Mafia Boss’s Fake Wife: Chapter 4

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

It’s been a fucking whirlwind of a forty-eight hour time. I’ve gone from the cold, early January landscape of upstate New York to the dreary gray of an Irish January, and I still have no fucking plan about how I’m going to testify in this hearing.

I don’t know how to protect everyone. My family. My legacy.

Roisin.

The whole flight, my heart practically burned every time I thought of her name. I went back and forth on what to do. Part of me wanted to walk into this hearing and immediately tell all of them that she’s a liar. That she’s a MacAntyre, one of the most hardened crime families in Ireland.

Then, I would feel guilty. Awful.

Like a fucking piece of shit.

Because exposing Roisin as a MacAntyre would clearly screw over whatever life she’s trying to build for herself.

She never told me why or how, but I also know that she doesn’t exactly have a great relationship with her brothers.

Well.

The dead one, anyway.

I know that Liam didn’t live with her and Kieran during his childhood. She was raised with Kieran, if the rumors that I’ve heard are accurate.

And Kieran was one nasty motherfucker.

I don’t know why I expected Roisin to be… different.

Well. She did choose a life with Interpol over a life with her brother, so I guess I did expect something different from her.

I wrestled with all of it through the flight. Through the ride to the cottage. Through touching the gate that I fixed for her. Through everything, I couldn’t figure out what the fuck I was going to do…

But I was still drawn to her.

After feeling the emptiness at my family’s holiday, Roisin called to me like a lighthouse.

Even if I hated her as much as I was compelled to follow the light that led to her.

When I saw her on the couch, listening to that god-awful music that she’s obsessed with, I had to stop.

I consider myself a relatively articulate man. I have to be. I’ve always had to be.

But the sight of Roisin on the couch, her hair catching the light, her peaches-and-cream skin flushed as she hummed along to the brutal racket?

I didn’t have words for that moment.

Well.

I didn’t have the right words for the moment.

I wanted to tell her that I’ve fucking missed her. That she’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen. That every day since I walked out on her, I’ve fantasized about touching her and her soft as fuck skin again.

That I’ved tried to see other women, to be around them. To get her out of my mind.

But I fucking can’t.

And then, of course, it crashes down on me that she’s not just my Roisin.

She’s the sister of my sworn fucking enemy. Liam MacAntyre, the man that I have a hesitating, temporary alliance with.

The man whose brother killed my parents.

It couldn’t be anyone but the MacAntyres. It simply couldn’t.

They’re the fucking worst.

I don’t want to remember, either, that she’s been lying to me. That she withheld her true identity from me.

And that she might have been spying on me, selling that information to either one of her brothers… the whole fucking time.

And then, I definitely couldn’t say shit. Because the warring emotions inside of me, if they came out, would have made me seem utterly and totally insane.

So instead, I ignored her. Stomped past her to set up the little couch sleeper, and I didn’t sleep at all.

I thought about her. Every creak from the loft bedroom upstairs, I thought of her. Every single noise made me think…

of her.

Now, I’m waiting to be picked up by whatever Interpol handler comes next.

And I still have no fucking clue how to handle this hearing.

‘Marco,’ a male voice calls.

I turn.

Only to be met with a fist to the face.

I don’t think.

I react.

My body goes into a brutal, efficient, fighting mode.

Most people in my line of work have to be relatively competent at defending themselves. It’s just part of the work.

I, however, never settle for being competent.

Which means that when it comes to hand-to-hand combat?

I am fucking exceptional.

Within seconds I have my attacker in a headlock, and he’s writhing underneath me. I flex my bicep that’s pulled around his neck, and he gasps, panting, as he tries to breathe.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ I snarl.

Clearly, he’s not Interpol.

The man curses in Russian, and I tighten. ‘Who. The fuck. Sent you,’ I growl.

‘Stop! Police!‘

Fucking hell.

I don’t want this asshole to get away. I bear down, hoping he’ll pass out, when I hear a familiar whine behind me.

My brain has two seconds to form one word… Taser.

Then, the electricity hits me, and everything goes still.

Trussed like a fucking pig, I glower at the set of agents who took me in.

I’m sitting in one of the Interpol interrogation rooms, my hands bound in front of me at the wrists. I’m glaring up at the agents, who are doing their best to whisper in the corner.

