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The name lands heavily between us, like a rock dropped into still water. “No fucking way. O’Reilly told us he was the best.”
“We don’t have proof, but who else would it be? O’Reilly was digging around too much. He kidnapped his son.” Callum leans against the wall, his posture tense. “I just hope he didn’t speak before—”
“No,” I snap back at him. “He wouldn’t dare come for us.”
Callum shakes his head. “You know how they operate. If they think someone knows too much, then it’s always torture them first, find out what they know, and then kill them. If Vincenzo killed him, he knows about you.”
I rush to my feet, pacing the length of my office like a caged animal. “Fuck! We should never have met him. We should have remained incognito.”
“Trouble is, you don’t think like them.” Callum hesitates as he stares out of the window at the city night lights. “Hopefully, O’Reilly never left a trail that leads back to us.”
I laugh, though it’s hard. “Like you said, they torture first to get what they want and then kill.”
“The Irish community in Boston is vast,” Callum replies, trying to keep calm while I’m losing my mind. “And apparently, O’Reilly also left a trail of disgruntled Italians in his path.”
I growl under my breath, frustration boiling inside me like molten lava. I turn to look out the window for a moment, my mind racing. “I need to talk to Amelia,” I finally say, dread settling in my chest like a dropped anchor.
“West—”
“She needs to know,” I insist.
“You think she can handle this?” Callum challenges.
This is spiraling out of control faster than I can keep up with—and Amelia is caught right in the middle of it all.
“She can handle it,” I shoot back, my voice rising with panic and anger combined.
I stroke her hair, letting my fingers glide through the soft strands. The morning light spills into the room, casting a warm glow over Amelia’s sleeping form.
She stirs, turning on the mattress. Her lips part. I lean in and press a gentle kiss against them.
“Morning,” I whisper when her eyes flutter open.
She blinks sleepily, a smile creeping onto her face. “Morning.”
As she stretches, I can’t help but admire how beautiful she looks in the soft morning light. Even the shadows under her eyes from not sleeping since she ran are fading away.
“I have something to tell you,” I say, my voice steady but serious. “It’s not good news.”
Her brow furrows as she sits up, wrapping the sheets around her. “What is it?”
I take a breath, gathering my thoughts before laying it all out there. “You know I hired a man to take care of Vincenzo.”
Her expression shifts from curiosity to alarm in an instant. “Is Vincenzo dead?”
“No,” I say, keeping my tone even to not alarm her.
Panic flashes across her face as she pulls the sheets tighter around herself. “Then what is it?”
“The man I hired met his fate instead.”
“What?” Her voice rises an octave, fear in her eyes. “Did Vincenzo kill him?”
“Don’t panic.” The urgency creeps into my tone. “It’s just a setback. I’ll find someone else.”
She bites her lip, visibly struggling to process this new information. Finally, she looks away and murmurs, “That’s why I agreed to your deal.”
“What do you mean?”