All Chapters of BRIDE TO THE MAFIA HEIR: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Roberto povAfter my night with Kylie, the desire to put an end to this bullshit war clawed at me, gnawing at my insides like a relentless beast. I spent the morning chasing down James, and finally managed to pin him into agreeing to drinks tonight. Mickey’s, he said. Right in the heart of Hayes territory. I hesitated, but beggars can’t be choosers. The slight silver lining was that no one connected to the Connollys would see me there, and that was crucial. I doubted my father or Liam would back me on this. They were far too indifferent to the rising storm brewing around us—this impending war that felt more like an inevitable avalanche, crashing down on us whether I liked it or not.I stepped into Mickey’s, pausing just inside the doorway to absorb the atmosphere. It had the usual gritty charm of a hundred other Irish pubs scattered throughout Boston—dim lighting, worn wooden floors, and a scent of stale beer lingering in the air. But the crest above the bar caught my eye, its white a

Kylie’s PovI blew out a sigh of relief when I finally managed to shut the front door behind the two Connolly women. If I never laid eyes on another floral arrangement or tasted another bite of the countless tester cakes, it would be too soon. Aileen seemed hell-bent on cramming six months’ worth of wedding planning into a single day, and she did a damn good job of it. I swear, my head was still spinning from the onslaught of colors and flavors and the mounting pressure to pretend I was excited about every detail.And just when I thought I was free, she promised to swing by next week for dress shopping.As a kid, I hadn’t spent significant time dreaming about what my wedding would look like. Sure, I’d doodled some fairytale scenes in my notebooks, but reality had never quite fit into that mold. After I graduated from college and took the reins of Moira’s, along with supervising the other businesses the Morgans owned, I simply hadn’t had the luxury to consider what a marriage—even a po

The younger ones, like Micah? I could almost feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on me. I knew they’d hoped I’d choose one of them to marry, believing it would elevate their status within our circle and save us from the trouble of inviting an outsider into our lives. Their ambitions were so painfully short-sighted. Thank God none of them had openly voiced their opinions about my marriage; I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with that kind of mess right now. Not when Roberto was lying here, bruised and battered, and I had no idea who had done this to him.Dr. Harris pulled out a pair of scissors, his movements steady and deliberate as he cut away Roberto’s shirt and pants. I winced, my heart tightening as I watched the fabric fall away, exposing the damage beneath. When he paused at Roberto’s underwear, I felt an odd mix of relief and discomfort. I could have told him it wasn’t necessary, but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I focused on the mass of bruises d

Roberto woke in staggered waves of pain, his body protesting every tiny movement, every breath that strained through his battered ribs. He couldn’t tell if it was the weight of the world that had crushed him or if he'd simply forgotten how to exist without agony. It felt as if a train had collided with him—or maybe two. Every inch of his skin felt bruised, raw, as though it had been scraped off. Breathing was a struggle; moving was an impossibility. His eyes cracked open, the dim light from an unfamiliar room seeping in, casting soft shadows on white walls, white furniture, white everything. A bed sat in the center—four-poster, canopy draped in gauzy, delicate fabric. A scene straight out of a fairy tale, though he was sure no one had ever told a story like this one. His head throbbed like a drumbeat in his skull, too loud, too insistent. And then he heard her voice.“You’re awake.”Roberto winced as he turned his head. The world spun on its axis, a blur of white, but there she was—

He met her dark eyes, so strikingly similar to his own, and felt the weight of every unspoken word between them. “I’ll be okay. Promise.” His voice was rough, but the sincerity was there, even if the words didn’t fully match the storm brewing inside him.“You can’t promise that, and you know it.” Sloan’s voice was tight, the tension in her words hanging like smoke. She leaned back, her shoulders stiff with the weight of it all. Her eyes shimmered, that familiar look of quiet devastation he had seen countless times before. Her gaze shifted to the altar ahead, but her mind wasn’t there—he could tell. He should have said something more. Should’ve tried harder to comfort her. But what could he say? His promises felt hollow in the air between them, and he knew it. He couldn’t even promise himself that things would get better, let alone her.A bitter laugh tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he swallowed it down, unable to bring himself to express the overwhelming frustration swirling i