Shattered Hearts (Irish Kings #1)

2. Four months later

Chapter 2

Four months later

Riley

I step out of the taxi and stare up at the hulking gothic cathedral lurking between skyscrapers on a busy Manhattan avenue. I spent the past four months pushing Harper’s wedding into a dark recess of my mind as much as possible, but the day has finally arrived, and I’ve been summoned.

Inside the church’s atrium, an explosion of red and cream flowers greets me. I feel like I walked right into a two-page spread of a luxury wedding magazine.

Then I turn and nearly shriek when a giant canvas pops into my field of vision like an enormous jump scare. A photo of Finn and Harper, blown up to larger-than-life proportions. Harper’s Instagram smile next to Finn’s perpetual, brooding frown.

Nope. Not dealing with that right now.

I wind through the bowels of the cathedral until I find the antechamber doubling as the bridal suite. I push the heavy oak door. “Knock knock.”

As I round a corner, the first thing I see is Harper’s couture lace dress dripping down a mannequin near a vanity.

But the man seated at the mirror isn’t my sister.

My skin crawls as greedy, uncaring eyes sear my face, and my own eyes lock with my father’s. I haven’t been alone in a room with him in three years, and the last time…

I stifle a shudder and pivot toward the exit, but my father never ceases to shock me.

“Your sister’s disappeared.”

My feet stop moving. “I’m sorry?”

It sounded like he said Harper disappeared, but that can’t be right. My sister’s only been planning her wedding day since kindergarten, when she started coercing the other kids and me to take part in her pretend nuptials at recess and lunch. Guess who always played the bride? There’s no way she would ditch her magical day.

“This morning, I found this .”

I swing back around to face my father. A small slip of paper peeks out from between his thick fingers.

The blood drains from my face. A ransom note? Did one of the Kings’ enemies kidnap my sister for leverage? Or worse, revenge?

My nails stab my palms as I brace myself for the worst. Cold surprise washes over me when I find only two words on the note, written in my sister’s loopy script.

I’m sorry.

“She’s gone.” He spits the words like a curse.

I didn’t think my sister had it in her, but all evidence points to Harper running away. She escaped our crazy world on her own two feet. I almost applaud the glorious defeat on our father’s face.

He looks like shit, tension tucked into the creases of his face. Even in a tuxedo, he mirrors the ugly person he is on the inside. Only now, he’s ugly and tense because his favorite pawn took herself off his chess board.

A selfish and ridiculous part of me brings my attention to Finn being back on the market.

Not that I’m interested in him anymore. Not when he chose my twin as a bride.

I clear my throat to cover the incredulous laugh lodged in my throat. “Thanks for the update. Not sure what you expect me to do about it though.”

My father shoots to his feet without warning. “Watch your mouth.”

A frisson of fear sweeps over me, but I hold my ground. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. The expression on his face tells me he’s plotting something, and that he intends to rope me into his scheme somehow.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Right on cue, he opens his mouth. “Our family has a lot riding on this wedding. Shane wants his son to produce an heir. I’ve worked too damn hard to arrange this marriage for Harper to fuck it up by giving Finn time to rethink his choice.”

A chill slithers down my spine at his admission. “What does that have to do with me? I’m not the one who stood him up.”

He gives me a calculating glare that makes my skin crawl. “Everything today needs to go as planned. Which is why, for the next several hours, you are going to be your sister. You’ll act like Harper, and then whenever she screws her head on straight and comes back, she’ll marry Finn in private. No one outside of our families will ever be the wiser.”

And one day your grandson will be the heir to the Irish Kings. Power hungry bastard.

It takes serious work to school my incredulous face back to deadpan. “Out of the question.”

“I’m not asking.”

The cold steel of his voice brooks no arguments, and I take an involuntary step back from him.

“I’m not your daughter anymore, remember?” Throwing his words from the last time we spoke back in his face doesn’t carry nearly as much of the triumph as I’d imagined.

My father’s dark, powerful gaze is his weapon of choice. He doesn’t say a word, just levels me with the stare that’s no doubt caused countless men to crack.

“You owe me.” It takes conscious effort not to flinch at his growling words. “After all, you’re the reason we’re in this mess.”

Page one of the Thomas Brennan playbook. Guilt, trick, and manipulate to get your way. Nice to see nothing has changed.

“You’re blaming me because Harper ran out on her own wedding? And how do we know she didn’t get kidnapped, and someone forced her to write that note?”

“We don’t, but I agree it’s out of character for your sister. I’ve put out discrete feelers to that effect. On the other hand, you for sure fucked us three years ago. Bailing us out is the least you can do.”

My eyes bulge. Toxic loathing releases into my bloodstream. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking? Today you get to make amends, Riley. The less people who know about your sister’s disappearance, the better.” He jerks his chin toward Harper’s cupcake wedding gown. “Get changed. No one who matters will even know it’s you.”

