Free Passion (Mafia Ties: Brandon & Carly Book 3) by Fiona Davenport Page B

try.
    “Getting one of my guys to flip was a smart move on your part.” I figured flattery couldn’t hurt. He was a guy after all. “How long has Greg been working for you?”
    Silence hung in the air around me, long enough that I started to think he wasn’t going to answer, then the intercom crackled to life.
    “It was fecking brilliant, is what it was.”
    Note to self , not only was he delusional if he thought I was going to marry him, he was also an arrogant asshole.
    “It wasn’t even hard, getting him ta turn on ya after bringing the fecking DeLuca enforcer inta the fold. Your da is probably turning in his grave at the mockery you’ve made of the O’Reilly family.”
    The idea of managing to piss my father off in his grave was something that made me insanely happy, but I didn’t think Sean would appreciate hearing that. It sounded like he’d looked up to the man I’d grown to hate. In a strange way, it kind of made sense since my da had planned to marry me off to Sean.
    “I’m sure you’re right.”
    “Damn straight, I am. If only ya would’ve listened to me at your da’s wake and honored his promise to me, I wouldn’t have had ta resort to this!” What had started as barely more than a whisper, ended in a roar. It appeared as if he really did blame me for not wanting to marry the man to whom my da had basically sold me.
    “Resort to what?” I asked, hoping he’d slip up and clue me in on his plan since he was so pissed off.
    “You’ll find out,” he uttered in a menacing tone.
    I didn’t like the sound of that. “Where are you taking me?”
    “Far away from that rat bastard who stole ya from me, that’s where.”
    Holding back my defense of Brandon, I bit my lip so hard that it started to bleed. His reply didn’t give me even the tiniest hint of where he was taking me. I’d been hoping for a little information since I didn’t have any weapons. And it looked like my time had run out since we were pulling into a location which was very familiar to me, an airstrip with a private hangar which should have been under O’Reilly control—a place where my and Brandon’s word was supposed to be law. Yet, Sean drove right in like he owned the place. Heads were going to fucking roll once I got out of this mess.
    The limo rolled to a stop, and I cast a final, frantic glance around, hoping to find something I could use to protect myself. My gaze landed on a wine bottle opener, and I scuttled across the seat to reach for it as the driver’s door slammed shut. I wrapped my fingers around it and slipped it under the blue garter on my left thigh. The skirt of my dress slid back into place over my legs just as the door opened, revealing Sean standing there with a gun aimed at my head.
    “I won’t take any of yer fecking bullshit, Carly. You put up a fight, and I’ll shoot ya.”
    “You can’t force me to marry you if I’m dead,” I reminded him.
    “True,” he agreed, lowering his aim to my knees. “But there’s lots of places I could shoot ya without killin’ ya—assumin’ I get ya some medical attention.”
    I had to assume that the blood loss and trauma from a non-lethal shot might cause me to lose the baby. It left me with no other option than to climb out of the car and do as Sean said. For now, anyway.
    “Please don’t shoot me,” I whispered as I neared him. It galled me to do so, but I placed my hand in his free one and let him help me out. As I straightened, my eyes narrowed on Greg as he climbed back into the front of the limo, tossing me a smug grin through the window. The bastard had been smart enough to leave the reception hall with me, which meant Brandon wouldn’t have any leads on my whereabouts.
    The same limo driver who’d picked me up this morning stumbled out of the small office, buttoning up his pants and then swiping a finger under his nose. A scantily clad woman followed behind him, teetering on a pair of ridiculous heels as she tottered over to where Sean and