Page 135 of Broken Blood Ties

“Callum!” I rasp out, not bothering to hide the tremor in my voice. He pauses, looking over his bulky shoulder. “Callum, please …”

I’m not above begging at this point. I don’t care what they do to me. But I’ll be damned if Salvatore thinks he’s going to get his hands on her.

“Go.” Salvatore steps forward, pulling out a cell phone from his pocket and dialing while Callum slips out the door.

“Callum! Callum, I’ll kill ya!” I’m overcome, paralyzed by the horror that she’ll trust him. She’ll go with him.No, no, no!

“Bring the car around. Riku’s men will let you in.” Salvatore’s voice, calm and placid, sings along like an arrow rushing for my chest.

Riku stands over me, and I look up into those soulless eyes.

Regret.

I regret not killing him. I should’ve known when he killed his father he’d stop at nothing to rule the Boston underworld. Nothing. And now … now …

My body shakes and I lower my head, allowing the blood that still sloshes in my mouth to pour out through my parted lips. More blood trickles from my nostrils, and each breath comes out wet and spongy.

Riku offers a light smack to the side of my cheek, and I force the scream in my throat down when my broken nose is jostled with a muffled pop. “Cheer up. It’ll be over soon.”

All I can do is shake my head. Aoife. Summer. My world. And Callum …

“How’d ye do it?” I gurgle out the question. “Callum.”

“Kieran, Kieran, Kieran. Always the Boy Scout made man. Too soft. Too trusting. You forget the motivators of the world, O’Donnell: money, sex, drugs, power. You’re too blinded by your distorted view that this world could be anything other than brotherhood, blood bonds, and loyalty. You’re a sob story.”

I glare up at him but fear he’s right. Too unassertive. Too withdrawn. Content with my restaurants, the fights, and my life on the water.

Did I do this? Leave my organization open and ripe for the taking?

I lead alone, and it shows. Those I thought were loyal to the Mob are really just biding their time until men like Riku come along and offer them something better.

Shite.

I’ve broken it.

Riku turns, whispering something to one of his men before he slips out the door.

I shift, skin raw and stretched thin under the sting where the edges of the ties dig along both wrists. The unrelenting tension pulls me into a painful position, causing my shoulders to go numb and tingle with pins and needles every time I move.

I curl into myself, the pain of my face sharp and suffocating. So much so, I don’t flinch when Salvatore comes before me.

“I’ll be taking my daughter back. Lucky for her, she’s still young enough to be of some use to me. The Cartel will be appreciative.” He reaches down and places a finger under my chin, and as much as I fight it, I don’t have the strength to retreat when he raises my face to look at him.

“She’ll never go back to ya.” My throat is dry, and I barely rasp the words out in a whisper, but when he frowns, I know he’s heard them.

Salvatore pushes my face away from him, and I wince. “I think she’ll be coming with me,” he says.

The grinding of the door echoes back through the room, and it’s then I hear her voice. Her sweet, summertime voice that reminds me of empty fields where butterflies flit over the wispy grasses. The warm timbre of her voice that lulls me to sleep is now pitched into a warring scream. “Get your damn hands off of me, you bastard! Let me go!”

Summer. Her hair is a wild mess, with strands sticking out at odd angles and falling into her face in disarray. The slit in her black dress has gained several inches of ground, ripped it looks like, from the struggle she put up. She blows the hair out of her face when the door slams and her rich eyes blow wide when she sees me.

“Kieran!” She tries to take a step farther, but Callum tugs on her to stay put. She scans me before studying her father standing next to me. “You,” she seethes.

Salvatore smiles. “Ah, Isabella. It’s time you come home now.”

Summer’s nose scrunches with her curling lips. “I am home.” She meets his glare with one of her own. They’re the same, I realize. Their eyes, the shape of their face—the Buscetta traits you can’t miss when they’re in the same room. “What have you done to him?”

She rips forward, crying out when Callum grips her further.