Page 71 of Broken Blood Ties

Summer clears her raspy throat. “I’m not going anywhere with you … you piece of shit.”

The room is suffocating, and I can’t seem to grasp at a lifeline. What if this was Aoife? If she wanted away from this life, I’d absolutely give it to her. If Salvatore wants his daughter, he’s going to have to come here himself. Not benefit from a bunch of ex-Cosa Nostra looking to make good with the current boss.

“She’s under the protection of the Irish for now. Ye want Salvatore to have his daughter he can come get her himself.”

“No!” Summer yells. “Kieran, please.”

Marco glares at me. But I continue, “Ye’re in me city. Ye’ll do what I say.”

He nods toward the man holding Summer’s hands behind her back while taking out his phone. “I’ll have him here before nightfall. Let’s go.” He gestures to the door, and both of his men follow him.

When the door shuts, silence drowns the room. In between the tiny shallow breaths Summer huffs and the tick of a Celtic knot clock that hangs on the wall behind the bar, Lizzy speaks up.

“What the hell was that all about?” she says.

“I—”

“Stay out of it, Lizzy,” I bark, cutting off anything Summer can say. I stride over to her, grabbing her elbow and dragging her back toward my office.

“Kieran …”

“Shut up. Ye lied to me,” I say, passing Cormac and Callum. They both look at each other, tucking their weapons back in their waistbands.

She growls and tries to pull away, so I move my hands to her wrist, and she hisses with the friction.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she says. “You lied to me, too. Are you serious right now?”

I type in the key code to my office and throw open the door. Roughly, I force her into one of the chairs, avoiding her eyes as she continues to prattle on about how I’m just as much a liar as her.

I stomp around to the other side of my desk, standing there and glaring down at her. Her big beady eyes are glassy from her tears, and while her hands gesture passionately with her words, they still shake.

As calmly as I can, I say, “I never lied to ye. Ye know me name, me daughter’s name. I own this pub. I own nine other restaurants. I happened to omit I’m the leader of the Irish Mob.”

She gulps. “The leader? Jeez. I can’t seem to escape this world.”

“Aye. The leader. But you … Isabella Buscetta …” I drag out the name that tastes bitter on my tongue. I don’t see her as Isabella. She’s Summer to me. Vibrant and lively, and utterly intense.

“My name is Summer. Stop calling me Isabella.” Her fists tighten their grip on the chair.

“That’s yer name isn’t it?”

“That’s who I was. My name is Summer.I’vechosen to go by that now. I legally changed it. Salvatore doesn’t own me.”

I shake my head. “Ye’re Cosa Nostra; his daughter. I think ye’re delusional if ye think he won’t stop at nothing to get you back.”

“Then help me. You told me you would, on the boat. Help me, Kieran.” Her eyes plead with mine, and the weight established on my chest grows heavier. I told her I’d help her. But Salvatore.

A snicker sneaks past my lips, and she glares at me, crossing her arms in a way that reminds me of Aoife when she’s unhappy with me. “Help ye? Ye’re Salvatore’s bleeding daughter!” I roar. In a single motion, the contents on my desk are swept to the ground. The purchase orders I was working on this morning, the photo of Aoife with her cannoli I recently placed in the old frame, and my half empty whiskey glass—all of it crashes to the floor.

Summer flinches.

“I was there! I was called in when EV took yer sister, after she gave up herself for ya!”

Tears stream down Summer’s face, and she bats them away.

“I was in the bloody room with him, Summer. I watched Salvatore choose the Cosa Nostra over his own daughter. Left her to rot on that container ship. To be raped, tortured, used to get to the Bratva and the Cosa Nostra. Nik lost his mind. I’d never seen him like that before. I was there! And it’s not a boat. It’s a bloodydamn yacht!”

A blur of red streaks by my head and I duck, turning to see a package of Skittles smack into the wall behind me.