The mere mention of theIrish mafianearly has my stomach falling out of my ass, but I’ll deal with that when we get there. I can’t let the thought of facing Caine after all this time distract me from my life and mission. The fucker should be glad he’s still alive; that should be enough to keep him the hell away from me. If he values his life, that is.
I would think this was some new form of torture, but Tawny doesn’t pay attention to my personal life, and she never really has. I’m confident she’s oblivious to my history with Caine… but Dad isn’t.
“And?” I question.
“And we’re going to find you a suitable husband.”
My head rears back, her words like a whip to my face.
“Oh, piss off. You want to have a fucking vying ball for my goddamn hand? I’m not a mafia princess, mother.”
She sighs. “Vying ball of sorts, yes. Malia, you are a mafia princess, and this is your duty as one.”
“No.”
“That’s not up to you. You’re getting older, and it is time. Your father and I married as soon as he turned eighteen.”
I can tell she’s struggling to keep the anger out of her voice.
“I’m only twenty-five. You can’t make me do shit, or have you forgotten?”
The sharp sting of Tawny’s palm meeting my cheek floods my vision with red. A gasp flies from her mouth the second she processes what she just did. There was a time she had power over me, but that time’s long gone. Fear rules her actions towards me now, and she pulls her sneaky shit behind my back.
The last time she forgot who had the power between us was the day I earned the scar I wear on my face. A prize to show off for the rest of my life came from the butt of my own pistol after she stole it to save herself from my wrath.
That was the day her life became mine to take.
A life I’ve toyed with ever since.