The first thing everyone notices about me is how pretty I am.

It's fucking annoying.

Right now, Doyle's bleeding all over my favorite boots, and he still can't stop staring at my face like some lovestruck idiot. The razor in my hand finally drags his attention downward.

"You..you don't have to do this," he whimpers. His left eye's already swollen shut from earlier.

I sigh and crouch until we're eye level. "See, that's where you're wrong." My free hand grabs his hair, yanking his head back. "You sold our shipment routes to the Morettis. Twelve men died because you wanted extra spending money."

Behind me, I hear Sean choke. Kid's barely twenty so he still gets queasy at the messy stuff.

"Jesus," he whispers. "How's someone with such a fucking pretty face be so goddamn vicious?"

"Look at me," I say to doyle but he won't. His eyes keep darting to the razor in my hand. So I grab a fistful of his greasy hair and force his head up. "There. That's better."

Doyle's breathing comes in short, panicked bursts. "Aidan, I swear—"

I drag the razor across his cheek before he can finish. Not deep enough to kill. Just enough to make him scream.

"Names," I say. "Or we do this the hard way."

When he hesitates, I break his pinky finger. The snap is satisfying. His scream even more so.

"Christ," muttered Sean, one of the younger enforcers. "Pretty face like that, and he’s carving a man up like Sunday roast."

"Shut your mouth," Oisin, my second-in-command, snapped. But even he couldn’t help the way his gaze lingered on my sharp feature the delicate jawline, the full lips that should’ve belonged to some society darling, not a killer.

Doyle shook his head violently, sweat dripping down his bruised face. "I didn't know it was them, I swear on my life—"

I backhanded him hard enough to split his lip again, The sound of my hand connecting with Doyle's face echoed through the empty warehouse as his head snapped sideways with enough force to make his neck crack, and when he turned back to look at me with those terrified eyes, blood was already pouring from his split lip, as his spat out his teeth.

"Lying makes this take longer," I murmured, pressing the cold blade under Doyle's right eye. "Tell me who else was involved, or I'll take your eyes first. Then your tongue. Then your fingers, one joint at a time."

I looked down at the tooth on the floor, then back up at Doyle's ruined face, watching as a thin line of blood trailed from the corner of his mouth down to his trembling chin, and I couldn't help but smile, slow and sweet like I was looking at something beautiful instead of a man who was about to die.

"You know," I said, tilting my head to the side as I studied him, "I always heard you were a tough guy, Doyle." I nudged the tooth with the toe of my boot, sending it across the floor. "Guess rumors really are just that rumors."

Doyle's crying now. "McCann! It was McCann's idea!"

Behind me, someone whispered, "God help me, but he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," and I didn't need to turn around to know they were talking about me.

I leaned in close, close enough that my lips nearly brushed Doyle's ear as I whispered, "This is going to hurt," and then I slid the razor across his throat in one smooth motion, watching as the blood welled up bright and red before spilling over in a rush, soaking his shirt, his pants, the chair beneath him, until there was nothing left but the sound of his gurgling breaths.

When I turned around, wiping my hands clean on a handkerchief pulled from my pocket, every man in the room looked away, too scared to meet my eyes, too scared to admit they'd been staring at my face instead of my hands.

I smiled, slow and easy, and tucked the bloodstained razor back into my coat.

Let them look.

Let them see.

Pretty faces hide the deadliest secrets.

The blood was still on my hands when my father’s men found me.

“The boss wants you,” one muttered, eyes darting away from my face like always.

I didn’t bother cleaning up. Let him see what his perfect heir had done.

My father sat behind his desk with his hands crossed. The glass of whiskey in front of him was untouched.

“You let Doyle scream too long,” he said. No greeting. No praise for handling the rat. Just cold disapproval.

I clenched my jaw. “He talked.”

“And every ear in the docks heard him.” His fist slammed down, making the glass rattle. “You’re supposed to be Aidan, not some bloodthirsty animal. Control yourself.”

