Theweightofmyheritageisaheavycloakonmyshoulders,adualityoffireandpassioninheritedfromlandssteepedin traditionandturmoil.Mymother’sItaliangraceandpoiseareasmuchapartofmeasthewildnessofmyfather’sGaelicroots. Shehadtriedtomouldme,tosoftentheedgesofmyspiritwithlullabiessunginhertongue,knowingtheworldIwasgrowing up in, the sacrifices Iwould have to make inthe name ofbeingthe daughter ofone ofthe Manchester mafia bosses, buther deathtorethroughthattapestry,leavingrawthreadsinitswake
“Happybirthday, bitch,” Imutter to myself, flickingmydarkhair, a silentwaterfall againstthe pale canvas ofmywhite blouse Mydefiantgreeneyes,justlikemyfather’s,closebrieflyasItakeamomentthatshouldbejoyous;instead,it’sacurse Twenty-threeyearsold.
Inthe silence of the room, I grapple withthe clashingemotions tearingthroughme the Italiandevotionto familythat demandssacrificeandtheIrishstubbornnessthatrefusestobend Itplaysoutlikeanoldtune,onethat’sbeenpartofmesinceI couldremember,butnowitfeelsmorelikearequiemthanaballad.
The door to Seamus O’Shea’s office is a toweringslab of darkoak, carved withintricate patterns that would be more fittingforagrandcathedralthantheshadowylairofoneofManchester’smostfearedcrimelords.Itswingsopensilentlyasif eventhehingesknowbetterthantosqueakunderhiswatch.
Istepinside,myhighblackbootssinkingintotheplushcarpetthatswallowsupthesoundofmyarrivalasmylongwhite skirt swishes around my ankles. My father sits behind his mahogany desk, a fortress of paperwork, cigars and whiskey tumblers,hissilhouetteoutlinedbytheglowofthesunlightbehindhim Hedoesn’tlookupimmediately,andItakeamomentto studyhim SeamusO’Shea,themanwhosenamewhispersthroughthecity’sunderbellylikeacautionarytale. Hispresencefillstheroom,aninvisibleforcethatseemstobendtheairitself.Thelinesonhisfaceareetchedwithiron resolve,eachoneatestamenttobattles foughtinthenameoffamilyandpower His hair,onceas darkas mine,now streaks with strands of dignified silver. This is no mere mortal; this is a king upon his throne, ruling over a kingdom built from shadowsandsecrets
“Dad,” Ireplysoftly, bridgingthe gap betweenus withmeasured steps. Ileandown, pressingmylips to his cheekina daughterlykiss,feelingthestubbleagainstmyskin.Thecontactisfleeting,butwithinitliestheweightofoursharedbloodand history
Everything Thatdoesn’tmeanmoneyor property. Itmeans life itmeans his life. Ifleftunpaid, the debtwill be a deathsentence, signedandsealedbytheunforgivinglawsofhisworld.
howIfeel,trappedinagameIneveragreedtoplay “Valentina,” Seamus I can’t even think of him as Dad now says, his voice softer now, but the steel beneath it is unmistakable “Youknowwhat’satstake” Ido.It’snotjustabouthimorme it’saboutthedelicatebalanceofpowerthatkeepsourworldfromspirallingintochaos. Butknowingthisdoesn’tmakethechainsanylessreal,anylessconstricting.
As Iturnto leave, eachstep feels like wadingthroughquicksand. ButIrefuse to letitdragme under. Instead, Iletthe emberofrebellionglow brighter,abeaconinthedarknessthatpromisesonething Iammorethanapawn,andIwillforge myownpath,evenifitkillsme.
