Frank is in Torin's office by the time we redress and enter. He's nursing a scotch, narrow fingers grasping at the glass with an arrogant flare. His smug smirk infuriates me to the point of red, hot rage. I want to take his drink and shove it up his—

"Where is she?" demands Torin.

"Safe," insists Frank. "For now."

"Listen here, you little prick..." I begin, burning hot. "If Maeve so much as has a scratch on her body, I'll fucking end you."

Torin intervenes, taking a much calmer approach. "What do you want, Frank?"

"I'm glad you asked," replies the arsehole. "Just a simple exchange, really."

"Go on," probes Torin, slowly losing his patience.

"A wedding," states Frank. "Tomorrow."

He sips his scotch, taking gratification from our shocked expressions.

"Maeve will see no harm, so long as you comply."

My insides churn the longer I stare at this man and his absurd demands.

"And that's it?" I ask. "We're supposed to just take your word for it?"

"I'm a man of my word, Imogen. You of all people should know that."

Slapping a mafia boss in the face is hardly the answer, but that doesn't stop me from doing it. My mother's famous mantra is nowhere to be seen as my palm connects with his stubbled cheek. The sound is almost as satisfying as the brief show of shock on Frank O'Neil's pathetic face. I rear my hand back and make a fist, fully prepared to compliment his other cheek with a punch but am stopped by Torin capturing both my arms.

"You're a piece of fucking shit, Frank!"

"So I'm told."

"No wonder your son is a disgrace with a father like you!"

His smug expression vanishes.

"Mine was far from perfect, but at least he tried to bring us up with morals!" I yell.

"Morals?" He laughs. "He raised a psychopath, sweetheart!"

"And you raised a rapist," I inform.

Frank simply rolls his eyes, unbothered by my declaration.

"Aidan is no better than Shane and your family is a fucking joke."

"My family has offered you nothing but kindness," he spits, cheek already bruising. "And you'll repay us by doing your duty."

"My duty?"

I feel sick.

"Yes," he snarls, stepping into my personal space. "You can start by shutting the hell up and spreading your legs, you fucking whore."

Torin tenses.

"Who knows, maybe my son will be open to sharing you with me."

Torin pounces on him, squeezing his neck to drain the life out of him. Frank's men infiltrate, only getting so far with Nathan blocking their path.

"If you kill him, we'll kill the girl," offers the soldier Nathan currently has in a chokehold.

Torin—too far gone—ignores the warning.

"T..."

I yank on his arm, freeing Frank from a death well deserved.

"Emotions are high, I can see," splutters Frank, struggling to catch his breath.

Torin's handprint is embedded onto his neck, the sight only slightly satisfying.

"Like I said, I'm a man of my word. You have tonight to say your goodbyes."

Frank gestures for his men to drop their guard, making it perfectly clear he has no need for their assistance.

"You will marry my son tomorrow, Imogen. Or I'll kill Maeve."

I want to protest, but I keep my mouth shut.

"And believe me, I'll make it slow and painful."

My head spins at the thought. The vile lengths this man will go to for the sake of his family and its stupid, fucking legacy is truly sickening. I should never have agreed to this. Involving myself in mafia affairs—no matter what—was never going to end well.

"Oh, and one more thing," he continues, downing the rest of his drink and grabbing his suit jacket. "Torin will be giving you away, seeing as your own father can do no such honour."

Torin—still in a murderous daze—simply remains silent.

"Anything else?" I ask, voice dripping in distain.

"No. Those are my only demands." He signals to his minions. "I'll be seeing you both tomorrow morning, bright and early."

As he leaves, he whistles the tune to White Wedding, prompting me to grab his empty scotch glass and haul it at the closed door. Taking my anger out on inanimate objects seems like my only option right now. Not that it does much in the sense of calming me down. Torin—on the otherhand—stares straight ahead, jaw ticking in time with the many, manythoughts no doubt plaguing his mind.

"Get Reaper."

"Yes, boss!" Nathan practically sprints from the office, forgetting to close the door behind him.

Both mine and Torin's heavy breathing is the only sound present as we await Reaper's arrival. I'm too stunned to speak. Too scared to even think.

"Boss?"

Reaper is the true embodiment of dishevelled, but at least he's sobered up enough to stand without swaying.

"Find Eva and bring her here," demands Torin. "I need her brother's endorsement to kill Frank and his fucking family once and for all."

"Eva and I aren't speaking right now, boss" replies Reaper, eyes sad and distant.

Torin offers his friend little to no sympathy. "I don't give a fuck. Bring her here."

"What are you doing?" I ask, pulling on Torin's arm.

Reaper sighs, gaze meeting mine. "What he does best. Barking out orders and getting his own way."

Torin turns murderous, gaze lethal. "Watch your fucking tone, brother."

"Or what?" challenges Reaper, meeting his stubbornness head on.

Torin seps forward, purposely bumping this shoulder with Reaper's chest. I watch as he stumbles back, unprepared for Torin's force. Instead of leaving it there, Reaper retaliates, deliberately picking a fight for no reason other than he's in the mood for it.

"Don't," warns Torin, tone dangerously low.

Reaper ignores him and pushes back, flexing his fingers as though physically itching to punch him.

"Enough!" I snap, inserting myself between them and pushing on Reaper's chest. "You two can have your domestic later. Right now, we've got bigger problems to solve."

Torin ignores me, too focused on the logistics of killing a mafia boss in plain sight to pay my request much attention.

"Isn't that right, Torin?"

He reaches for his phone, bringing up Cillian's contact details.

