Twisted Destinies

Reborn on the eve of our weddings, my gentle cousin and I made a deal: we swap fiances.

She was too soft for the Boston underworld. In our last life, she was bullied to death by a mafia boss's 'innocent' little ward while trapped in a loveless marriage.

I was too wild for high society. My Wall Street husband despised my lack of manners, leading to a bitter divorce and my death on the streets.

Not this time.

“You marry the accountant and live a safe, happy life,” I told her. “I will take the Mafia Boss.”

I grew up fighting in the underworld. Let's see if that boss and his two-faced 'adopted sister' can survive me.

I woke up gasping for air. The cold New York rain lashed against the window. No blood. No gunshot wounds. I was sitting in my old childhood bed. 

I looked up. My cousin Cora stood in the doorway. She was pale, gripping the doorframe. 

Our eyes met. We didn't need to say a word. 

We were back. The night before our weddings. 

I kicked off the blankets. "I’m not letting you go back to him. We’re swapping." 

Cora panicked. She rushed in and grabbed my hands. "Fiona, no! You can't. The Flaherty family is a snake pit. And Marnie... the girl he keeps around... she’ll ruin you. I can't let you suffer what I went through." 

I pulled my leather suitcase from under the bed and threw it open. 

"Cora, listen to me," I said. I tossed in my dresses, then my silver hip flask, and finally, my loaded.38 revolver. "I grew up fighting on the Brooklyn docks. I know the business. You belong in a safe, quiet house." 

"But Eamon—" 

"Look at the facts," I told her, softening my voice just a little. "Arthur wants a perfect, quiet lady. You play the piano, you know the manners, you want a guy who comes home at five o'clock. You two are a perfect match."

"But Boston is dangerous..." Cora whispered.

"Yeah, and so am I," I smirked. "You were too soft for the mob. But me? I know how to run whiskey books, and I know how to throw a punch. I speak their language. If that little snake Marnie wants to play mind games, let her try. "

Cora looked up at me, her eyes red. "You're taking the bullet for me. Again."

"I'm taking control," I corrected her, snapping the suitcase shut. "If Eamon and I get along, we're partners. If he tries any bullshit? I’ll smash his whiskey cellar, put a bullet in his desk, and walk out. We Keating girls don't need a man to survive." 

I reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek. "You get your happy ending this time, Cora. Let me handle the trash."

Cora bit her lip. Tears streamed down her face. Finally, she nodded. 

An hour later, I was sprinting down the train platform. 

"Fiona! Miss Fiona, get back here!" 

Our old butler, Thomas, was chasing the midnight train to Boston. He waved his arms like a madman. "You’re giving up a Wall Street millionaire for a Boston thug! The boss will break your legs!" 

I leaned out the train window. 

"Tell Grandpa I'm going to Boston to marry Eamon Flaherty!" I yelled back over the roaring engine. "If that mob boss sucks, I’ll pack my gun and come home!"

Three days. Two trains and a ferry ride. 

When the boat finally hit the Boston docks, I wanted to die. I spent half the trip throwing up over the railing. 

I dragged my heavy suitcase down the wooden ramp. I leaned against a stack of crates at the mob checkpoint, waiting for the Flaherty crew. 

My head pounded. I just wanted a bed. 

Then, a whiny voice cut through the fog. 

"Eamon, it smells awful out here. The whiskey and the fish... it's making me sick. Do we really have to wait?" 

A girl stood a few feet away. She pressed a silk handkerchief to her nose, looking like a fragile little doll. I didn't need anyone to tell me who she was. Marnie Dugan. The fake white lotus who ruined Cora’s life. 

Next to her stood a man. Tall, broad-shouldered in a tailored dark overcoat, with a sharp jaw and cold eyes. Dangerously handsome, like a loaded gun. He scanned the crowd, looking right past me.

Eamon Flaherty. 

I was exhausted, sick, and out of patience. I grabbed my suitcase, marched straight up to him, and dug into my coat pocket. 

Smack. 

I threw the heavy gold Keating family crest ring right at his chest. He caught it fast, his dark eyes snapping down to me. 

"You're Eamon Flaherty?" I asked. My voice was hoarse. "I'm Fiona Keating. Your fiancée. Check the ring. Then get me a room with a hot bath. Now." 

Eamon didn't say a word. He just stared at me, his jaw clenching. 

But Marnie stepped back and grabbed Eamon’s sleeve. 

"Eamon..." she whispered. Her voice shook. Tears instantly filled her eyes. "Did I say something wrong? She looks so mad. She... she doesn't like me, does she? Maybe I shouldn't have come." 

This girl was already playing the victim. 

I crossed my arms and glared right at her. 

"Who the hell are you?" I snapped. 

Marnie froze. "What?" 

"I said, who the hell are you? You some kind of nobody?" I took a step closer, staring her down. "I just got off a boat, I'm talking to my fiancé, and you're crying about whether I like you? Are you crazy? Who gave you the right to interrupt me?" 

Marnie turned pale. She looked up at Eamon, her lips trembling. "I... I just..." 

"Shut it," I cut her off. "You have zero common sense. I just spent three days puking my guts out on a boat. Instead of making yourself useful, you're standing here crying for attention?"

I kicked my heavy leather suitcase toward her. "Carry my bag."