Whichitmostlikelywill
“Fuck!” The word explodes fromme, a defiantwhisper againstthe injustice ofitall as Ihurryto the kitchen, needinga drinkeventhoughit’sonlynineo’clock.ValentinaO’Sheadoesn’tbend doesn’tbreak butevenfirecanbesmotheredwhen starvedofair
Icanfight,yes.Butsometimes,the battlefieldchooses you,andthis war demands a sacrifice Inever thoughtI’dhave to make Ipressmypalmsflatagainstthecounter,needingtofeelsomethingsolidwheneverythingelseisspinningoutofcontrol Theclockonthewallticksmockingly,eachsecondareminderthattimeisaluxuryInolongerpossess.Witheverybeatof myheart,therealityofthesituationburrowsdeeperintomybones Iamthepricetobepaid,theolivebranchextendedina peaceofferingcoatedinpoison.
Ipace,butwhenthedooropens,mybreathsnagsonathornofnervesandfear Hestepsin,andsuddenly,theroomfeels even smaller, the air too thick. Finn Doyle more myth than man, cloaked in whispers of bloodshed and brutality stands beforeme,aneclipsedressedinablacktailoredsuitthatscreamsdesignertomytrainedeye.
“FinnDoyle”Myvoicewavers,aleafcaughtinabreeze,andIhatemyselfforit There’spowerinaname,theysay But hisfeelslikeabullet,loadedandaimedstraightatmylifeasIknowit.
He surveys the expanse of the sombre living room, his gaze lingering on the antique armchair and the ostentatious chandelier trappingsofwealththatseemtoshrinkunder hisscrutiny.Whenhisattentionreturnstome,there’sashiftinthe atmosphere,likethepreludetoacataclysm.
Themannersmymotherinstilledinmecometotheforefrontautomatically,andIgesturetowardsthecouch “Please,sit” “Thanks,” he replies, movingwitha predator’s grace. Everystep is measured, deliberate. He doesn’tsitso muchas he claimsterritory leaningback,legsparted,onearmdrapedoverthebackofthesettee,anunspokencommandmentetchedin hisposture.
“Can’tsayI’ve hadthe pleasure ofimaginingit,” Iretort,the words escapingbefore Icanreinthemin.It’s a dangerous game,baitingamanwhosehandsarestainedwithmorebloodthanIcanbeartothinkabout.“Thiswasrathersudden.”
He snorts softly. “Your father has told me a lot about you. You’re the jewel of his empire, aren’t you?” His tone is deceptivelyquiet,yetitcarriestheweightofchainsbeingfastenedaroundmywrists,invisiblebutpalpable.
His declaration hits me like a punchto the gut. I’mcaught betweena visceral fear of the unknownand the suffocating realisationofmynewreality.I’mgoingtobehiswife atermthatisasentence,anoosearoundmyneck.Ishouldbescared, perhapseventerrified,butpartofmesimmerswithadarkcuriosityaboutthemanwhosenameissynonymouswithdanger It terrifiesmemorethanhedoes,rightnow,andItrytoshoveitasidetofocusonnottrippingupandcausingmyfather’sdeath withawrongworduttered
“Inside this package,” he murmurs, stopping mere inches fromme and crouching down to glare into my eyes, his hand liftingtobrushawaywardstrandofhairfrommyface.Thetouchispossessive,aclaimstakedwithoutpermission.“Insideis everythingyouneedtobecomeaqueen Rememberthat,littlebird”
ButIcan’ttearmyeyesawayfromFinn,tryingtogetsomeideatothisplayer,tothis game Everymovementiscalculated, andeverywordisweightedwithdoublemeanings.He’sapuzzle,amazeofcontradictionsthatbeckonmeevenastheywarn meaway.
“Monsters are merelycreatures misunderstood bythose too scared to see the necessityof their existence,” he answers cryptically,hishandreachingouttotiltmychinup,forcingmetomeethisgaze.
Theysayhe’samanwhohasstaredintotheabyssanddidn’tblink,amanshapedbyviolenceandhardenedbyloss But I’velost,too,andI’mnotakiller.Hischoicesarewhatmadehimwhoheis,nothispast.
