Page 44 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

“You changed things here,” she said. “But some things stayed exactly the same.” Her gaze returned to mine, steady enough to suggest she already knew more than she was saying.

About Anton. About the attack. Maybe even about Maeve. The thought surfaced unexpectedly.

I pushed it aside immediately.

“You look tired, Sean,” she said quietly.

“I’ve been busy.”

“No,” she replied. “You’ve been distracted.” The word landed cleanly between us. “You still keep terrible whiskey in this place.” Her voice carried lightly through the office while she lifted the glass from the bar and studied it with quiet amusement.

I leaned against the edge of the desk. “You came all the way to Boston to insult my liquor?”

“You were easier to talk to when you were younger.”

“That sounds fictional.”

A small smile touched her mouth. The conversation was moving too smoothly.

That was the problem. Most people entered my space carefully. They measured their words before speaking them. Watched my reactions too closely.

Gabrielle never had. Even now, she spoke to me like she remembered exactly who I’d been before the rest of the city learned to become cautious around me. Then I saw her.

Maeve.

She stepped into the office without announcement, stopping just inside the doorway after realizing she wasn’t alone. The room changed immediately. Maeve’s eyes moved from me to the woman near the bar. Tension moved through the air fast enough that I felt it before anyone spoke.

Gabrielle turned slightly toward her, calm as ever. No surprise crossed her face. No territorial irritation, either. She studied Maeve and understood far too much far too quickly.

Interesting, her expression said. Maeve didn’t move farther into the office. Neither of them looked uncomfortable, which somehow made everything worse.

I straightened slightly. “Maeve.” Her attention flicked toward me briefly before returning to the woman again.

“You’re busy,” she said. “Maybe I’ll come back later.”

Gabrielle set the whiskey glass down carefully. “So you must be Maeve.”

Maeve nodded once. “Yes. And you are?”

Gabrielle smiled tightly. “A friend.”

That answer earned the faintest reaction from Maeve. Barely there. Most people would’ve missed it completely.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Gabrielle continued calmly.

“That’s interesting,” Maeve replied. “I haven’t heard anything about you.” Maeve crossed her arms loosely while leaning one shoulder against the doorway, casual posture with sharp eyes.

She was watching everything now, noticing the familiarity in the room and the ease of conversation. And of course, the absence of caution in the way this woman spoke to me.

Gabrielle turned back toward me. “You didn’t tell me you got married.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“That sounds intentional.”

“It probably was.”

Another faint smile from her. Maeve said nothing, but I could feel her attention sharpening with every exchange.