The Mafian's Reluctant Bride

ck nine, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. My father, Reginald Thompson, stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his eye

ooth, but I could detect the undercurrent of tension. "Your mother is anxious to begin pr

more than just a social event – it was a calculated maneuver in the game of high-stakes politics and bus

was something he wasn't telling me, something that lurked beneath the surfac

ice barely above a whisper.

nd then he nodded. "Good. I'll have your mother

a glimpse of something in my father's eyes – a flicker of worry, of concern. It was gone in

refusing to be shaken off. I couldn't help but wonder what was bothering m

y laying out my clothes for the evening. "Miss Rory, your mother has sent up the dress

my father's strange behavior. As Emma helped me into my dress, I couldn't shake off th

ght of normalcy, a knock at the door interrupted us. Emma answer

ou for a moment," she said, her eyes s

rt racing with anticipation. What did my mother want

She glanced at Emma, who was still busy adjusting my dress, and then back at me.

and me alone. My mother's eyes scanned the room once more, as if she was c

out something," she said, her voice bare

art racing with anticipation. What could be so impor

ations. Her eyes moved around the room, as if searching for an escape from the conversation. "There have been some... setbacks," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Investments that didn'

ess was the backbone of our family's wealth and influence. If it

with some people to try and secure our family's futu

nd of people was my father negotiating with? A

words out loud. "Rory, darling, I need you to be careful tonight," she said, her voice low and urgent.

ind racing with questions. What kind of people wou

heir depths. "Just be careful, darling," she whispered, before turning a