Finncircles me like a predator assessinghis prey Ifollow his movements, myheartthuddingwitha primal fear thathe seemstofeedoff.“Iwillgiveyoueverythingyourheartdesires,littlebird.”
“Isthathowyouseeme?Assomethingyouown?”MyvoiceissteadierthanIfeel,challenginghimtodenyit “Whichpartof‘I’mowed a debt’didn’tyouunderstand?” His harshreminder crushes anydesire Iwas feelingfor this savagekiller
His lips brush against my temple in a mockery of tenderness, and I’mfrozen, caught between the need to flee and the perverse desire to leaninto his touch. It’s clear then, inthe wayhe claims myspace as his own, that mybody, myfuture, belongstohimnow.AndasmuchasIwanttodenyit,fightit,escapeit,there’satwistedsenseofsecurityintheirongripof hispossession onethatterrifiesmemorethananythingelsebecauseit’swrong.
Jesus, she’s somethingelse. Like someone carved her out ofsinitself, withcurves that could make a saint weep and a mouthmadeforliesorpleasure Ican’tquitedecidewhich.Ismirkatthethoughtoftamingthatwildbeauty,bendingherto mywill That’sthegame,isn’tit?Control AndValentina’snodifferent She’sminetoclaim,anobjectofdesirewrappedin defiance.
“Like staring down the barrel of a gun,” I admit, my eyes scanning the horizon where the city blurs into shadows and secrets “Thatfire,though?Thathastogo”It’snothingbutwords ThechallengeIknowsheisgoingtopresenttomeisworth takinghershitover.Shehasasmartmouth,andwhilethislittleencounterwasadullversionoftheknife’sedge,thatbladeis sharperthanasamurai’ssword.
Aidanchuckles,butit’slacedwiththekindoftensionthatcomesfromknowingtoowellthelifewelead.Reachingthecar sittingonthis red-bricked, circular driveway, the rhythmofour footsteps sync up as ifwe’re two sides ofthe same coin boundbybloodandbrutality.
“Shutit,” Ibark, loomingover him I’mincontrol here, and he’s nothingbuta bugunder myboot Raisingthe crowbar again,IslamitintohisgutbeforeIsmashitintohisface.
“Let’smakethisclear,”Isay,myvoicelikejaggediceasitslicesthroughhisscreams “Youskim,youpay Gotit?” He can’t do muchmore thangroanand coughat this point, clutchingat his stomach. Pathetic. But Idon’t have time for pathetic.
Aidantakes over, slamminghis fistofmetal inthe guy’s face over and over. Blood spatters outeverywhere as the cries becomeless.
Aidangrins and steps back, followingme outand kickingthe door shutbehind him. The thud is a harshreminder ofthe worldwelivein Onewherecontroliseverythingandmercyisn’tevenaconcept
InodasIapproachhim.Itfeelslikewalkingthroughwater,everystepladenwiththegravityofwhatI’mheretodo and whatI’mfeeling Thisisn’ttheflutterofgirlishfantasies;thisissomethingraw,somethingrealthatIcan’taffordtoindulgein Hisblueeyesaremesmerising,andIfindmyselfthinkingit’sarealfuckingshamethismanisalreadytaken.
Butthereagain Iwillbetoo soon
“Thankyouformeetingmeonsuchshortnotice,”Isay,tryingtosteadymyvoiceasIstoparespectful distancefromthe altar I should be thinking about the wedding, about Finn, but all I can focus on is the man standing before me and how blindsidedIambyhisbeauty,bothouterandinner.Icanseethroughtohissoul,andheiskindandgenerous.
Partofmybrainwonderswhyhedidn’tsaytheDoyles,butmaybehedoesn’tknow.Maybeheisshieldedfromthatsideof life Mydad,ontheotherhand,isastaunchIrishCatholicdespitehismafialife HeattendsFatherRyan’sMasseverySunday withoutfail.
