Page 63 of Sinful Bride

Lachlan is quiet for a long moment. "That was a mistake."

"I know."

"Did you apologize?"

"Yes. She accepted it. Sort of. But things are still—" I search for the right word. "Complicated."

"Marriage is always complicated. Especially arranged marriages. Especially in this world." He sighs. "But you can't lead through fear and humiliation, Declan. Not with your wife. Not with your men. That's not who you are."

"I was angry and frustrated. I felt like I was losing control of everything."

"I get it. But it's not sustainable. You need to find a better way, one that doesn't compromise who you are."

"I don't know if I know who I am anymore."

"Yes, you do. You're the man who took care of his club and protected his people. That man is still there. You just need to remember him."

I close my eyes, letting his words sink in. Trying to believe them.

"I'm not coming back, Declan," Lachlan says quietly. "I left that life for a reason. For Adriana and our family. I'm not going to step back in just because you're struggling. You need to figure this out on your own."

"I know."

"But I'm here whenever you need to talk. Whenever you need perspective. I'm not abandoning you. I'm just trusting you to do what needs to be done."

"Thank you," I manage.

"You're going to be fine. You just need to give yourself time."

I hear a soft sound from the hallway just as I hang up and turn and see Elena standing in the doorway, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop," she says quietly. "I just came down for water and heard you talking."

"It's fine." I set the phone down. "How much did you hear?"

“Not much.” She looks evasive. “Just a little. Anyway, I’m sorry. I’ll go get my water and head back upstairs.”

I hear the tap run and the clink of glass. Then her footsteps heading back upstairs. And I sit there in the quiet, thinking about what Lachlan said, and how I’m supposed to go forward from here.

—

The second gala comes too soon. This one is hosted by the Rossi family, and the tension between us is even worse than with the Marchettis. The Rossis have been vocal about their disapproval of my leadership. But refusing to attend would be worse than going. So Elena and I get dressed, get in the car, and head to another evening of judgment and scrutiny.

The venue is even more opulent than the last one, held in a historic mansion. It showcases the kind of old money that makes my background feel even more inadequate.

Elena looks stunning in a black gown that hugs her curves, gold chains curving along her spine in the open back. I'm in another tuxedo that cost more than my first motorcycle, trying not to feel like an imposter.

"Remember," Elena murmurs as we walk in, "they're going to test you. Don't let them get under your skin."

"I'll try."

The ballroom is packed. I recognize most of the faces—other bosses, their wives, their capos and soldiers, all of them watching as we enter. All of them judging.

The first hour is brutal. Every conversation feels like a trap, and every question is designed to expose my inadequacy. The Rossis make no effort to hide their disdain, and several other families follow their lead. Elena stays close and introduces me with grace. She redirects the conversations whenever she can, but even her efforts can't completely shield me from the hostility in the room.

And then there's the food. Everything—and I mean everything—is seafood. Oysters. Shrimp. Lobster. Crab. Fish prepared in different ways. The smell alone makes my throat tighten.

I'm severely allergic to every kind of seafood. Even cross-contamination can send me to the hospital. There’s not a single goddamn thing at this party I can touch, except maybe the alcohol.

I take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and nurse it slowly, trying to look like I'm participating while avoiding the food entirely. My stomach growls. I haven't eaten since lunch, and that was hours ago.