Forged In Fire의 모든 챕터: 챕터 1 - 챕터 10

JAMESONThe whiskey burned going down, which was the only goddamn thing going right today.I sat across from my grandfather in his study—my study, or at least it should've been by now—watching him swirl his own glass like he had all the time in the world. Brendan Connelly had always been a patient man. Strategic. The kind of bastard who'd wait three years to settle a score if it meant the revenge would be sweeter.Right now, I wanted to throw my drink at his smug face."You're telling me," I said slowly, keeping my voice level even though my jaw was tight enough to crack teeth, "that I can't take over this family—my family—unless I get married.""That's exactly what I'm telling you, boyo." Brendan's Irish brogue was thicker when he was being particularly stubborn. Which meant it was thick as mud right now.I leaned back in the leather chair, the same one I'd sat in as a kid while he taught me how to read people, how to negotiate, how to know when someone was lying and when they were j

CATARINAIf there were a hell specifically designed for women like me, it would look exactly like Bella Sposa Bridal Boutique.All white silk and champagne flutes and mirrors that reflected back a version of myself I barely recognized. The air smelled like expensive perfume and desperation, and every surface gleamed with the kind of polish that screamed old money and tradition and know your place.I hated every inch of it."Catarina, tesoro, you must try this one." My mother, Rosa Vitale, held up what could only be described as a wedding cake masquerading as a dress. Layers upon layers of tulle and lace, with a train that probably required its own zip code. "It's Vera Wang. The designer herself recommended it for you.""It looks like I'd need a forklift to walk down the aisle," I said flatly."It's elegant." Rosa's voice had that edge to it—the one that said I was being difficult again, disappointing her again, failing to be the daughter she'd always wanted. "It's what a Vitale bride

CATARINAThe dress was a fucking nightmare.I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my childhood bedroom, staring at the monstrosity of white silk and lace that had taken three people to wrestle me into. The bodice was so tight I could barely breathe, the skirt so voluminous I couldn't see my own feet, and the train—Christ, the train was at least six feet long and weighed what felt like twenty pounds.I looked like a wedding cake. An expensive, suffocating, ridiculous wedding cake."Oh, mia bella," my mother sobbed from somewhere behind me. "You look so beautiful. So perfect."I caught her reflection in the mirror—Rosa Vitale, matriarch of our family, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief while she gazed at me like I was some kind of masterpiece.She had no idea how much I wanted to take one of my blades to all this fabric."Mama," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "I can't move in this thing.""You don't need to move," she said, still crying. "You just need to walk d

CATARINAI woke to sunlight streaming through the gauzy pink curtains and immediately wanted to set them on fire.The bedroom was still too feminine, too soft, too not me. But that wasn't what made my stomach clench as I stared at the ceiling.It was the memory of last night.Of Jameson standing in my doorway, watching me destroy my wedding dress with a blade in my hand.Of the way his eyes had tracked over my body, cataloging every weapon, every holster, every piece of evidence that I was not the spoiled princess he'd assumed I was.Fuck.I sat up, running my hands through my tangled hair. The remains of my wedding dress were still scattered across the floor—white silk and lace in shredded pieces, like the corpse of some elaborate lie.He'd seen the weapons. All of them. Or at least enough of them to know I was carrying serious hardware under that dress.

JAMESONThe study smelled like leather, whiskey, and old money.Three generations of Connelly men had conducted business in this room. My great-grandfather had built the empire from this desk. My grandfather had expanded it, fortified it, turned it into something that commanded respect—and fear—across Chicago's underworld.And now it was mine.I stood in front of the massive mahogany desk, my hands clasped behind my back, watching as the last of the senior family members filed into the room. Uncle Issac. Cousin Declan. My father's old lieutenant, Sean Murphy. A handful of others who'd proven their loyalty over decades of service.And Brendan, of course. Sitting in the leather chair behind the desk like a king on his throne, watching me with those sharp blue eyes that missed nothing.This was it. The moment I'd been working toward my entire life.Leadership. Control. Power.