“This way, Miss O’Shea,” he says, and it’s like he dips myname invelvet, softbutheavywithimplication Ican’tpull away;it’sasthoughhisiriseshavecastanetoverme,trappingmeinadanceofsilentlonging.
“Traditional vows, or would you like to write your own?” Father Ryan’s voice is matter of fact, but I catch a hint of curiosityasheglancesupatme,penpoised
He studies me for a momentlonger, his expressionunreadable Then, witha slow nod, he rises and closes the distance betweenusashetakestheseatnexttome,reachingouttoplaceareassuringtouchonmyhandbriefly.Asimplegesture,yetit searsthroughmyskin,ignitingeverynerveendinginitswake
“Ifthereissomethingtroublingyou,Iamheretolisten.”
The weight of his words settles heavilyon myshoulders I withdraw slightly, needing space, needingair “Thank you, Father,buteverythingisfine.”
We talk dates, readings, and music mundane anchors to keep me frombeing swept away by the current of forbidden thoughts.Yet,everywordIspeakfeelsweighted,heavywiththeunspokentruthsofmyheart.
“Takecare,Valentina Iwillseeyouinafewmonths,”Hestands,andhisvoicecarriesawarmththatseepsintomysoul Rising,Iturnandwalkaway,eachstepanefforttodistancemyselffromthepullofhispresence.AsIexitthechurch,Ilet out a shuddering breath, trying to shake off the electric charge that lingers on my skin My mind whirls with what-ifs and maybes,butthey’repoison,sweetanddeadly,andIcan’taffordtotastethem notwhensomuchisatstake.
AsIwalkdownthestonestepsintothecrispautumnair,I’mhauntedbytheweightofhisgazestilllingeringonmyback,a ghostlytouchthatignitesfiresbetterleftunkindled I’mgoingtobeFinn’swife,notapriest’ssecretsin Still,thememoryof FatherRyan’seyesholdsmecaptive,andtheterriblethoughtbouncesaroundmyfuckedupheadasIwonderifhe’sasseduced asIam
Automatically, I make the sign of the cross, but my faith feels like a thin veil I’m hiding behind right now. She’s as untouchableasGodhimself Herlifeismappedoutbybloodlinesandbrutallegacies Mymindunderstandstheunspokenrules thatbindhertoFinnDoyle,amarriagearrangednotbylovebutbystrategicalliance,orsomethingmoresinister.TheO’Sheas andtheDoyles,twosidesofthesametarnishedcoin,theirunionmeanttosolidifyapowerthatfeedsondarkness “Fuck.” It’s a curse thrown into the holy silence of the war raging inside me. The coldness of the rosary beneath my fingertips does nothingtoquenchthe fire thatValentina has unwittinglystoked She’s caughtina webshe didn’tweave,and hereIam,theonepersonwhoshouldbeabovesuchearthlyconcerns,trappedrightalongsideher.
Mygaze drifts to the altar, heavywiththe weightofmycalling. Forcingmyselfto imagine Valentina walkingdownthe aisle, her eyes searchingfor anescape Ican’tprovide, the verythoughtofwatchingher surrender to a life withoutchoice, withoutlove,makessomethingprimalinmewanttoroarindefiance.Butit’snotmyplace.I’mapriest,amanofthecloth;I tookvows vowsthatarenowchainsaroundmyheart.
With every beat of my traitorous heart, I know I’m reaching a point from which there may be no return. The path of righteousnessstretchesbeforeme,narrowandsteep,whilethetemptationtostraybeckonswithasiren’scall.Myhandsclasp together,notinprayer,butinadesperateattempttoholdontothefragmentsofthemanI’msupposedtobe
Witheverybreath, Ifeel the pull oftwo worlds mysacred vows and the carnal desires she has unwittinglyawakened. Theknowledge thatIcouldhave beenjustlike them ifnotfor the grace ofGod lingers bitter onmytongue Icouldhave beenakingamongthieves,butIstandhereaservant,cloakedinpietyandnowplaguedbytemptation.
