Prologue
Meghan
One month ago
Bethlehem
“I take it you called me here because everything went off as planned?” a smooth Russian voice drifts into the hallway outside my father’s office.
My father is so confident, so fucking brazen, he didn’t even bother to close the door. No, it sits wide open, allowing anyone and everyone walking by to overhear. He either has supreme faith in our household’s devotion and loyalty, or he’s grown stupider and stupider over the years.
I’m inclined to believe the latter.
“Yes. The target, Lucky Tails, is…” My father pauses. There’s a metallic clink followed by the unmistakable sound of a lighter being sparked. “No more.”
“Good… good.” The Russian chuckles and then the old, stiff leather of my father’s chair creaks. Someone inhales and exhales. “Any notable causalities?”
A wispy white cloud of smoke floats out of the room.
The lighter clinks shut and my father seems to hesitate before reluctantly admitting, “Only our inside contact.”
“I trust you’re taking care of that?”
Again, my father hesitates, and it gives me great joy to know it pains him to admit his failures.
“My men are on it. Her house is being dealt with as we speak.”
Her?
“Very good,” the Russian says, sounding pleased, and then there’s a long moment of silence.
I shift uncomfortably on my feet and glance down the hallway, my ears straining. If any of my father’s staff catches me eavesdropping on him, I’ll be beaten and locked inside my room for the next twenty years.
But I need to know why my father called me home from school. I need to know why he’s locked me up in this house. Why he won’t let me leave or contact anyone. Why all my IDs, credit cards, cash, computers, and phones have been confiscated…
And I have this awful, dreadful feeling that the answer is enjoying a cigar with him in that room.
“Alexei?” my father finally says, breaking the tense silence.
“Yes?” the Russian drawls out.
“I’ve fulfilled my side of the bargain…”
“You have,” Alexei answers simply, and it’s obvious even to me that he’s playing my father like a fiddle.
How my father retains his control over the Callahan family is a mystery even to me. I suppose most of it is due to a great deal of luck and opportunity. Most of the other Irish families in this part of the country have been wiped out by the Italians, causalities in a senseless turf war.
There simply aren’t enough powerful men left to overthrow him.
“I believe it’s time to take the next step and solidify our alliance.”
An alliance between the Irish and Russians… Just the thought makes me sick to my stomach.
What is this world coming to?
Hasn’t there been enough death? Enough bloodshed?
“Indeed,” Alexei says, sounding strangely pleased. “Is she here?”
She, as in me? Fuck. I’m currently the only ‘she’ in residence. My beloved mother passed away in a car bombing a year ago. My father blamed it on the Italians, but I know deep in my heart it was the Irish, this family, that killed her. The Italians may have set the bomb, but she would have never been in any danger if it wasn’t for this damn family.
“Yes. I called her home two weeks ago.”
Double fuck. I wish for once in my life that my gut was wrong. Why they need me to solidify their alliance though still doesn’t make any sense.
Unless… but no… that’s too old school and beyond archaic.
My father is a bastard of the highest degree, but I still refuse to believe he’d force me to marry a man I don’t want to marry. There’s still a touch of decency inside him. Still a touch of compassion for the only blood he has left…
“I trust she’s been prepared and knows what will be expected of her? I’d hate to have to break her in…”
Even as the blood drains from my face, I can picture my father’s face flushing bright red as he sputters with indignation. “My Meghan is a fine, upstanding young lass, and would make any man proud.”
God, what the fuck? Have I time-travelled back to the eighteenth century? This can’t be real.
Alexei chuckles as if he finds my father’s statement amusing, and then says, “You mean my Meghan.”
The way he says it, at first it comes off almost casual, but there’s a firmness there. Beneath the leftover amusement of his chuckle lurks something dangerous. Something that causes all the little hairs on my body to stand on end and my skin to prickle with apprehension.
To be married to that man… to be owned by him…
It’s simply unthinkable. I’m not a fucking object to be bargained off. I’m a person, goddammit.
Even my father is thrown off guard by Alexei’s declaration. “Y—yes,” he stammers and clears his throat. “Of course. Your Meghan.”
Someone inhales, then another cloud of smoke drifts into the hallway, giving this whole scene playing out in front of me a hazy, almost dream-like quality.