my bedroom, my shower, and my clean clothes.

“No, what?” She pushes off the wall and hurries around to stop me.

“No, whatever you’re about to say.”

“No, that wasn’t a God-awful mess in the kitchen?” Her lips twist into a challenging smile.

“Accidents happen.” I shrug, as if I scrub down floors and counters every day.

“No, you don’t want me out of your house by midnight?” she tries, and this time, she cocks a knowing hip.

“Stop playing games, Fiona.” I try to shoulder past, but she doesn’t give an inch.

“No, you didn’t just get the ride of your life downstairs?”

“Have a good afternoon.”

I’m almost to my room when she says, “Is marrying me such a terrible thing?”

Turning back, I remember every blow her father’s men gave me a week ago. I force myself to close the distance between us. I’m taller than she is by a head, and I must outweigh her two to one. But she doesn’t flinch, not even when I say, “I have a wife. Two, in fact. No man needs a third.”

“Birte’s not your real wife.”

“The church records in County Cork say different.”

“Grace Poole told me what happened. You’ve never taken that shattered girl to bed.”

Jesus Christ. I should have sent Grace home when I had the chance.

Fiona goes on: “And Madden told me about the priest who married you to Samantha.”

Fucking gobshite. I’ll put him on the plane with Grace. Get them both out of my life forever.

“Listen to me, Fiona. I’ll only say this once. I’m not buying the annulment your father demands. I’m not leaving Samantha. There will never be a third Mrs. Kelly. Not by Easter. And not any time after that.”

“Don’t test my da,” she says.

“Your da is a sick old man, and he won’t win this time.”

“I’m not sick. And I’m not old.”

“You’re not a man, either.”

I practically hear the tumblers turn over in her brain, the crack of defiance clicking into place. “Don’t test me,” she says.

I reach out a hand to cup her cheek. Her skin is cooler than I expect it to be, as if she’s been carved out of glass and left overnight in the garden. “I know you want to be a good girl,” I say.

“I’m not a girl!”

She pulls away, as I knew she would. My fingers burn, because there’s only one woman on earth I want to call my good girl now, and I just left her, soaked and satisfied in the kitchen downstairs.

“Good daughter, I should have said. You’re doing what your da tells you, and there’s no shame in that. But he can only play the cards he’s been dealt. And this time he’s got a losing hand.”

“What about me?” she demands.

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