Not Inessa.
She was as used to it as I was, even if I doubted she’d ever gotten her hands dirty.
I twisted my fingers about said hand, surprised by the daintiness of it against mine.
My father had beaten the shit out of me just over a week ago when I’d raised hell about the upcoming wedding, but I was a man.
More than that, I was used to a beating.
Inessa?
She looked like a china doll, and while I’d never found that sexy in the past, had never found virginity or fragile women attractive, this was different.
She was mine.
I’d never put those pieces together until now.
She belonged to me.
This marriage would see to that.
She was mine to protect, mine to defend, just fucking mine.
Unlike every other aspect of my life, I wouldn’t have to share her.
Not with my brothers, not with the family, not with the Five Points.
She belonged to me, and Eoghan O’Donnelly protected what belonged to him.
That was a fucking fact.
INESSA
He knew.
Even as terror had filled me that he’d reject me, break off the wedding I knew he didn’t want—probably even less than me, considering he’d managed to evade every single one of my father’s invitations for us to meet—he’d raised my veil.
And he’d seen.
He’d seen what few men would.
He’d seen what I was supposed to hide, what fantastic makeup had tucked away, but he’d noticed. Had witnessed the truth of what had gone down a few days ago.
My heart had been beating like I’d been working out for hours on end, and by the time he’d tucked my hand into his, I wasn’t sure if I was going to pass out or not. Whether it was from discomfort at his focus, fear of his rejection, or terror of being returned to my family… The latter was a fate worse than death.
I would die if I failed in this, if I shamed the family name.
So, when he tugged me toward the altar, the sweetest relief filled me, and I took a second to gape at him and take stock of the man who’d avoided me for so long. My first impression? That Eoghan was like all the O’Donnelly sons—wickedly handsome.
But the term wicked came in two definitions. Everyone in our circles knew what he, in particular, was capable of.
An expert marksman who’d been dishonorably discharged from the army, his skills were renowned—even by my father.
And Antoni Vasov didn’t approve of anyone or anything.
The asshole.
But Eoghan’s talents were undeniable. As a sniper, he was famous in our circles. A dubious fame, of course, but then that was the world I lived in. A shitty one.