The Hermit (Mafia Empire Book 1)

Dominik Varga; 38. Grace Devlin; 32.

“My shoes are killing me,” I mutter to Ciara, my younger sister, before taking a sip of the semi-sweet wine in my glass.

I glance over the backyard that’s decorated with a ridiculous amount of pink balloons and flowers.

I hate pink.

Dad forced us to attend Kathleen’s birthday party, even though it’s her sweet sixteenth and we have nothing in common with the girl. Her father is one of Dad’s business associates, so we have no choice but to stand here and look like we’re enjoying ourselves.

“Remind me why we’re here again.” Ciara lets out a sigh, then steals my glass from my hand and drinks the last of the wine.

My eyes flick to the old brick mansion before scanning over the groups of guests.

“Because of Dad,” I mutter while letting out a sigh of my own. “We have to mingle with his business associates’ wives and daughters.”

Ciara hooks her arm through mine and tugs me toward the nearest server so she can hand him the empty glass.

Dressed in black and white uniforms, the servers are scattered between the guests, carrying trays loaded with drinks and snacks.

The teenagers have separated themselves from their mothers, leaving Ciara and me to stand awkwardly to the side.

“We’ve been here twenty minutes.” Ciara gives me a hopeful look. “That’s long enough, right?”

I shake my head. “We have to stay for an hour at the very least. Dad will notice if we’re home too soon.”

“In that case, I’m helping myself to another glass of wine,” she mutters. She signals for a server to come closer and says, “Can we have two glasses of semi-sweet wine, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl nods before walking off to get our order.

I notice Aisling McCool smiling in our direction and quickly curve my lips up into a smile so she doesn’t notice I’m not happy being here.

“Mom,” Kathleen calls out to her mother just as she begins to move toward us, drawing Mrs. McCool’s attention to the teenagers.

Thank God.

Honestly, I know very little about the McCools or any of Dad’s associates, for that matter. Even though I’ve grown up in the mafia, Dad has never allowed us to learn about the business.

Before Mom passed away from bronchitis, she used to attend all the social events. Since her death, Ciara and I have attended an event here and there.

“Are you enjoying the party?” a woman suddenly asks.

I glance over my shoulder, and it takes a moment before I’m able to recall the older woman’s name.

Turning toward her, I force a polite smile to my face as I reply, “Yes. It’s so good to see you again, Mrs. Beamish. I hope you’ve been well?”

She glances between Ciara and me, and without batting an eyelash, she flat-out asks, “How are you doing after losing your husband?”

His hand grips the back of my neck, and I’m shoved down to the floor.

I suck in a deep breath just as Ciara places a hand on my back, gently rubbing up and down.

My voice is strained as I answer, “I’m doing well.” The smile around my lips is tight, and I’m grateful for my sister’s support as I add, “Thanks for asking.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Beamish murmurs. “It must be terrible being a widow so soon after getting married.” Her gaze flicks to Ciara. “When will you get married, dear?”

He claws at the white chiffon, ripping the fabric from my body.

I suppress the memory and feeling overly protective of my sister, I mutter, “Not soon, if I have my way.” My tone is much harsher than I meant for it to be, and I quickly clear my throat.

Mrs. Beamish’s eyebrow pops up, and she gives me a surprised look. “I’m sure your father feels differently about the matter. The longer he waits to arrange a marriage for your sister, the harder it will be to find her a good husband, and of course, there’s the matter of having children. The sooner, the better.”

Before I can stop myself the words burst over my lips. “I hate that our worth is measured by whether we’re married and mothers. Women are so much more than just those two things.” I make sure to lock eyes with the older woman as I add, “My sister will not be forced to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Mrs. Beamish’s gaze narrows on me, and she raises her chin. “You know that’s not how things work in our world, dear.”

My temper flares more, and I feel a trembling start in my hands.

“I don’t care about how things work in our world. I only care about Ciara’s happiness.” I blindly take hold of my sister’s wrist and mutter, “Excuse us.”

Dragging her to the other side of the lawn, I let out a disgruntled huff before we come to a standstill near lush green shrubs that line the perimeter wall of the property.

Placing her hand on my bicep, Ciara gives me a comforting squeeze as she says, “Don’t let her get to you.”

“Easier said than done,” I grumble while shooting a glare in Mrs. Beamish’s direction. She’s already talking to another group of women, and when some of them glance in our direction, it’s clear she’s gossiping about us.

I don’t care what anyone thinks. I won’t allow Ciara to suffer the same as I did at the hands of my so-called husband.

When I was forced to marry Braden Mallon, my life took a drastic turn for the worse. I agreed to marry Braden so Ciara would never have to enter an arranged marriage.

Lucky for me, Braden was assassinated a year ago. Dad allowed me to change my last name back to Devlin, and since then, I’ve done my best to forget the two years I had to endure as that monster’s wife.

I wish I knew who killed him so I could send the person a thank you card.

“Stop thinking about that bastard,” Ciara says under her breath.

My gray eyes flick to her blue ones, and she gives me a pointed look. “You have that weird expression on your face again.”

I force a smile to my lips before glancing at the other guests.