Fucking cops.

A radio crackles slightly, and one of them lifts it. I hear my name, and they both look at me.

I dare them to fucking touch me. I fucking dare…

‘Up, De Luca,’ one of them sneers. ‘You’re fucking lucky you haven’t been booked yet.’

I resist the urge to tell them that Interpol isn’t concerned with petty assault, but I let them hustle me into another interrogation room.

Once inside, I fix my face, my features assuming a mask…

Then, I see who else is there.

‘Roisin,’ I breathe.

I can’t help it.

She’s sitting at the interrogation table, in the position of someone being interrogated. Her eyes are red-rimmed, like she’s about to cry, and her pale skin is nearly bloodless.

My first instinct is concern.

My next?

Rage.

‘What the fuck did they do to you?’ I snarl.

Roisin pales further. ‘Marco…’

‘Sit, De Luca,’ another voice barks.

I hadn’t noticed, but an older Irish man is seated across from her. The minions who hauled me in here provide a chair, and I glower at them until they back off.

Like a king ascending his throne, I sit.

The older man nods to the other two. ‘You can leave.’

‘Agent O’Hara, we caught him assaulting someone in public…’

‘You can leave,’ he repeats.

Without any protest, they walk away.

He turns to me. ‘Mister De Luca, would there be any reason you assaulted a man in broad daylight?’

I tilt my head. ‘He started it?’

‘Interesting,’ O’Hara nods. ‘Did he really?’

‘Would you believe me either way?’

‘Surprisingly, Mr. De Luca, I think you’ll find that honesty is the best currency with me.’

The level look in his eyes is… warm.

But, the steel behind it is there as well.

I decide to tell a version of the truth that isn’t necessarily a lie. ‘A Russian called my name, came in swinging. I swung back.’

‘How did you know he was Russian?’

I arch an eyebrow. ‘I’ve had enough Russians cuss me out to recognize what he was saying.’

O’Hara chuckles at that. ‘Well, there’s some truth to that, then.’ He turns to Roisin. ‘I don’t know if a Russian would be an enemy of your family?’

My heart skips.

Did he know?

Did everyone fucking know but me?

If that’s the case, why the fuck am I the last to know?

Roisin shrugs. “My brother is marrying one, so…”

“How do you know about Novikov?” I interrupt.

It’s Roisin’s turn to raise an eyebrow now. “You think that I don’t know about my own brother’s wedding?”

I huff.

‘Roisin is… the center of a place she doesn’t need to be central to. It isn’t her fault that her family is who they are, but all the same, she’s being blamed for some incidents.’

‘Incidents?’ I ask.

O’Hara gives me a raised eyebrow. ‘Indeed. A certain explosion, most recently in Amsterdam, that I believe a certain Salvatore De Luca and a Gia Rossi were also implicated in.‘

‘They were absolved of that,’ I say quickly.

O’Hara’s eyebrows pinch together. ‘Indeed they were. Because of overwhelming evidence that a certain Irish family had done it instead.’

Oh.

Fuck.

‘Roisin wasn’t there. She had me in custody at that time, and we were awaiting trial,’ I respond in a stiff voice.

I don’t want to think about that time. It was before I knew about Roisin.

Before I knew her family name, but also before I knew what she tasted like, and the little moan she makes when she…

Shut. The fuck. Up.

I manage to snarl at myself convincingly enough, and the urge to think about Roisin that night fades.

Barely.

‘I am aware of Ms. Kennedy’s whereabouts that day,’ O’Hara says. ‘As her supervisor, I was aware of all of her assignments as your cover for the witness protection program.’

She ducks, her eyes looking down at the table, and a strange, smug satisfaction creeps over me.

Not aware of all of the activities, are you then?

‘Still, the leak to the press that calls Roisin’s integrity into question is… interesting. There is no mention that she is an Interpol agent, which means that most likely, whoever is trying to frame her is doing so from…’

‘My world,’ I breathe.

O’Hara nods.

I frown. ‘I don’t think anyone from my family knows about.. who she is.”

Roisin’s face tightens. ‘The only people who know are Irish.’

‘Then I believe you will need to start there,’ O’Hara says.

We both blink.

‘Start there?’ Roisin repeats.

He nods. ‘Someone needs to figure out why this information was leaked. And who better to do it than you?’

