Chapter 18
Eighteen
KAELEN
The inside of my palm itched no matter how much I scratched it. My grandmother once said that was a sign of good fortune. I rolled my eyes, shoving my hands into my pockets. The only luck coming to me would be in the form of a tiny terror by the name of Willow Sterling.
Willow Finnegan.
A primal, possessive glow bloomed in the hollow of my chest as my alpha beamed with pride. My last name sounded good on her.
As much as I knew Willow would be displeased, that didn’t snuff out the peaceful feeling that eased my ever-tetchy alpha. Willow would be my wife, and soon my omega.
Ever since I first scented her delicious spring scent, I knew she belonged to me. She resisted it, but I knew she felt too, knew I was her alpha.
Our mating could wait, even if the idea made my skin prickle.
I roamed through the quiet halls, pushing open the door to our bedroom.
A discarded book sat on the settee by the fire. A half-naked man with an ax winked at me from the cover. My girl liked dirty books. I scratched my beard, disappointed not to find her sleepy and cuddled under a blanket like Torin had mentioned.
It was past dinnertime. I made my way down to the kitchen, assuming Willow got tired of waiting for me and decided to eat something. Good girl. She needed to take care of herself. I needed to take care of her.
My brow pinched as I paused, taking in the vision of Willow propped up on the counter. At first, I was entranced by how adorable she looked, dwarfed by her oversized sweater.
Then, I saw the half-empty bottle of vodka clutched in her tiny hand. She swayed, glossy eyes twinkling in the muted light.
Streaks of red stained her cheeks, and her eyes narrowed as she raised the Grey Goose bottle like some sloshed little pirate captain.
“Hello, husband.”
Shite.
My temple throbbed. I clicked my tongue, not knowing how much she had heard. Enough that she knew I claimed we were married.
Selfishly, I hoped she heard it all, so I wouldn’t have to repeat myself.
Based on how deep my tipsy omega was into the vodka, she may have.
Only one thing in this world frightened me, and that was my omega.
I rocked off the wall, moving slowly until I reached the counter. The points of her teeth dug into that pillowy bottom lip of hers as she unconsciously parted her legs for me. I stepped into the space, caging her in as my palms rested on the marble.
“You lied about being married,” she said, her nails tapping on the bottle.
“I did.”
Unable to stop myself, I tugged her lip free. My dick thickened when her tongue darted out to lick me.
Fuck. This was torture. I wanted to bury my face in her pussy until she screamed my name and forgot how pissed she was at me.
I curled my fingers around the neck of the vodka bottle, gently prying it away. That amount of straight liquor was enough to put a grown man on their arse, let alone my petite omega who didn’t drink much.
She snarled, but I ignored it, placing the bottle out of reach.
Hot skin brushed against my palms as I cupped her face, stroking her alcohol-flushed cheeks.
“How much did you hear, mo chroí?”
“All of it,” she murmured, wrapping her slender fingers around my forearms to hold herself steady.
A heavy breath expanded my chest as I nodded. No one had seen her when they escorted Massimo out. She only thought she heard all of it. Her gaze drifted as she traced the lines of my tattoos, and something splintered as I watched her.
For years, she had been held together by sheer determination.
It was cruel. I had dangled hope in front of her only to snatch it away.
I wanted only to protect her. Someday, she would understand. I would kneel at her feet if she wished it. The pad of my thumb aimlessly stroked her freckles when I finally broke the stilted silence.
“The Italians have a few brain cells between them. It won’t be long before they figure out we aren’t married.”
Darkness engulfed her glazed eyes, almost turning them into polished obsidian stones. She tipped her chin up, fighting the slight tremble in her fingers. My heart swelled and shattered at the same time. She refused to show fear, even as it lingered beneath the surface.
“What will happen?”
Her sweet voice came out in a strained whisper.
“They will enforce the terms of their agreement with your father.”
All the color in her face disappeared as an icy chill overtook her limbs. Her breasts rose with quickening breaths before she spun out of my hold. Tiny, shaking fingers clung to the sink as she retched, vomiting into the stainless steel basin.
“Shhh,” I soothed, running my fingers through her hair and holding it off her face. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Willow. I will die to keep you safe.”
Minutes passed as she quivered, her stomach finally empty. I filled a glass of water, silently handing it to her. Her pale lips rested on the rim as she sipped, slow at first before downing the entire thing, easing some of the tension in my muscles.
“It will never happen,” I said, pushing sweaty strands of hair off her brow.
“But how?” she asked, her words still slurred as her eyes glistened.
“Father Fitzpatrick will be here on Saturday to marry us. The license will be backdated if the Rossis go digging.”
“What?! You can’t.”
Color returned to her cheeks. The streaks of red burned brilliantly with her anger, making my dick stir. I admonished my cock. Now was not the time for him to remember how pretty our omega looked when she was angry.
“I can and I will,” I said, my face tight as I held her arms to keep her from falling off the counter. “This is the easiest way. The most foolproof protection I can give you. Making you my wife.”
Words lingered on my tongue. Despite the righteous fury blazing in her eyes, I loved the way that sounded. My wife. Willow was mine. And soon, she would be my omega. I wouldn’t take that choice away from her. But soon, she’d see that she was mine. That I was hers.