Atest
Thisisatruetestofmyfaith.
Iunderstandthatnow
GodthinksIhaven’tprovenmyloyaltytoHimbyturningmybackonmyfamilytobecomeHis.Heneedsmorefromme, andIwillhappilygiveitjusttobefreefromthistrenchthatI’mcurrentlysittingin,coveredinfilthandsin. Itisatest Iwillburytheseedoflongingthathastakenroot,andIwillprayforbothoursalvations “Valentina,”hernameescapesmylips,astrangledprayermingledwithtorment.She’stouchedsomethingprofoundinmy soul, a part of mybeingI thought wasn’t there She’s breached everydefence witha mere glance, and I’mleft here inthe silence,grapplingwithemotionsthatcan’tbeconfessedwithinthesehallowedhalls.Onethingis clear mypathhas turned intoamightystorm,andIamatitsmercy
FINN
ThechilloftheManchesternightcloaksthecityinashroudofwhisperedschemesandshadoweddeals.Istridedownthe damp alley, my boots silent on the slick cobbles, Aidan at my side, both of us moving like spectres through the underworldwecommand.
There’s a beatofsilence, thena sharp gasp for air emanates fromO’Donoghue’s battered face as blood pours fromhis shatterednose
I straighten my suit jacket and turn my back on him, leaving the pub in a heavy silence broken only by O’Donoghue’s whimpering Aidanfallsinstepbesideme,handingmeahandkerchieftowipeoffthespatterofbloodonmyhands “Nicespeech,”heapprovesaswewalkoutthebackdoorintothecoolnight.
Aswereturntoourcarparkedinadarkalley,thecoldbites,butit’snothingcomparedtotheiceinmyveins Thiscity,this life it’sachessboard,andI’malwaysthreemovesahead.
Somethingabouthiswordsshiftsmyangerathimforsettingthisup Valentina’sspirit,fierceanduntamed,isachallengeI relish, and whenI’ve had myfill, whenI’ve moulded her into the queenof mydarkempire, onlythenwill I trulypossess everything
“Hersoul,”Imutter,apromiseetchedinthedarkness. And every inch of her body along with it.
Hiswordshavechilledme,andIknowhewilltakeherwithoutasecondthoughtandcrushher.AsmuchasIwanttosee her tamed and cowed, I want to be the one who does it Not him He will destroy her I just want to show her that the darknesscanbeenticing;thatthisdoesn’thavetobetheendofherworld.
“Saints don’t survive inthis world, and sinners get what theywant. Let’s find Father Ryan.” Ihead toward the offices, everystepadeclarationofwar ThechurchmaybeGod’shouse,buttoday,it’llanswertoFinnDoyle
Eyes narrowed, Itake inhis face and thentheyflickto the signonthe desk. Gannon. Shakingmyhead, Ismile. This is probablygoingtobeeasierthanIthought.Orpossiblyharder.Dependsonhowmuchheknowsabouthisfamily.
“Cutthe crap, Father” Myvoice is a blade, sharp and ready “Ifyouknow whyI’mhere, whatare youprepared to do aboutit?”
His face goes rigid, his jaw clenched tightly. I’ve hitthe nail onthe head, and now we will getsomewhere withoutme havingtobleedhimoutinthismostsacredofspaces Notthatitwouldstopme Godandmearenotongoodterms Ibelieve, becauseIknowevilexistsandonecannotbewithouttheother.
“Verywell,”hesaysstiffly “Friday,twelveo’clock”
“Goodchoice.” Istraightenmycuffs,shootingAidana lookthatsays it’s time toleave.“We’ll be seeingyouonFriday, Father.Wedon’tneedarehearsal,justthemainevent.”
