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Guns amongst the roses. Or, in this case, peonies.
I looked in the mirror and practiced a smile. It wavered at the edges, but a long chug of champagne tightened it right up. I had a starring role in today’s charade, and I needed to make sure my smile stayed painted on.
If the me of one week ago could see myself now, I’d have myself committed. Running towards the very thing I had spent much of my adult life running away from. But a lot of things had changed within the span of a week—in the last five days, I had been placed on suspension, witnessed a murder, narrowly avoided murder myself, reunited with both my father and my brother, gotten engaged to a mob warlord, and had every one of my financial problems solved.
I took another drink. I needed it.
As distasteful as the marriage pact was, I was determined to see it through. The encounter with what I now understood was the Russian Bratva had me looking over my shoulder at every turn, and Tommy hadn’t missed any opportunity to remind me of the danger. I was in over my head. All I had to do was make it through this next year, keep my head down and my eyes sharp, and I could walk away from this a free woman.
It might be a bit of self-justification, but I had decided view this as a test to prove it to myself that the past no longer defined me. I would conquer it, instead. And as with any test, there were going to be ground rules, both for me and for Connor, which I planned to outline to him tonight.
Our wedding night.
Probably in the bridal suite.
I snorted into my glass at the absurdity of it all. Glistening beads of champagne ran down the side and dripped onto my dress, and I scrubbed at the hem. “Shit.”
“Blot that, don’t scrub. Trust me, I’m a bartender.” A voice in the doorway made me turn. Connor’s cousin, Sloane, stood there eyeing me with a little smile on her face.
She was my maid of honor. I’d just met her an hour ago.
Her bridesmaid’s dress was such a deep shade of plum, it was almost black. That was the color scheme they’d chosen—purple on black. It was supposed to look masculine and moody, but to me, it just looked like a bruise.
“I should probably quit while I’m ahead.” I set the glass aside.
Sloane sank into the chair next to me, lifted her dress, and reached under the hem. I was prepared for just about anything, but I had to chuckle when she held up a flask and nodded towards the champagne. “I actually came to see if you were in need of anything stronger.”
I pretended not to see the pistol strapped to her other leg. “I’m all right.”
“It’s okay if you’re not, you know.”
Sloane was the arbiter of the Clan. Tommy had explained what that meant, even though I told him I didn’t want to have anything to do with their business. The less I knew, the better. But as usual, Tommy hadn’t listened to a word I said.Whiskey and wisdom,he’d said.Sloane dishes out what the boys need. She’s Callum’s right-hand—books, inventory, mediator, she does it all. She’s the I-beam shoring us up.I hadn’t missed the reverent way Tommy talked about her, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say my big brother had himself a crush.
I didn’t want to like her, but it was hard not to. Sloane McTiernan just had that kind of face. Open and observant, but not coldly calculating like her cousin. Her voice was soft and husky, like she was telling a secret. There was an edge there, though, that promised violence to anyone crossing one of her own.
“It’s going to be tough, but you’re going to get through it,” she said when I didn’t answer. “I know you have every reason to hate this life, and absolutely no reason to believe me, but trust me when I say that Connor is one of the good ones.”
I huffed a laugh. “I’m not sure that’s possible, given his profession.”
“Connor is more than this. He might pretend like it’s otherwise, and God knows he’s got enough of a reason to, but he was never meant for this life.”
I drew up a little straighter, narrowing my eyes. “What do you mean?”
Sloane’s smile turned wistful. “Connor didn’t choose this life, it chose him. Guilt and duty hold him here more than anything else.”
“It’s still a choice he made.” When Sloane didn’t add anything further, I asked, “Why are you telling me this?”
Sloane fiddled with the flask’s cap. It was a long time before she spoke. “Because I don’t want you to hate him. Connor hates himself enough as it is, and he doesn’t need it from you. As morally grey as our lives may seem, there’s a reason for everything.” Sloane looked me right in the eye. “Do not hurt him.”
Hurthim. That was rich. Part of me wanted to throw it right back in Sloane’s face, but I also recognized a shovel speech when I heard it. Sloane was just protecting Connor.
“Ladies, are we ready?” The wedding planner sashayed into the suite, interrupting any comeback I might’ve had. “Oh, you both look lovely. This way, the party is already lining up.”
Sloane stayed where she was and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Look,” she said, completely ignoring the wedding planner’s irritated huff. “I know this situation is beyond fucked. Neither of you want this. But it’s a means to an end, and at the end of the day, youarea Quinn, and I know you’ll do what needs to be done to keep the family safe. Because like it or not, you’re with us, now.”
At least she didn’t sayone of us. That, I would never be. But Sloane was right about one thing—I was going to do whatever it took to get through this.
“I’ll take that drink, now,” I said. Sloane offered up the flask, and I took a drink. It burned going down and tasted like compromised morals. I patted my hair back into place, smoothed my dress down, and looked at the wedding planner.
