Page 12 of Broken Blood Ties

“Couldn’t sleep?”

She nods again and then turns toward the repurposed wicker basket beside my desk.

I lean forward, placing my elbows on my desk, and offer her a smile. “Go ahead. Grab one.”

She grins and darts over to the basket, falling to her knees. Her tiny hands comb through the collection of her favorite books we keep in here. It started when she was little. On those sleepless nights when I could do nothing to settle the little newborn in my arms. I’d bring her to my office and read to her. It wasn’t fancy children’s books at first. More like contracts, emails, and fight statistics. As she got older, I began to collect books for her.

Now, when she can’t sleep, she sneaks downstairs to my office for story time.

“This one,” she says, holding up a torn copy ofGoodnight Moon. The spine is broken, and the edges turn upward. But it’s been her favorite since she was eighteen months old. I have it memorized, although she refuses to let me tell her the story without the pictures.

“All right. Come on up.”

She scurries to my chair, all innocent and focused on peering up at me with a pouty lip. Unable to resist, I reach down and pull her onto my lap. She’s growing so fast. Too quickly. This world isn’t kind to young women, especially those in the Mafia. I’ve known too many girls married off or confined to our world with zero regard for their own interests. I can’t … won’t let that happen to Aoife. I’ll do all I can to protect her.

Aoife leans back, head nuzzled on my chest while her blonde hair splays over my black long-sleeve button up. Opening the book, I begin. “In the great green room …”

She giggles, and I squeeze her tighter to me because it’s the best sound in the world.

* * *

Traffic is insane. Itwouldbe that I got stuck behind a Duck Tour vehicle on the way to my meeting with Principal Green.

Ten minutes behind schedule, I whip into the visitor parking at Ardenbrook Academy. It’s been weeks since I’ve driven my Audi, and I nearly take out the visitor parking sign with its turbo.

Ducking from the car, I stride through the metal iron gate that opens into a brick courtyard. The building, also faced with brick, has three framed archways each housing a set of double wooden doors that groan when I open them.

ASNAPgarners my attention, and I freeze, the door partially open. The sound is reminiscent of a quick jab to the cheek in the ring. But it’s only the flutter of the three school flags, each dipped in the school colors and bearing the lion emblem, standing tall in the center of the drive and whipping in the wind.

I inhale a deep breath. The cold air tingles in my nose, and it’s stimulating.

Rolling my shoulders, I continue to Mr. Green’s office after checking in with the main office personnel. His door is one of those older wooden ones, three-quarters frosted glass with a bronze nameplate.

“Come in,” he says, after I knock twice.

“Mr. Green,” I say, entering and turning to shut the door.

I stiffen at a petite figure sitting in a chair across from his obviously grand desk. From behind, I can’t see her face, but her muddy brown hair is cut short to her shoulders.

My lips curl at Principal Green, irritated because I was under the impression we were to meet alone. I don’t need his secretary here to take notes.

Several file cabinets flank his desk and the pristine windows they’re in front of. Looking around, I can barely contain my scoff at the mini putting green strip he has set up off to the side.

“Mr. O’Donnell.” Green stands, extending his hand. As I move forward, I can’t help but to side-eye the woman in the chair.

I do a double take.

This woman is familiar. Or, at least, I seem to think I’ve seen her before. Tan, olive skin, dark eyes, and high cheekbones. I scour my memory for this woman—there’s no way I’d forget a woman as beautiful as this.

She tilts her head to the side, and her full puffy lips that look as though she’s been thoroughly kissed tuck inward between her teeth. I avert my gaze and focus on the forty-five-year-old married man in front of me.

Could she and him …

No. She’s way too young. Can’t be more have twenty-one from the look of her. She’s probably freshly graduated from school and eager to find a place at the best private school in Boston.

I swallow, fighting the urge to mess with the tie I never wear.

“Thank ye for meeting with me,” I say. “Did ye enjoy yer weekend?”