Page 17 of Sinful Bride

Itell Cormac to head back and give me some time alone. Then I stand there on the sidewalk for a moment, letting the wind bite at my skin, trying to process what just happened. The city is busy around me—businessmen in expensive suits hurrying to their next meetings, tourists with cameras and shopping bags, the constant flow of humanity that makes Chicago feel alive. Everyone moving with purpose, knowing exactly where they belong.

I shove my hands into my pockets and start walking. Marry his daughter.

Enzo Capetti's words replay in my head, over and over, like a song I can't shake. His voice was so calm when he said it. So matter-of-fact. Like he was proposing a business merger instead of handing over his daughter like she's a piece of property to be traded for peace.

And maybe that's exactly what she is to him. What all daughters are in this world. The thought makes my stomach turn.

It's been a long, long time since I thought about getting married. I loved someone once, but when I lost that, I never let myself get that deep with anyone again. And in the culture I lived in, it was easy to forget about any possibility of letting it in again. In the motorcycle club, relationships were casual, temporary. You didn't tie yourself down. You didn't make promises you couldn't keep when every ride could be your last. And after I took over from Lachlan, after everything that happened, I've been too busy trying to keep my head above water to think about anything beyond survival. I haven't even gotten laid since I left New York.

But this isn't about what I want. This is about keeping my men alive and preventing a war I can't win.

I walk without direction, needing to think. The city blurs around me, all of it gleaming and expensive in this part of it. This isn't my world. I grew up in rough New York bars and motorcycle clubhouses, places where you earned respect with your fists and your loyalty, not your last name or your bank account.

Elena Capetti is everything I'm not. Old money, old world, generations of tradition and power behind her. She looked at me at that party like I was dirt on her expensive shoes. Made it clear with just a few words that I don't belong in her world, that I never will.

And now I'm supposed to marry her. The absurdity of it would be funny if it wasn't so fucked up.

I pull out my phone and dial Lachlan's number. His voice is calm and steady, like always.

"How'd it go?"

"I need to talk to you," I say. "In person."

There's a pause. Lachlan knows me well enough to hear the tension in my voice. "Come to the house. I'll have the boys here."

—

Lachlan's place that he shares with Adriana and their son, Matteo, is outside of the city a little ways, a restored Victorian. I like it—it has character, history, and it feels lived in. Unlike my sterile penthouse that still feels like a hotel room no matter how long I've been there.

He opens the door before I can knock, reading my mood immediately in the set of my shoulders and the tension in my jaw. "That bad?"

"Depends on your definition of bad."

He steps aside, letting me in. The house smells like coffee and woodsmoke, comfortable and warm. Home. The word surfaces in my mind before I can stop it, and I push it away. I don't have a home. I have a penthouse with a view and furniture I didn't pick out.

In the living room, three of Lachlan's most trusted men—now my men, too—are sitting sprawled across the comfortable couches. Finn, Rian, and Cormac have been with him for years and helped him build the organization from the ground up. When he handed everything to me, they stayed loyal and followed my orders without question, merging in with my own men.

I've never been entirely sure if that's because they respect me or because they respect Lachlan's decision.

"Gentlemen," I say, nodding to each of them.

"Declan." Finn gestures to an empty chair. "Sit. You look like you need a drink."

"I need several drinks."

Lachlan pours whiskey—Jameson, neat—and hands me a glass. I down half of it in one swallow, feeling the burn all the way down, the warmth spreading through my chest. It doesn't help. Nothing's going to help except figuring out how to navigate this mess.

"Enzo Capetti offered me a deal," I say, setting the glass down. "Marry his daughter or go to war."

Silence. Then Rian lets out a low whistle. "Fuck."

"That's one way to put it."

"What did you say?" Lachlan asks, his tone carefully neutral. He's leaning against the mantel, watching me.

"I told him I'd think about it. He gave me until midnight to decide."

"And what are you thinking?" Cormac leans forward, his expression serious. "Because war with the Capettis would be brutal."