Page 89 of Sinful Bride

I glance at Declan and see the question in his eyes, but I shake my head slightly. It's fine. It's just my father.

"Of course," I say, standing.

I follow him out of the dining room and down the long hallway. The house is quiet here, insulated from the noise of the dinner party. My heels click against the hardwood floor, each step echoing in the silence.

My father's office is at the end of the hall, a massive room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a mahogany desk, and windows that overlook the estate gardens. The scent of leather and cigars hangs in the air.

He closes the door behind us. "Sit," he says, gesturing to one of the chairs across from his desk.

I sit. My hands fold in my lap automatically, the perfect posture drilled into me since childhood. The leather chair is cold through the silk of my dress. My father moves to the bar cart in the corner, the crystal decanter catching the lamplight as he pours himself a scotch. The amber liquid glows like honey. He doesn't offer me one. "How are you finding married life?" he asks, his back still to me.

The question catches me off guard. "It's... an adjustment."

"I'm sure it is." He turns, glass in hand, and leans against the edge of his desk. "But you seem to be managing well. I've heard good things."

"Good things?"

"You're doing your duty." He takes a sip of scotch, watching me over the rim of the glass. "Getting close to him. Making him trust you."

Something cold slides down my spine. The office suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker. "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" He sets the glass down on the desk beside him, his dark eyes fixing on mine. "Come now, Elena. You're a smart girl. Surely you've wondered why I arranged this marriage."

"To create an alliance," I say slowly. "To strengthen our position with the Irish⁠—"

"Declan Murphy is a problem, Elena. A significant one. He's an upstart, a brute who has no place in our world. He took power through violence and luck, not through birthright or tradition. He doesn't understand the delicate balance that keeps our families strong, the centuries of tradition that separate us from common criminals."

I open my mouth, but he continues before I can speak.

"He wants to do things his own way and ignore the old agreements. Renegotiate territories that have been settled for generations. He thinks because he has Lachlan Gallagher's blessing, he can simply walk into our world and change the rules." My father picks up his scotch again, swirling it slowly. "He's dangerous, Elena. Not because he's violent—we're all violent when necessary. But because he doesn't respect the structure that keeps us all from tearing each other apart."

"He's learning⁠—"

My father stands, moving to the window. The gardens beyond are dark, only the security lights illuminating the paths. "Already, other families are questioning the old ways. Asking why they should honor agreements made by their fathers and grandfathers when this Irish upstart can simply take what he wants. He's making us all look weak. Making me look weak for giving him my daughter."

I feel my breath catch. "Papa⁠—"

"The Marchettis are watching. The Rossis are circling. Even families we've had peace with for decades are starting to wonder if the Capettis have lost their edge." He turns back to me. "Declan has revealed a crack in our armor. And cracks, Elena, are where everything falls apart."

I stare at him, my mind racing. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that your marriage served a purpose beyond alliance. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to fill you in on the rest. I wanted to keep you in the dark so that whatever happened between the two of you would be natural." He moves back to his desk, picking up a pen and turning it between his fingers. The gesture is absent, almost thoughtful. "You were always meant to get close to him and make him trust you. To make him vulnerable.”

The room tilts. The air feels too thin. "Father⁠—"

"And then," he continues, as if I haven't spoken, "you were meant to kill him."

The words hang in the air between us. I can’t believe that I heard him correctly.

"What?" My voice comes out as a whisper.

"It's your duty, Elena." He says it so calmly, like he's discussing a business transaction. Like he's asking me to host a dinner party or manage the household staff. "You'll restore the balance and remove the threat. And then you'll be free."

"Free?" I can barely form the word. My hands are shaking in my lap.

"Yes." He sets the pen down and leans forward, his expression changing. He looks at me with something approaching understanding… affection, even. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, being married to a man like that. A man who doesn't understand your world, who can't give you the life you deserve. A man who took you from everything you knew and expected you to simply... adjust."

My throat is tight. I can't speak.