Because you're mine: Forced Vows

the family that never wante

ou like you're a stray mu

ant. My father doesn't care about time zones. Or sleep. Or the fact tha

s, Siena. You're

ic

on. Just an order sharp

casm and a suitcase full of regret. It's colder than I remember. Or maybe I'm just colder no

hind wrought-iron fences and manicured lies. Growing up, it looked like something

me up, I mutter under my breath, "If this

at screams *do not flirt with me* nods towa

urse

's perfume. My brother's laughter. My father's booming voice shouting orders li

e finger and a scholarship. I promised mys

h

hen your father is Salvatore Romano-the Don of the Midwest-and he says jum

ke and bad intentions. His gray hair is slicked b

ot smiling. "Still dressi

pping into the leather chair across fr

mosquito. "You've been gone to

xactly who I am.

he snaps. "And yo

re I paid

laugh. He

Siena. You're going t

art f

e tell me you're joking. The Morettis? As in the people

quires sa

I' require

ughter of marrying age. Your brother is dead

n a mafia chess

blood feud. It's been five years of silence and sniping. If we don't

" I say, standing

he repeats. "You do

ars. The hallways blur. I see flashes of the life

nk onto the edge of the bed, trying to

Mor

in an Ar

red to have killed his

an with more enemies than friends, and more charm than conscience. If the Romanos are fire, the Mo

t a marriage

ing about me: I d

ide, smiling at photo ops and popping out little

her miser

ings, warnings, and thinly vei

more,

curse in f

g up the de

n't ask for, my dress is too tight, and I'm about ten

mes the

aps on the gu

t-and th

Mor

back. Eyes like winter storms and a mouth that loo

esn't

her

e smooth as sin. "You're even

i

u've been re

know what I

my chin raised like a challenge. "If you t

ment dancing in his eyes. "Then m

hat, I know: th

is