Asweexitthechurch,IcanfeelAidan’seyesonme,probing,questioning,butIdon’tgivehimthesatisfactionoflooking back Thegameisset,thepiecesareinmotion,andI’monemoveclosertocheckmate
It’s a tokenof possessionsent bythe manwho believes he owns me, and I feel the fight drainingout of me again It’s exhausting. He is three steps ahead, always. He always will be. Idon’t have a strategic mind. The mafia life isn’t mine to navigate.I’mjustsupposedtositprettyandbemarriedofftopayoffdebts. Whatalife.
The heavydoors openwitha soft groan, revealinga sea of luxuryinside. Myeyes sweep over the baroque golds and marbles, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows that seem to mock my faltering steps. The pews are filled with strangers,their facesblurredandindistinct,their whispersliketherustlingofleavesbeforeastorm.Godonlyknowswhere theyallcamefromonsuchshortnotice Ididn’tinviteanyone I’dhopeditwouldbeaquietaffair,overanddonewithinafew minutes.
The guests rise, a wave ofrustled fabrics and muted murmurs, as Istartdownthe aisle, eachstep calculated, betraying noneoftheterrorclawingitswayupmyspine Ahead,thealtarlooms,andwithit,themanwhoclaimsmeashiswithoutever capturingmyheart.
Thefabricofthedressclingstomeuncomfortably,barelycoveringmybreasts,inaprobablydeliberatemovebyFinn.It’s abeautifulprison,nonetheless,adornedwithlaceandpearls,eachoneareminderofthepriceofmyfather’ssafety Theache inmyheadthrobs intime withmyhesitantheartbeatas Istandstill,the church’s aisle stretchingbefore me like a runwayto damnation
Iletouta half-sob, and Ichoke itback, swallowingthe tears poolinginmyeyes This isn’tthe time for weakness Not wheneveryeyeistrainedonme,judgingtheproductoftheirunderworlddealings abridetradedforalife.
The altar looms like a guillotine, drawing me closer with each step. Finn stands there, tall and unyielding, a pillar of coldnesswrappedinanelegantsuitthatdoesnothingtosoftenthehardlinesofhisbody Hiseyesaredarkpools,voidsthat givenothingaway,yetseemtodevoureverythingaroundhim.
Finn’sgripissteel,remorseless,whileRyan’sgazeisawhisperedsecret,adoorleftajartopossibilitiesthatmighthave been orcouldstillbe
The words are a blur, Ryan’s voice a steadyhumthat seems to come fromfar away. He stands infront of us, the very pictureofcalmauthority,buthiseyesbetrayastormIknowalltoowell.Theyflickertome,justonce,andit’sasilentscream inthevastsilenceofthechurch.
“I do,” I whisper, but it’s a lie, and we all know it. Myvisionblurs, and for a heart-stoppingmoment, I thinkI might crumblerighthereonthisspotlessaisle
Finngripsmyfingerstightly,tootightly,andslipsnotonlyagoldbandontomyfingerbutanenormouspinkdiamondafter it Bothareslightlytoobig,butthatcouldbebecausemyhandsarelikeice Thedressfitslikeaglove,soIrefusetobelieve Finndidn’tgetthisbitright.Notthatitmatters.
But evenas the ceremonyconcludes and the guests rise ina standingovation, mygaze goes backto Ryan, and I know exactlyhowhefeelsinthatmomentbecauseIdo,too Wearedamned.
As Iturnto face myfuture, Icanfeel the weightofeveryeye uponus Finn’s armis tightaround mywaist, a chainthat holdsmetohim,tothislifeIneverwanted.Ryan’sgazeburnsintomyback,areminderofeverythingI’mleavingbehind.
Valentina’s resistance dwindles to a whisper, frail and flutteringlike the wings ofa dyingbutterflycaughtina spider’s web.Thefightebbsfromherlimbs,herstrugglessuccumbingtotheinescapableforceofmybodybearingdownonhers.