That we belonged together.
“So that’s it? I have no say. I’m yours? How could you? I trusted you. You’re no better than my dad,” she hissed, lashing out and punching my chest. “Made me believe in you. Believe you were different, only to prove to me you’re not.”
Furious tears spilled from her eyes, her assault frivolous. Air whistled through my nostrils as I sucked in a breath, closing my fingers around her wrists. I didn’t care if she hit me, but I didn’t want her to hurt herself.
Her words landed like a punch in the gut. They rang true. Copper slid over my tongue as blood coated my lips. I was another alpha stealing her voice from her.
“Let me go,” she bellowed.
“No.”
For a second, I thought she was going to spit on me. But no. She fought against my hold, mumbling a series of slurred words I didn’t quite understand. The intent was clear, however. If I demanded marriage from my omega, she’d think me no better than her father.
I wasn’t used to asking for things.
Yet, I had to. I couldn’t make demands of my omega. At least not without her consent. If she were to be my wife, my partner in all things, I must treat her as such. I had to trust her to understand.
“Willow,” I said, pressing my cheek against hers and marking her with my scent. Her body stilled, a tiny sound of pleasure escaping her. “I believe marrying you is the best option to protect you from Vittorio Rossi. But I will not force you into anything.”
A dangerous noise built within me, my alpha disagreeing with me. My hand ran over Willow’s messy braid. If she refused marriage, I’d keep her safe. Even if it meant slaughtering every Italian until their blood stained the streets of Boston.
Glossy eyes stared at me as she brushed her cheek against mine. My heart leapt at the gesture; she was marking me. Fuck. I really wanted to have this conversation with her when she was sober. I hoped she remembered it tomorrow morning.
“Some butcher. Can’t you just kill them?”
A disbelieving laugh escaped me, not sure I had heard her correctly. Was this the same woman who begged me to spare her piece of shite father? While she insisted she didn’t mind the blood on my hands, I had a hard time picturing her as someone who relished the idea of death and decay.
My sweet omega was full of surprises. I cupped her chin, fascinated by her beauty.
“The Rossis are a part of the Cosa Nostra, with ties to powerful Italian families as ancient as they are bloodthirsty. If I were to go to war with them, we would have families from Chicago, New Jersey and even Rome at our doorstep. Make no mistake, Willow,” I added, seeing her trying to process the information.
“I would slit their throats until the Charles ran red with their blood.”
“Then why—” she started, when I silenced her with my finger on her lips.
“Because I am a strategist first. I don’t needlessly take life. A war between the Irish and the Italians would lead to you being sealed away in some safe house for months or years until the dust settled. Even then, nothing would stop the Italians from trying to claim you.”
A shudder rolled through her as she covered her mouth, looking like she might throw up again. My lips found her forehead, resting there as I held her tighter.
“The Italians are good Catholics.” She eyed the cross dangling over my chest, and I answered her unasked question. “Irish Catholics like to bend the rules.”
The tight lines around her mouth relaxed, and I inhaled a deep breath.
“It means that if the Italians find out you are legally wed to another, and always have been, they will consider the contract void, and leave you in peace. Meaning you can live your life versus hiding away from bloodshed always in fear of one of their men coming for you.”
My words hung in the air between us as I tried to calm the slight tremble still coursing through her.
“Willow. Trust me. This is the only way. Do you consent?”
A small, defeated noise rolled off her tongue. She tipped her head back, staring at me, nostrils flared.
“Fine. But I’m pissed at you.”
Expected.
“I want something shiny in exchange.”
I snorted, knowing sober Willow likely wouldn’t request such a gift. But drunken Willow gave in to her omega easier. And I knew the gift to give her.
“I agree to your terms,” I murmured, nuzzling the gland on her throat.
It was enough for now.
Granted, I wondered if she’d even remember this conversation come morning.
I didn’t relish the idea of having to have it a second time with a sober Willow.
The last of her strength gave out, and she collapsed onto me.
I welcomed the comforting weight of her.
Her sweet spring scent surrounded me, calming my alpha.
The tip of her nose brushed along my collarbone, and my arms wrapped around her waist, refusing to release her.
She hummed a chorus of breathy sounds, trying to crawl further into me.
I smirked, carefully picking her up until she clung to me like a drunk koala—all loose-limbed and heavy and adorable.
Tiny fingers ran through my beard before she pushed a strand of hair off my brow.
“You are unfairly attractive. All muscles and stubble and tattoos. My omega thinks she loves you and that you belong to us.”
I froze, taken aback by the sincerity in her words. Her nails scraped along my back.
“Just your omega?” I asked cautiously, walking us up the stairs to our bedroom.
She responded with a noncommittal noise. The tip of her pink tongue slid over my pulse, and I growled. She smelled so sweet.
Like mine.
A moment later, a quiet purr rumbled in her chest as she hugged me tighter.
I doubted she even realized she was doing it.
My omega purred for me. She recognized me as her mate, even if she wasn’t ready to believe it.
Sweat clung to her nape as I slipped my hand into the spot, cradling the back of her head. My lips pressed against the top of her head.
“I do belong to you, little omega. Go deo is go brách.”