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“You left,” Viktor says bluntly. “You set up somewhere else, and you had to be dragged back. What’s more, you’ve brought Englishmen back with you to set up as a permanent part of your crew. There’s a fair few who think that if Liam is willing to elevate one of their sons or grandsons as his heir, instead of his own progeny, that it would be better to forgive and forget. There’s even a precedent for it, taken from Don Rossi making Luca his heir, and Liam has been quick to point that out since they first brought up the idea.” He pauses briefly. “There are those who say that at least Liam was here all along—that he’s made mistakes, but he’s loyal. They see you leaving as disloyalty to the table, to your family. And a few others hold fast to the idea that neither McGregor brother should hold the seat, and someone else should be elevated instead. Those few would like to see you both gone.”
“And none of the others have spoken up to do anything about that?”
Viktor shrugs. “They’re only opinions, as of now. No actions have been taken.”
I frown, leaning back. “They’re unlikely to be pleased when they finally hear my plans for the table. But once I take control, I have no intentions of ceding it back. If Liam ruled with a stronger fist—”
“You should be glad he doesn’t.”
There’s a moment of quiet before Viktor speaks again. “There’s always pushback,” he says finally, “when you decide to do things differently than they’ve been done before. I’ve had to deal with it as well, and try to come out on the other side. I succeeded, and you will too. I believe that, or else I wouldn’t have thrown my support behind you.”
I think about that long after the meeting is over and I’m going about the rest of my day, preparing for the wedding that will absolutely happen now. Two of the most powerful mob leaders in the country have put their weight behind me, in my bid to retake the Kings’ table. That counts for something. I failed to protect my family and its legacy years ago, but I have a chance to make that right—and to do that while ensuring that my brother remains unharmed. It’s a tall order, but after all, I remade myself from the ground up once.
If I can make a new life, it shouldn’t be so hard to resurrect the old one.
There’s a faint ache in my chest as I think of my approaching wedding day, and the fact that my brother won’t be there. He should be at my side as I get married, my best man, handing me the ring to put on my new wife’s finger.
It does no good to wish that things were different,I tell myself as I get in the car, ignoring the steady ache of regret.It changes nothing. It only makes the present harder.
It feels more and more these days, though, as if I’ve lost everyone who mattered to me. Except for Jacob, I feel very alone—and though I think Saoirse might like for me to let her in more fully, that feels like a dangerous gambit at best.
Maybe to be a man in my position is to be alone.But Luca and Viktor certainly don’t seem to think so.
From their perspective, I’mchoosingto be alone. And a very small part of me is starting to think that they’re right.
12
SAOIRSE
The day of my wedding is a beautiful one. It’s cloudless, sunny, and just this side of hot, the blue sky shining outside of my window as I throw on a robe and order room service for breakfast.
It’s completely unnecessary, but I, my mother, and my bridal party opted to stay at a luxurious hotel in downtown Boston the night before the wedding, as a sort of celebration. My friends piled into my room last night long after my mother had retired to her own to drink champagne and talk—although I was careful not to drink so much this time. It was a fun evening, relaxed and away from home, and it felt like an appropriate transition between my life living in my parents’ house, and my new life as Connor’s bride. All of my things are packed up already, ready to be moved as soon as Connor secures a home for us. He’s been staying at a hotel since he arrived in Boston, but very soon we’ll need to make a temporary home together until we can move into the McGregor estate instead of Liam and Anastasia.
I haven’t spoken to Niall since our last conversation the morning after my bachelorette party, or Connor since that night. Part of it is due to how busy I’ve been with last minute wedding preparations, but neither of them have tried to talk to me, either. As far as Connor goes—I’m almost certain it’s because he’s continually trying to put distance between us, as much as that hurts, but I can’t help wondering if Niall has come to regret pursuing me. I’m no longer Liam’s fiancée, but I often wonder what Liam would think about Niall’s interest in me, if it would affect their friendship in some way.
If Liam would ever trust him less, if he knew that Niall wants me, and has wanted me all these years.
That’s the kind of information Connor would like to know, to use against Liam. I’ve chosen to keep it to myself, though, even actively deny that Niall has an interest in me, because something about Niall’s longing for me feels too close, too important to let Connor use it as a tool, or do so myself.
It feels good to be wanted because of who I am, and not my value as a chess piece. I’m not ready to let go of it yet.
I do my best to banish Niall from my thoughts, though. It’s my wedding day, the precipice of my victory, and I want to celebrate it as fully as I can.
“Saoirse!” Maggie calls out my name as she bursts into my room, just ahead of the poor staff member bringing the room service cart in. “Did you order mimosas? The other girls are getting up, they’ll be in here soon.”
“I did,” I tell her with a grin, as she makes a beeline for the closet to take my wedding dress out and hang it over the door. It looks just as beautiful as it did the day I bought it, and I feel a small shiver of excitement at the idea of putting it on.
For all the pitstops and difficulties along the way, I’ve made it. By the end of the day, I’ll be a McGregor, and Connor’s wife. There won’t be another failed attempt, another broken engagement. It’ll be done.
And by tomorrow morning, I’ll no longer be a virgin.
Thatthought sends a shiver of an entirely different kind down my spine.
I can barely eat as the reality of the day sinks in, something I can tell puts my mother in good spirits. She plucks my champagne glass out of my hand before I can have a second mimosa, too, making atskingsound as she sets it aside.
“It wouldn’t do for you to be overly flushed and tipsy walking down the aisle,” she says firmly. “Now sit still so your hair can be perfect.”
There’s an entire gaggle of hair and makeup artists in the room by now, working on me and my bridal party. “I want natural,” I tell mine firmly. “No heavy makeup, just the front of my hair pulled back.” I wave at her when the hairstylist looks uncertainly in my mother’s direction. “I’m the bride. I don’t want to look ten years older.”