“Hell no.” Cursing at my father brings on a heady lightness.

His cheeks flush red with anger and his expression turns ugly. I spin on my heel and march toward the door before?—

“If you refuse, any blood shed by innocents will be on your hands, Riley Brennan.”

I freeze yet again, this time with my fingers curled around the doorknob. Like a bear trap clamping down hard on my leg, biting through flesh straight to the bone, my father snares me again.

My father knows I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about saving his. But that doesn’t mean I’m indifferent to the lives of others, of innocents , who might get harmed in all of this.

How am I supposed to pull this off though? Harper and I may be identical twins on the outside, but our personalities highlight our stark differences. Even if I were to dress the part, people would sooner call the moon the sun than believe I am my effervescent, extroverted sister.

Plus, if I agree, I’m putting myself right back into their hands, albeit temporarily. Something I swore I’d never do again.

I suck in a breath and hold it before exhaling a cloud of stress. “What about Harper’s bridesmaids? I don’t think I’m a good enough actress to fool them right now.” Or ever.

“Already handled. I told them you wanted to wow them with your grand entrance, so they’re getting ready elsewhere.”

Yup. That sounds like something Harper would do. My twin loves to be the center of attention.

I hate this. “I’ll do it. Today only.”

Going against everything inside me in every respect, I drag myself toward Harper’s pristine wedding dress. My father lets himself out without another word.

When the door slides closed behind him, I collapse on the stool in front of the vanity. It takes a full minute of deep breathing before I have the nerve to look myself in the eye.

Shame snakes through me and robs me of my breath. I vowed I would never allow any man, especially mafia men, to use me ever again.

But here I am…breaking every promise I made to myself.

It’s for a good cause , my conscience suggests, but I want to punch my conscience in the face for feeding me that lie.

I peel off my dress and kick off my low heels, wincing at the ice-cold temperature of the stone floors in this old place. Someone left an empty reusable tote bag in here, and I commandeer it as the hiding place for my clothes, shoes, purse, and cell phone before drifting toward the bridal mannequin.

Climbing into my sister’s monstrous wedding gown—an explosion of lace, tule, ribbons, and bows—I know exactly why I caved and decided to go along with this. Not because I believe that doing this will save anyone.

Because of guilt. Not for screwing over my father and the Gallaghers three years ago or torpedoing their precious expansion plans…but for ever trying to be one of them. It’s the same reason I work at the women’s shelter.

I feel guilty I was ever a part of an organization run by men who perpetrate violence against others in the name of power, money, and greed. I hate that the desperate, lonely part of myself was willing to strive for acceptance, no matter how dirty my hands got. And worst of all? No matter how hard I tried, no matter what lengths I went to please my father, it was never enough. I was never enough.

If I’d been like Harper and found myself in a constant shower of praise and approval, I’m not sure I ever would have left. My values only shifted because I didn’t get everything I thought I wanted. That opened my eyes.

And that makes me feel…despicable.

I’ve deluded myself that helping other people in need—whether they know it or not, whether I’m really helping or just spinning my savior-complex wheels—is noble enough to redeem me. Decent enough to erase my past as a daughter of the Irish Mob.

But I’m wrong. I was wrong to agree to this. I’m even more wrong to be going through with it. Coming here today was a mistake, and I knew that from the start. Everything inside me begged me to stay home, but do I ever listen?

In the mirror, I place Harper’s diamond-studded hairband over my hair.

At what point did she decide to throw everything away and run? Did something happen to trigger that decision? Being forced to marry Finn Gallagher, perhaps? Or did they argue? Maybe she fled over a lover’s quarrel.

My stomach churns, but I force the feeling aside. Wherever Harper is now, is she happy? Safe?

A huge part of me is proud of my sister for finally having the courage to walk away from the only life she’d ever known. Though an equally large part is pissed simply because I’m about to do the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

The hairstylist and make-up artist knock on the door. I let them in and allow them to work their magic. When they finish, I see Harper staring back at me in the mirror. To blot out the smoky eyes and red lips, I pull the veil over my face.

My lungs constrict as I emerge from the room and my cousins gasp. They ply me with compliments in-between giggles and fluffing the back of my dress. One of them offers me Harper’s bouquet, a thick cluster of fresh, fragrant red roses bound together by ivory lace.

Musical notes cue the start of the procession. Together, Harper’s bridesmaids pair up with Finn’s three best friends and glide down the aisle. First Rory. Then Darren.

Before his turn, Cian smirks at me, and I get the strangest impression that he can see right through my ruse. “Break a leg.”

With a wink, he escorts our cousin Sophia into the church. That leaves my father and me.

I eye my father’s extended arm like it’s a snake. Sweat gathers on the back of my neck.

I can’t believe this is happening.

Today, I am the better daughter for the first time in my life. But instead of feeling victorious, I wish I could join Harper and run away too.