"T..."

"Don't worry, Imogen. Let me handle this."

"No."

"No?"

Reaper smirks, amused.

"This is Maeve's life we're talking about here," I stress. "Not an opportunity to start another war between families."

"But—"

"She is our daughter. We have no choice but to give Frank what he wants."

Reaper's smile vanishes, fists clenching. "Frank threatened Maeve?"

"He more than fucking threatened her," I share. "He's taken her."

"Where?"

Torin sighs. "Does it matter? She's not here and Frank will pay."

"Well—shit," offers Reaper. "I feel bad for pushing you now."

"You should feel bad," replies Torin, quirking a brow.

Reaper looks horrified, all previous pettiness gone. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Be efficient."

"Right!"

He heads towards the door, no doubt going in search of Eva.

"You're not murdering Frank," I tell him.

"I have to," he replies, sounding desperate.

"No, you don't," I stress. "There are other ways to get her back. Safer ways."

"No."

"I'll marry Aidan—"

"No!"

"Yes, Torin," I state, gently placing the palm of my hand over his mouth, hoping to shut him up for a moment. "It's the logical thing to do."

"I can't let you marry him," he whispers, lightly taking hold of my waist.

"You have to," I stress. "It's the only way we can guarantee getting her back in one piece."

He says nothing because he knows I'm right.

"Besides, you're not a killer, Torin."

"Yes I am. I've killed before."

"That was different," I insist. "You had just cause."

His grip on my waist intensifies as he argues, "This is just cause! You are just cause!"

"No, I'm not!" I protest. "And I'd never expect you to kill someone for my happiness—"

"Imogen—"

"I could never live with myself. You could never live with yourself."

"That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

"Well, I'm not," I state, taking hold of his face. "Because I refuse to live in a world where Torin O'Brien is miserable as fuck."

My grip on his face intensifies to the point of sheer desperation.

"If I let you marry Aidan, I will be miserable as fuck," he says.

"As miserable as you'd be if we willingly let harm come to Maeve?"

"Angel—"

"It's a piece of paper, Torin."

"It's more than that and you know it."

I sigh, feeling the true weight of his words. The harshness of my brutal reality. Torin is fighting with everything he has to alter the outcome and it breaks my heart to counter every single one of his suggestions.

"I need you to be on my side, T."

"I am on your side," he insists, taking hold of my face. "I'm always on your side."

Tears free fall down my cheeks, his tenderness overwhelming me.

"He has our baby, Torin."

"I know," he says, resting his forehead against mine. "We'll get her back."

"Safely?" I ask, practically pleading.

My stomach churns at the thought of Maeve, alone and scared.

"Yes, safely," he assures, pulling me tight against his chest.

I cling onto his words, taking comfort from his strength. His cooperation. I've never not spent the night with Maeve since the day she was born and the thought of doing so now makes me sick to my stomach.

"It's her birthday tomorrow!" I sob, clutching onto my chest.

"I know, baby."

"I'm scared, T."

"Don't be," he soothes, lightly caressing my back. "She's a tough kid and Louisa is with her."

I take comfort in knowing there's at least one adult with her who I trust.

"I have to marry him, T," I say, physically struggling to speak past the lump in my throat. "I have to marry Aidan tomorrow."

He squeezes me tighter and sighs. "I know."

"Will you let me?" I ask.

He says nothing.

"Torin, you have let me."

"I'm not sure I can," he admits.

"You can," I assure, lightly caressing his cheeks. "Maeve needs you to."

He pulls away and takes to pacing the length of his office, emotions high. Torin never could contain his feelings. When we were younger, he used to run the perimeter of the entire estate. Expelling his adrenaline through exercise is his way of coping. It's how I know when he's stressed.

"I need to know you won't do anything stupid. That you'll do anything to get our daughter back safely."

"Of course I will."

"Including letting me marry Aidan O'Neil?" I ask.

He halts his pacing, finally levelling his gaze with mine. His eyes are more tormented than ever. What usually resemble storms are now full-blown tornados, destroying everything in their wake. I desperately want to reach out and comfort him. To reassure him there are other ways to get Maeve back. But I don't. Because unless there's an option that will one hundred percent guarantee her safety, I simply won't do it. Torin won't either.

"FUCK!"

His anger is all the confirmation I need.

"FUCKKKKK!"

"T—"

His body is so tightly strung, I fear he'll snap any minute.

"Go punch a wall or something."

"No."

"Why not?" I ask, slowly approaching.

He grabs me by the waist and pulls me against his chest. "Because I'm not leaving you."

I melt into his muscles, protected by his strength. For now.

"Being a parent is fucking shit."

I laugh, the sound muffled due to my mouth being pressed up against Torin's shirt.

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do," he insists, wrapping his arms around me. "I didn't think I'd ever put anyone before you."

I pull back an inch, gazing up at him.

"Maeve comes first, T."

"Always," he confirms, breathless. "But you're a very, very close fucking second."

I smile, despite feeling crushed to my very core.

"Thank you," I whisper, too scared to attempt anything beyond that. "For putting Maeve before me."

I don't realise I'm crying until Torin lightly wipes underneath my eyes.

"You're not fucking welcome," he teases, subtly smiling.

I love that he smiles. That—even though this is tremendously hard for him too—he's still prioritising our playfulness. If we hold onto that, nothing and no one will get to us. Not even the harsh realities of mafia life. Torin and I may be destined for a life apart. Denied true happiness. But we'll always have what we had. We'll always know that our love for each other runs deep.

We'll always have Maeve holding us together somehow.