I never told anyone about what happened during the two years I was married. Sometimes, I think Dad knew what Braden was doing to me, and he had the monster killed. I can’t bring myself to ask him, and he never broaches the subject. It’s as if we’ve silently agreed to never talk about it.

Even though it’s been a year, I still have nightmares. My panic attacks are silent, locking me in a daze where the memories torture me until I’m finally able to break free from them.

But it’s getting better, and I’m determined to forget the monster ever existed.

“Cupcake?” Ciara asks, her gaze scouring the dessert table.

“They’re pink,” I whisper.

Braden made me wear pink every day. He loved the color on me.

“I can wipe the icing off for you,” my sister offers.

Giving her a grateful smile, I shake my head. “No thanks.”

As the server walks toward us with the two glasses of wine Ciara ordered, an aggressive shout thunders over the backyard. “Everybody get down!”

My eyes fly toward a group of men pouring from the sliding doors and rushing around the sides of the house. One of the men drags a guard’s bloody body onto the patio, where he drops it.

Icy shock vibrates through me as it registers that we’re being attacked.

“Jesus,” I breathe, and not hesitating, I shove Ciara into the shrubs next to us.

“Grace,” she shrieks before she disappears into the greenery. I hear her hit the ground with a dull thud, the leaves rustling.

“Stay down,” I hiss, my eyes locked on the armed men moving between the groups of terrified women who quickly lower themselves to the ground.

Before I can think to join my sister in the shrubs, one of the assailants points a machine gun at me.

Dear God.

My muscles freeze, and I can’t make myself move while my eyes lock with his hostile ones.

Dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he walks toward me. Tilting his head, he growls, “Are you too good to lie down on the grass?”

No.

Rapid breaths burst over my lips.

I can’t move.

A weird sensation of prickles spreads over my skin while my vision narrows until all I see is the threat in front of me.

“What do you want?” I hear Mrs. McCool demand, and a second later, the sound of a gunshot makes my entire body jerk.

Some of the women scream, and others sob, but I can’t make a single sound.

“I want everyone to shut up and stay down,” a man orders.

My heart instantly pounds violently against my ribs, and breathing becomes near impossible.

“That’s one of Devlin’s daughters. Bring her,” the one who seems to be in charge demands loudly.

The assailant in front of me steps forward and grabs me by the arm. As I’m dragged toward the rest of the men, I’m too stunned to react.

“Where’s your sister?” the leader barks at me.

My lips part slightly, feeling dry as hell.

The one in charge steps closer and points the barrel of his gun right at my forehead. My eyes flick to the side, and seeing Mrs. McCool’s blood seeping into the manicured lawn, my body chills as the bitter reality of what’s happening fully sinks in.

I hear Kathleen crying, and someone whimpers.

My gaze turns back to the man in front of me and we lock eyes. There are gray strands in his black eyebrows. His black hair’s on the longer side, and lines form grooves on his face, telling me he’s easily over sixty.

He must’ve killed a lot of people in his lifetime.

He won’t hesitate to shoot me.

Somehow, by the grace of God, I find my voice, and when the words leave my lips, I’m surprised by how calm I sound.“My sister’s at home.”

He shakes his head, his eyes narrowing on me. “My informant told me you’re both at this party.”

My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips before I reply, “Your informant’s wrong. My sister is at home with a cold.”

His eyes leave me to glance at the other women, and I pray to all that’s holy, Ciara’s still between the shrubs. It takes all my willpower not to look over my shoulder to where I concealed her.

Stay down. Please.

“You’ll just have to fucking do.” Suddenly, the leader takes hold of my arm and orders loudly, “Move out!”

I’m tugged forward, and with every step I take toward the side of the house, the blood in my veins chills, and my muscles grow tenser.

When the front yard comes into view and I see one guard’s body after the other, my feet lock in position and refuse to take another step.

It’s weird. I don’t feel the heels pinching my toes anymore.

“Move!” the man barks.

Slowly, my eyes lift to his face, and I shake my head. “No.” The word is so soft, sounding more like a puff of air.

I have no idea how much time has passed since the men stormed the mansion, and somewhere deep in my mind, voices are fighting over whether I should do as I’m told or fight for my life.

God knows what comes over me, but I yank back against his hold on my arm. I know it’s no use to fight, but I refuse to submit so they can just take me.

Sadly, I can’t free my arm, and the moment I realize I’m done for, I expect my life to flash before my eyes. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, I feel an intense loss of the life I could’ve lived.

I brace myself, waiting for the gunshot, but instead, the barrel of a machine gun slams against the side of my head. Darkness dims my vision while a sharp pain instantly makes me feel dizzy and nauseated.

“Bring her!” I hear the one in charge order, his tone annoyed and cruel.

I fight to remain conscious as I’m hauled over someone’s shoulder. I manage to let out a groan, and weirdly, I’m aware of my hair swaying as I’m carried away from the mansion.

I hear voices rumble. Engines starting.

I’m tossed on a hard surface before I hear the trunk slam shut, plunging me into darkness.

Fear grips my heart as the vehicle starts to move, and I fight to keep my eyes open, but too soon, I lose the battle to remain conscious.