‘She can’t do it on her own,’ I blurt.

Roisin’s eyes narrow, and she glares at me like a queen surveying scum on the face of the earth.

It’s the challenge in her eyes that I like so fucking much.

‘I don’t need help,’ she mutters.

O’Hara snorts. ‘And what if the person who started the rumor decides to kill you, hmm? It’s better to have some kind of way for you to access help if you need it.’

‘I can find out who is doing this to me.’

O’Hara shakes his head. ‘Not if there’s someone trying to frame you. Right now, you’re wanted by Interpol.’

Her jaw drops. ‘But…’

‘I’ve gone out on a limb for you, lass,’ he says softly.

Roisin’s face tightens. I’m expecting gratitude, or even appreciation. However, her expression looks more like...

Guilt.

‘Here’s the task. You have thirty days. That’s as long as I can buy you. Thirty days to find out who is trying to frame you, and then I have to take you in.’

Roisin nods. ‘Understood.’

I shuffle. I’m still not quite sure why I’m here, other than the obvious.

The connection to my brother Sal, and my sister-in-law, Gia, stands pretty clear.

But, it’s not like I can do anything to actually help her. And on top of that, I’m not even certain that I want to.

Despite the fact that it’s fucking killing you to not be able to do anything?

I want to growl with frustration. Roisin lied to me. Her past identity is getting her in trouble.

What the fuck does it matter to me if she’s having a hard time.

O’Hara turns to me, seemingly sensing my distress. ‘And you’re to give testimony soon, right?’

‘Yes,’ I mutter hesitantly.

‘Well then. I think that you’re first on the list of people who stand to gain from framing our Roisin for this,’ he says.

I narrow my eyes. What the fuck is he..

‘And if you did that, it would be a very long time in jail for you, and for that brother of yours, wouldn’t it?’

‘Sal didn’t set off that explosion. Or the one in Belarus,’ I snarl.

O’Hara’s eyebrows pinch. ‘Did I say anything about the explosion in Belarus?’

Fuck.

‘Well. I believe that in that situation, a certain Russian mob princess was captured. And, if this is to be believed, said princess is now about to be wed to one Liam MacAntyre?’

Shit.

The threads of what he’s spinning are finally coming together. I tilt my head. ‘You want me to help her.’

‘Aye.’

‘Why?’ I can’t help but ask.

O’Hara studies me. ‘Marco De Luca. Heir to a family name that died out in the 80s. Heir to a shipping company that’s been all but absorbed. Brother to a family that has essentially moved on. Even with the recent development of your Dino becoming the head of a certain cartel from Brazil, it seems that I no longer have anything to fear from you… and I have no use for you,’ he says quietly.

It’s like a fucking slap in the face.

I bristle, and O’Hara chuckles. ‘Aye, bluster all you want, but it’s the truth. You’ve somehow worked yourself out of a job, setting up cozy lives for all your siblings. And don’t mistake me, I’ve seen the chess games you’ve played with your siblings. They’re well done,’ he winks. ‘However, you’ve created a place for everyone except yourself. You can choose to help our Roisin. Or, you can walk away.’

His words… hurt.

Each one is like a fucking cut.

But strangely, it’s like being punched in the face by a friend.

He’s not wrong.

It’s why I feel so empty. He’s absolutely right. I’ve essentially created a place for myself where I don’t exist inside the life that my family does. I have worked myself out of a job. Out of a life. I’ve done things to set everyone else up… except myself.

I did it, and I literally made them into a perfect fucking picture.

Without me.

Elio’s offer to bring me ‘back into the fold’ burned at my heart, and I didn’t at the time know why.

But now, I do.

And somehow, this ancient Irish cop was the only one to see it.

I don’t know what to do with this information, and the anger that’s clutching at my throat threatens to choke me.

O’Hara, to his credit, seems to smirk. I know that he knows he’s got me right where he wants me.

But fuck.

He’s not fucking wrong.

I’m seething, and Roisin’s eyes narrow. I can see her pick herself up and puff her chest, like she’s going to defend me.

Her pretty mouth opens. ‘Marco is a valuable asset-‘

‘Marco is nothing now. Marco De Luca is as valuable as a newborn kitten to our work. He’s irrelevant, now,’ O’Hara snaps.