Page 12 of The Wrong Mafia Bride
“That was a half-truth,” I snap, my hands curling at my sides as heat floods my chest. “And half-truths are lies in this house. You know that better than anyone.”
Her mouth opens, anger flashing hot and reckless across her face. “You don’t get to stand there and judge me like you’re not part of this.”
“I am part of this,” I say, stepping closer despite myself. “I have been part of every version of your life since we were children. I am part of this wedding, part of your safety, part of whatever fallout comes next. Do not pretend this does not involve me.”
She laughs sharply, the sound brittle. “You act like I planned this. Like I woke up one morning and decided to ruin everything.”
“I don’t care if you planned it,” I reply, my voice lowering as something dangerous coils tight behind my ribs. “I care that you hid it from me. I care that you looked me in the eye for months and smiled and let me protect you without telling me what I was protecting you from.”
Her gaze drops to the floor for half a second, and the sight of it hits harder than her anger ever could.
“I was going to tell you,” she says quietly.
“When?” I ask. “After the vows? After the blood was already spilled if something went wrong?”
She looks back up then, eyes shining, jaw trembling. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly,” I counter, my throat tight. “You are terrified, and you are clinging to the first thing that makes you feel like this life is still yours.”
Her expression twists, pain finally breaking through the anger. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is marrying a man you don’t want,” I shoot back, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “Neither is standing at an altar tomorrow knowing your heart is already somewhere else.”
I catch it then, the subtle shift in the hallway, the way one of the guards tilts his head just slightly, attention sharpening despite his attempt to look uninterested. Erin notices it too and lets out a low groan, equal parts frustration and exhaustion, as if being watched is something she should be used to by now but never truly will be.
Before I can say anything else, she grabs my wrist and yanks me sideways, pulling me across the hall and into an empty sitting room. The door shuts behind us with a muted click, cutting off the corridor and the listening ears beyond it.
The room smells faintly of dust and old upholstery. The curtains are half-drawn against the night, and the furniture is covered in protective sheets, as if the space has been forgotten in the frenzy of wedding preparations. Erin does not release my wrist until her eyes has scanned every inch of the room for, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary, like she needs the contact to steady herself.
She exhales hard and turns to face me, anger and fear tangled together in her eyes.
Her lips part, then press together again as she inhales sharply through her nose. “I didn’t wait,” she says suddenly, the words spilling out like they have been clawing at her chest for days. “I couldn’t. I tried, Rosie, I swear I tried. But every time I thought about waiting, about doing everything the right way, it felt like I was suffocating.”
My stomach drops, cold and heavy.
“Erin,” I say slowly, a warning threaded through her name, because I can feel exactly where this is headed and I am not ready for it.
She steps closer anyway, voice breaking as she rushes on. “I didn’t want my first time to belong to a contract. I didn’t want it to belong to politics or alliances or men who shake hands over my future like it’s a business deal.”
My chest tightens so sharply it hurts to breathe. I know who she is talking about. I have known for two days, even without her saying it, and hearing her circle the truth like this feels like watching a blade hover just above skin.
“You should have told me,” I say, my voice hoarse now. “You should have trusted me.”
“I was afraid,” she whispers. “Afraid you would look at me the way you’re looking at me now.”
I shake my head slowly, the motion heavy with everything I am holding back. “I am not angry because you fell in love. I am angry because you didn’t tell me. Did you really think you couldn’t trust me?”
“No,” she says quickly, dragging her hands through her hair and gripping at the bronze roots like she needs something solid to hold onto. “I knew I could trust you, but if I said it out loud—if I admitted it was real, and Rosie, it is real, it’s so real—I knew everything would change. I love him more than I thought I could ever love someone.”
I stare at her for a beat too long, then let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “I thought I was the one you loved the most.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself. “Well, you can’t exactly fuck me the way he does.”
“Okay,” I say, exhaling through a reluctant chuckle, heat creeping into my cheeks as the thought flashes unbidden through my mind. “Point taken. But it doesn’t matter. You marry Dante Salvatore tomorrow.”
The words hang between us, heavy and absolute, the way facts do when they cannot be argued with.
Erin’s face crumples at once, whatever humor she had scraped together dissolving into something raw and desperate. “I can’t,” she says, shaking her head so hard her curls whip around her face. “Rosie, I can’t do it. I know I’m supposed to want to be a good daughter, I know I’m supposed to smile and make this sacrifice for the family, but I can’t stand there and say vows to a man I don’t love.”
