Chapter 2 #2
“What good news would possibly require cutting off my access to money? Much of which I’ve earned for the company, by the way.
” I cross the room and slowly sink onto the edge of the leather sofa.
Duchess lifts her head and repositions it on my lap, clearly hoping for scratches from me too.
My nails gently rake behind her ears, and her short tail wags in approval.
“You’re aware of some of the threats we’re facing,” Dad begins matter-of-factly.
“The Albanians. The Bratva. Rogue groups trying to weasel their way into the weapons black market and steal our thunder. LDS doesn’t have the capability to defend ourselves the way these crime organizations do—not if we want to keep our public reputation intact. ”
I stroke Duchess’s head absently, nodding. “We need allies. Protection.”
“Exactly.” He leans back, folding his left leg so the ankle rests on his right knee, one arm draped casually over the back of the sofa. “I’m glad you understand why those things would be important, princess.”
“I’ve actually been thinking about who would be a good option, and the Italians would make for—”
“I had something else in mind,” he interrupts.
“In fact, I’ve already worked it out. The arrangement will be mutually beneficial for both groups.
We’ll get the underground protection we need in the criminal world, and they’ll get legal protection in the civilized world.
Which, given their recent trouble with the law, is much needed.
” He pauses, looking way too pleased with himself.
“It’s an equal trade. Ingenious, really. ”
“And who would that be?” I ask, openly skeptical by how my brows sit high.
“The Irish Mob.”
I almost laugh. “The Irish Mob? They don’t have half the sophistication of the Italians. The Cosa Nostra—”
“The Italians are not interested in this kind of deal,” he says, cutting me off again. “The Irish are. And to be frank, I don’t trust the Italians. Not after finding out they’re the Albanians’ biggest customers. They’d probably gut us from the inside, if anything.”
I frown, still not following. “I still don’t understand why my black card needed to be shut off.”
Dad heaves a sigh, and for the first time dread crawls onto his features. Whatever he’s about to say, he knows I won’t like it and he’s not looking forward to telling me.
“Because you’re the final puzzle piece in all of this,” he says. “You’re the deal.”
“You mean I’m brokering it? Dad, you know I prefer not to do negotiations with crime lords. Businessmen on Wall Street? Pressers with the media? Fine. But me and capos and pakhans and—”
“Princess,” he interrupts yet again. “The negotiation is over. You are part of the deal.”
I go still as if I’ve heard wrong.
…because I had to have. I haven’t heard what he’s said correctly. What does he mean I’m part of the deal?
“It’s been agreed that you’ll marry Ronan Callahan, second son of Seamus Callahan. It’ll officially join our families and ensure we both have a vested interest in this venture succeeding.”
I would’ve preferred it if he told me someone was facing time in prison.
If he told me we were facing bankruptcy or some kind of FBI investigation.
I would’ve preferred almost anything else to… this.
The words don’t make sense. The scenario he’s describing doesn’t either. What does he mean I’m…?
I can’t even finish the sentence. I stand up so fast Duchess yelps and jumps off the sofa, retreating to her dog bed in the corner.
“I’m not marrying any Callahan—or anyone. You can’t arrange for me to be married. It’s 2025, not 1825! I’m no one’s property.”
Dad remains calm, his legs still crossed, his expression unmoved. “This is what needs to happen for the family. The Callahans have already agreed.”
“I refuse!”
“You have no option.”
“I said no!”
“Princess, you know how these situations work. Don’t make this difficult. It’s either this,” he says, his tone hardening, “or exile.”
My jaw drops. I stare at him, searching his face for any sign that he’s joking. But there’s nothing. He’s dead serious.
This is real. This is actually happening.
He stands, stepping toward me with a gentler, fatherly expression, like he’s trying to defuse a bomb.
“Your mother and I were arranged. I was an American businessman. Her father was a powerful politician in Ghana. We came to an agreement.” He pauses, a flicker of fondness passing in his gaze.
“And we love each other deeply. You know we do, princess. We’ve been married for thirty years.
These arrangements can work out, Simone. You just have to be open minded.”
I take a step back out of his reach, shaking my head. “It’s easy for you to say when you’re not the one being married off to some Irish gangster. Daddy, you know their reputation!”
“The Callahans are as decent as it gets in the underworld,” he says firmly. “They have values. Rules. A code, of sorts. Ronan will treat you right, princess. He’s sworn he will, and in the event he does hurt you, they’re aware it voids the agreement. I put those stipulations in for your benefit.”
“I don’t care!” My voice cracks, emotion flooding me. “I’m not doing this.”
“It’s already agreed. The engagement dinner is Friday. Doris can help you pick out a dress.”
Chantal’s mixer at the art gallery is Friday.
…to think, just an hour ago I was enjoying myself shopping for dresses for it.
Now it seems I need a dress for an entirely different event.
Dad sits back down, picks up the remote, and turns up the volume on ESPN. Duchess trots back to his side, settling in like nothing happened.
All is still right with their world.
I linger where I am, frozen, my chest heaving.
This really is real.
It isn’t a prank. It’s not some negotiating tactic. He’s really arranged for me to be married.
To a low-down, uncouth Irish gangster I’ve never even met.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.