My father’s face turned even darker. “you gave him time to warn others! McCann’s gone because of your hesitation!"

I didn’t flinch. “I’ll find him."

“Sit.”

I sat.

He pushed the whiskey toward me. “Drink.”

I didn’t move.

His smile was thin. “Now.”

The first sip burned. The second tasted wrong. Bitter. I never drank alcohol because it was bitter but of course he didn’t know that.

“You’ll do more than that." His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “You’ll marry Natalia Volkov next month."

The words hit me like a bullet.

“What?"

“The Russians want an alliance. You’ll give them one." He finished coldly

My stomach twisted. "No."

His laugh was ice. “You don’t get to refuse."

“I’m not some bargaining chip—"

“You’re not a woman either!" He lunged forward, yanking my wrist so hard I felt the bones grind. His breath reeked of cigars. “You stole your brother’s life when he died. You don’t get to refuse his duties too.” “You’re Aidan O’Connor. And men don’t get choices.”

My heart cracked at the mention of my beloved brother. But I didn’t have time to feel.

"You expect me " I jabbed a finger at my chest, the movement sharp enough to make my father's guards tense, "to marry a woman? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

My father didn't even blink. "Natalia Volkov expects a husband. You'll be one."

The laugh that tore from my throat was raw. "And how exactly is that supposed to work? You think the Russians won't notice when their precious daughter's husband can't even"

"Enough!" His fist slammed down hard enough to make the decanter rattle. "Do you think this is a joke? That mafia alliances care about what happens in a bedroom?"

"They'll care when there's no heir!" I shot back. My pulse roared in my ears. "Or did you forget I don't have the right equipment for that?"

A dangerous quiet filled the room. My father stood slowly, the way a predator circles wounded prey.

"You listen to me, Aidan," he hissed, my stolen name a weapon in his mouth. "The Volkovs don't need a son-in-law who can fuck. They need a pretty face tied to their family. And you?" His laugh was ice. "You've been playing dress-up as a man for twenty years. Time to earn your keep."

The words hit like a slap.

"I didn't choose this!" The confession ripped out of me. "You made me into this thing—"

"And you'll keep being it." He grabbed my wrist, fingers digging into the pulse point. "Your brother died. You took his place. That means his duties too."

I wrenched free, but the room tilted violently. The whiskey. He'd—

"Poetic, isn't it?" My father's voice slithered through the fog. "All those times we had to drug your lovers to keep them quiet. Now here you are."

The world tilted violently as the drug hit my bloodstream. My knees buckled, and I barely caught myself on the edge of my father's desk.

"Oisin," my father's voice came from somewhere far away. "Take him to the bride."

Strong hands grabbed my arms. I lashed out blindly, my fist connecting with something solid. A grunt. Good.

"Easy, boss," Oisin's familiar rasp came through the fog. His grip tightened, hauling me upright. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

I tried to snarl, but my tongue felt thick and useless.

"You... bastard..." I slurred, fighting to keep my eyes open. "Knew... knew you were... his dog..."

Oisin's jaw clenched. He adjusted his grip, his fingers digging into my bicep hard enough to bruise. "Better his dog than a dead man," he muttered. "And you'd be dead if anyone else found out what you are, I can’t stay on an unstable ship”.

A woman stood by the bed, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder. "Oh," she purred. "He's even prettier up close."

Oisin shoved me forward. I stumbled, crashing to my knees on the plush rug.

"Enjoy your wedding night," he said flatly before the door clicked shut behind him.

Her fingers caught my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. "Don't look so scared, moy prints ," she murmured, thumb brushing my lower lip. "I don't bite... much."

The door clicked shut.

Locked.

She ran her fingers through my hair, tilting my head back. I tried to pull away, but my body wasn't mine anymore.

"Don't worry, she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "I know exactly what to do with a reluctant husband."