Mafia King : Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Arranged Marriage) (Young Irish Rebels Book 2) by Vi Carter

Author:Vi Carter [Carter, Vi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CARTER BOOKS
Published: 2021-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SHAY

Emma keeps looking around her, repeating the same words. “I don’t understand.”

She follows me into the bar. I take down a bottle of brandy and pour myself a glass as I watch her take in the space. It’s impressive, but it’s long lost its appeal to me.

The brandy burns as I drink down the full glass and refill it. This once was my playground—the women, the wealth, the power. The power that had really belonged to my da at the time, but I had lapped it up. That was until Frankie.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Emma runs her hand down the large snooker table. The balls click off each other as she mindlessly rolls them around the table.

“You’ve been branded a Northerner.”

I take down another glass, and half fill it. Picking up both glasses, I walk over to Emma. The marks on her neck will be a reminder of the madness that stirs in me. I should send her home.

I hand her the drink.

“I am a Northerner,” I answer.

Emma takes the drink and sips it. “But I just met Lucian Sheahan.”

Bringing her here wasn’t wise. None of this was.

“My grandfather was deep in with Lucian’s grandfather. He was the Commandant.”

Emma’s drink stops just at her lips. “But that would make you…” She trails off.

“It’s complicated.” Everything was, since Frankie.

I finish my glass.

“When I was told I was marrying you, they called you a Northerner.”

I return to the bar.

“Because I betrayed my people.” I can’t explain it all to Emma. The more she knows, the more dangerous this is for her.

“I was branded a traitor.” I turn to her paling face.

“But you’re here?” Her brows drag down.

“I’m going for a shower. Make yourself at home.”

Emma places her nearly untouched glass on the snooker table and starts to follow me from the room.

“I need to understand this, Shay. I’ve been raised to believe that every Northerner is as responsible as the next for our divided country. That Northerners are the enemy…”

I stop walking and spin on Emma. Fear dilates her eyes quickly, and I fucking hate it.

“That’s the problem with you Southerners. That’s why I betrayed my own. You can’t brand everyone up North as an enemy. There are innocent good people. People who died for a cause they weren’t fighting. Your family has educated you with their own version of the truth, and your da…” I’m looking at her again, the daughter of the most famous bomb maker. I shake my head, holding back the flames that fan my anger.

“What about him?” Emma’s cheeks turn red, yet she holds her head high. Madness dances in her eyes.

“He killed children, Emma. He took a command, and he didn’t question it. If they killed one bad person but took out 100 innocent people, to them, it was worth it.”

“My father makes bombs. I know that.” Her gaze glazes over. “But children?” She’s shaking her head, but I see it deep behind her wide green eyes, the doubt.

“Who gave the order? Hmmm, Lucian?” Fire flickers in her eyes, and it re-ignites my own.

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