Mygrip tightens, fingers digginginto her flesh, and witha few final, brutal strokes of mycock, I come witha guttural groan, releasingmyhotcuminside her. The rushofsatisfactionfloods throughme as Icollapse onto her heavingchest, my heartracingwiththethrillofthisconquest
Aidan’s eyes are fixed onthe road ahead, his jaw clenched so hard Icansee the muscle ticking He doesn’tlookatus throughtherearviewmirror,doesn’tacknowledgetheraggedbreathingorthestifledsnifflingfrommywife.
“Listentome,Valentina.” Myvoice is ice,everysyllable a razor blade.She flinches as she pushes her dress downina falsesenseofmodesty.“You’remywifenow.Thatmeansyourbodyismine.WheneverIwant,whereverIwant.”There’sa warninginmywords,apromiseofpainifshedarestodefymeagain.“Understand?”Idemand,lockingmygazewithhersin therearview mirror Her eyes arewideandwet,butshenods,atinyjerkofher headthat’s barelyperceptible Good She’s learning.
“Good,becausewearen’tdoingthisagain NexttimeIwantyou,youwillopenyourlegslikeagoodlittlewifeandtake mycockuntil youcome all over me.” I settle backinto the leather seat and ramit home. “Next time, youwon’t fight me. Becauseifyoudo,I’llslityourfuckingthroat.”
Hewantsher Hewantswhat’smine,andeventhoughhewon’tadmitthatiswhatisbotheringhim,Icanseeitwrittenall over his facenow.Hehas betrayedhimself.Thatmadethis encounter anevent.Threebirds withonestone.That’s arecord, evenforme HeliedtometheotherdayandtriedtodeflecthisconcernsaboutretributionfromtheO’Shea’s,andIknewthen ThiswasjusttheproofIneeded.
Thequestionremainsnow:whatamIgoingtodoaboutit?
The citystreaks pastus, blurs ofcolour thatmirror the chaos raginginside me ButIshove itdown, buryitdeep Finn Doyledoesn’tbreak.Notforanyone.
VALENTINA
Humiliateddoesn’tentirelycoverhowI’mfeelingrightnowaswepulluptoafancyhotelsomewhereinthecity.Ithasless to do withFinnthanit does withAidan Iknew myfirst time withFinnwould be interesting, brutal, even Idid not expectawitnesstoit.Thatpushedmetoofaroutofmycomfortzone,andIthinkthatiswhyFinndidit.Eitherthatorheisjust ahornybeastwhocouldn’twaittogetsomefromhisnewwife.Maybeboth.
We marchintothe hotel receptionandare pulledupimmediatelybyPaddyDoyle.EvenifIdidn’talreadyknow himby sight,Iwouldknow justbylookingathimthathe is Finn’s dad Theyhavethe same features;onlyPaddyis older andmore heavysetthanhisson.
“I’ll see youinside,” Imutter, notreallywantinghimhoveringoutside while Icryand finallyprocess whatthe fuckhas happenedtoday.
His eyes bore into mine, buteventually, he nods stifflyand strides offinthe directionhis father went. Shovingopenthe door,Ibreatheoutandhurriedlychecktoseeifallthestallsarefree WhenIknowtheyare,Imoveacrosstolockthedoorand Iturntothemirrortoletoutasob.ThisisnothowIexpectedmyweddingtogo.NotthatI’dthoughtaboutitmuch,butthisis likesomethingoutofmyworstnightmare Myhairisabitofamessfromthestruggleinthecar,andmyeyesarewateryfrom tryingnotto cry. Breathingin, Ihike mydress up and wiggle outofmypanties, still feelingFinn’s cockbatteringmypussy whileAidanwatched.
I don’t slow downwhenI enter the lavishballroom, not evenwhenthe murmur of the crowd swells around me Eyes flickerinmydirection,takinginthesightofme chinup,spinestraight,everyinchthemafiaprincess.
