Page 9 of The Mafia Bachelor

I slide my gaze back to Avery. She’s small, but her hands are clasped, maybe to prevent herself from trembling? And her head is held high.

I smirk. “All adds to the fun, doesn’t it? We’re not scared of the Essex Cartel. Or Camden.”

“Fine, get your throat slit, Killian.” My mother glowers at me, disliking that I’ve outmanoeuvred her in her own game. She feels this is hers, since I’ve shown precisely zero interest in marrying for the last twenty years, or even the last twelve months she’s been planning this nonsense. “Why do you want to marry my son?” This is a return to her script.

Avery swallows. She’s heard all the usual reasons, no doubt, as the other girls have cooed about my being handsome, the honour of marrying into the Farrell family, that they genuinely feel a connection after less than thirty seconds in my presence, or they’ve seen me around and think they could fall in love with me so easily.

I’m eager to discover what my little dancer comes up with.

“I saw him. Thought he was cute.” And while her voice wobbles, she straightens her back as she makes the sassy remark.

It’s so unexpected, and my heart pulses with pride at her crazy reply. I want to laugh.

For a moment, you could hear a pin drop, then several of the other girls gasp in horror, anticipating I might draw a gun at the insult. There’s a bitchy whisper and giggle as the silence draws out.

My mam flexes her full power over the situation, and I let it happen. Whoever is going to be my wife—and while I’m pretty sure it’s Avery, strictly, we only just met—needs to show that she’s a match for my family as well as for me.

Avery doesn’t give in.

My mother lets out a performative laugh. “Cute like a dog?”

“Cute like a murder kitty.” Avery gives a casual hair flick.

I have to repress a smirk at that.

“You don’t think you’ll be left mauled and bloody?” Mam says pityingly.

“A girl can dream.” Avery’s eyes spark of laughter.

Good girl, I say silently. And when our gazes meet, I allow my mouth to stretch into the merest glimmer of a smile. That’s my girl. My pretty love.

My mind stumbles as soon as I think it. Love. The word is innocent enough. A light endearment commonly used in every Irish family, not a weighty declaration.

And yet…

Avery licks her lips nervously, drawing my attention to how pink and tempting they are.

How good it would be to claim those lips for myself and feel her yield to my kiss. My cock responds, thickening.

“And what do you think you can bring to this marriage?” My mother’s disdain drips from her question.

“Something unique,” Avery begins slowly. “He’s a billionaire with everything he could possibly want, and dozens of women at his feet.” She sweeps a hand, indicating the others. “So the best I can offer is something not available to purchase. Me.”

Our gazes meet, and I give her a wry look. She’s literally being paid, so the irony of her statement is delicious.

At the same time, it’s a spike. I might be far more interested in Avery than I should be, but this is just for payment, in her mind, and she’s a sweet, clever little liar.

That curdles in my stomach.

“Very well.” My mother gestures to Avery, dismissing her.

My eyes follow her as she takes her place amongst the other women, immediately swallowed up by others shuffling and posturing to try to be closest to the front of the crowd.

“Last one,” my mother announces, and another girl appears. I hardly look at her, or register her words, as my attention is tugged over to Avery, even though I can’t fully see her.

“There are very clear rules about contact outside of the competition,” my mam says when the last girl has joined the group. “It’s absolutely prohibited. Any person found to be trying to contact Killian when not on a formal date within the competition will be automatically removed from the competition and ineligible as a bride choice. Understood?”

Heads bob obediently.