Bought By The Irish Mafia Boss

Chapter 2 CillianI don’t believe in fate. I believe in control. In power. In making decisions before anyone else even realizes there’s a choice to be made. That’s how you stay alive in my world. That’s how you stay on top.Which is exactly why I’m here. Not for the spectacle. Not for the fucking entertainment. And definitely not for the pathetic excuses of men sitting in this room pretending this is just another night.I’m here to buy a wife. Not a real one. Not one I have to trust. Not one who’ll smile at me while planning how to ruin me behind my back. I’ve seen too much of that shit. Lived through it. Buried people for it. No. I need something simple. Controlled. Clean. An heir. That’s it. Someone to carry my name. My blood. And I need a woman who won’t be used against me to get it. No family. No power. No connections. No leverage.A stranger. Bought. Owned. Temporary. Safe. That was the plan.Then she walked onto that stage. Christ. She doesn’t belong here. Not in the way the

ElenaI stay where I am for a second longer than I should, my back still pressed against the wall, my lungs working too hard as I try to steady my breathing. My heart hasn’t slowed since the auction. Since the car. Since him. Every word he said is still sitting in my head, sharp and suffocating: marriage, heir, mine, and I hate how real it sounded when he said it, like this isn’t some insane mistake that will be corrected any second now, but something already decided.I push myself off the wall, forcing my legs to move even though they feel unsteady beneath me. Standing still isn’t helping. Thinking isn’t helping. I need to do something, even if it’s just walking. The penthouse stretches out in front of me, wide and open, floor-to-ceiling windows spilling city lights across polished surfaces that look too perfect to touch. Everything here is cold, controlled, expensive in a way that doesn’t just show wealth, it shows power. Nothing is out of place. Nothing is accidental. It feels les

CillianShe pulls the handle three times before she accepts it. I watch every second of it.The way her hand tightens, the way her shoulders rise with each attempt, the way frustration bleeds into something sharper when the door doesn’t give. She doesn’t panic the way most would. Doesn’t collapse into tears or start screaming like that would somehow change the outcome. No… she thinks. Even now. Even trapped, she’s trying to understand the limits of the cage I just put her in.Fuck. She’s going to be trouble.I lean back slightly in the chair, one arm resting against the desk as the screen in front of me holds her in perfect clarity. Every room in this place is covered. Every angle accounted for. She doesn’t know that yet. She thinks she’s alone in there, that she’s got a moment to breathe, to figure things out. She doesn’t. Not really. She never will.Declan sits across from me, going over numbers, speaking about shipments, routes, things that would normally have my full attention. He

CillianI know the second I step into the room that Ronan got to her first.Not because he says anything. He doesn’t have to. I can read it in the way she’s standing in the middle of the kitchen like she’s braced for impact, all rigid shoulders and lifted chin, as if sheer stubbornness can hold the world back.Her eyes cut to me the moment I enter, and there’s something new in them beneath the anger. Not submission. Not even close. But a sharper awareness. A better understanding of where she is and what kind of men she’s surrounded by. Ronan did his job. He rattled her without breaking her, and now she’s looking at me like she’s trying to decide whether I’m the bigger threat or just the one with the better suit. The answer should be obvious.Ronan leans back against the counter with his coffee in hand, too casual for the tension packed into the room. Liam stands near the windows, silent as ever, his attention nowhere and everywhere at once. Declan is gone, probably already downstairs

CillianShe doesn’t do what I tell her. I know that before I even open the door.She’s by the window, still in the silk pajamas I had sent up to her. Dark hair loose around her shoulders, bare feet against the polished floor, morning light tracing the outline of her body in pale gold. I lean against the doorframe instead of walking straight in. The file rests in one hand, loose and unthreatening, though we both know I don’t carry things I don’t intend to use. “You didn’t get dressed.”Her eyes flick once to the folder in my hand and then back to my face. “I’m not taking pictures with you.”“You don’t get to decide that,” I say calmly.A humorless laugh leaves her. “You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”I push off the doorframe and walk toward her, slow enough that she has time to watch me coming. She doesn’t move back. That would almost impress me if it didn’t annoy the fuck out of me at the same time. She’s still trying to win ground she doesn’t have. Still acting