Page 100 of Broken Blood Ties

My hand moves without my brain at the moment, and I cup her face with my left hand, my thumb pressing into and caressing her plump lips. Her concern for Aoife does something to me.

She searches my face.

“No,” I say, taking another swipe before dropping my hand. “Why run to Boston?”

Summer steps back, and instantly I regret asking. Hands on the cart, she pushes it toward the clothing section. I follow her and watch as she shoves a few pairs of black leggings into the cart.

“I didn’t know where to go.”

I pause, looking at her while I grab an oversized cream sweater and put it in the cart.

She continues. “I was dumped on the side of the road. I had no idea where I was, or … what to do. Luna had just been dragged away in front of me. I was cold, scared, and penniless. I knew I wanted to get lost in a big city, but couldn’t get too far from New York, and I wanted something on the water for easy escape.”

I’m impressed. “I guess yer father impartedsomewisdom on ya,” I say, trying to capture her gaze, but she averts her eyes.

She scoffs. “Not really. He never included us in Cosa Nostra business, and I, unlike Luna, never took it upon myself to hunt for information. I didn’t care who he was doing business with, what was expected of me, nor did I care to have a future in his world. Turned out, I was more concerned about my next high, who I knew, and my next modeling gig.”

She lets out a quivering breath. “Strangely enough, part of me wishes I’d paid more attention. Might have steered clear of Boston had I known other organizations were here. I actually kind of feel stupid.”

Her words cut through me, and I have half the mind to punch the headless mannequin in a swimsuit next to me. I grapple with the idea of Summer alone in Boston. The trauma of what happened to her, along with the crushing guilt over Luna.

I realize we’ve wandered into the women’s intimates section. Not wanting to miss anything Summer will share with me, I ignore the lace thong she’s placing in the cart and will my body to calm down at the knowledge those scraps of fabric will be in her drawers and on her body inmyhouse.

“Ye didn’t want to reach out to Luna?”

“I’m not proud how I managed to get my information.” She chews on her bottom lip, and I fight the urge to make her stop. “When I first made it into Boston, I stayed in a women’s shelter for a while. I was able to use their phone to call my nanny, Giulia. I begged her not to tell my parents she’d heard from me, and I didn’t tell her where I was. Only that I was safe, and I asked about Luna. Giulia told me she’d been rescued and was safely back with the Bratva.

“I ended up sending Luna a postcard.”

I raise my brows. Summer grabs a bunch of makeup, and we move into the hygiene section.

“About two years ago, when I finally had a steadier job, and I felt comfortable as Summer Smith, I reached out via a text message. No details because I didn’t want to put them in a hard place with the alliance, but I told her I was okay. I’ve been doing that monthly since.”

Summer hasn’t had it easy. Everything she’s gone through to conceal her identity, leave her old life behind—and I’ve dragged her back into it.

I scratch at my throat as a figure strolls around the corner.

Summer peers at me. “Depressing conversation, huh?”

I hesitate to agree verbally, although I do. “I wish I’d known ye were here and struggling, Summer. I would’ve helped ya.”

She blinks away the water pooling above her lower lash line. “You still call me Summer.”

I cock my head to the side, while my eyes flick to a man in a suit strolling the aisle we’re on. “That’s yer name.”

She nods rapidly. “Yeah … yeah, it’s just even after finding out who I am, you still use Summer.”

The man in the suit grabs a bottle of cheap body wash off the shelf behind where Summer stands. Considering he’s wearing a Brioni suit, I highly doubt he’s truly here for that.

Stepping closer to Summer, I reach for her around the waist, pulling her intoxicating scent closer to me. She sucks in a breath as I lower my mouth to her ear while making eye contact with the man who’s no longer discreetly watching us.

“Summer. Isabella. I don’t care what yer first name is as long as O’Donnell is yer last,” I say, loud enough for the man to hear.

Summer fidgets, and when she looks up at me, a flush has appeared on her face and neck. Her eyes follow mine to where the man is walking away, and she pushes away from me. My fingers flex at her waist.

“Good call,” she says. “Saying that while he was listening. That’s one of my father’s men, right?”

I nod, watching her sort through her thoughts. She looks rattled. Truth is, it could be Salvatore’s or Marco’s. Either way, I expected this. It was the plan all along. To think her father would leave Summer alone in Boston now that he knows she’s here—wouldn’t happen.