26. Summer
Chapter 26
Summer
M y father looks older.
I’m not sure what I thought I’d see when I first heard he was coming. In my mind, he’s been the same as seven years ago, but as I stand here—utterly stunned by the way—I’m not prepared for the extra fine lines extending from his eyes and mouth, or the exhausted look of weariness he seems to wear. The authoritative, resolute man I’d known as my father has crumpled into something dull and unfocused.
I used to think it was fun to watch his face contort with uncontrollable confusion. But right now, in this moment, I’m just as shocked and lost as he is.
“Ye’re mine.”
The two words Kieran spoke both infuriate me and light a fire in my core. It’s insane. What he said is literally insane.
I can’t for one second agree to this. But at the same time, if it gets me out of being thrown into the Cartel’s den, then …
“Kieran. This cannot be.” My father’s words bring me back into the room I wish I could vaporize out of.
I look at Kieran. His shoulders are pulled back, legs spread wide, and his face has a gleam of satisfaction that makes me uncomfortable. It’s like the condescending words of my father miss their mark, and he makes an exaggerated gesture toward the bar.
“How about a drink? Lizzy.”
My father’s mouth pops open as if to say something, but instead he rolls his eyes and looks at the gold Rolex on his wrist. “One drink.”
Kieran’s handsome face smiles.
* * *
Three glasses of amber liquor later, my father is laughing at everything Kieran has to say.
I scoff. He’s not that funny. Does he not understand what I’ve been through?
Both men have completely ignored me as I sit several barstools down from where they’re conversing. Lizzy brought me smoked salmon on soda bread, but I’ve been so enthralled watching the two men I’ve barely taken more than two bites.
I should’ve recognized the signs in Kieran. Irish. The pubs. His employees calling him Boss. The yacht that’s too expensive for your average millionaire.
The thing is, while there’s money there, he doesn’t flaunt it. In fact, he seems way too down to earth to be the Irish Mob boss. Too kind. Too moral.
Kieran extends his hand to my father. “We’ll see ye in three months then.”
My ears perk up. Three months? That’s it?
I jump down from the stool, baffled by what appears to be my father … leaving? I’m not sure why I think he’d waste time saying goodbye to me. That perhaps he actually missed me or was worried for me over the past seven years as opposed to annoyed he lost his youngest bargaining chip. But at least he’s not forcing me to leave with him.
My father’s glassy stare meets mine, and I twist my arms together in front of my chest before he acknowledges me with a simple nod. Then, he and his two men walk out of O’Brien’s, not looking back.
What the heck?
“Lizzy. Ye’ll have to hold down the pub tonight. Anything ye need, ask Cormac.” Kieran’s words break through the line I’m staring after my father strode through those double pub doors.
I look over my right shoulder. Lizzy, in all her frazzled copper-hair glory, is putting the top-shelf liquor bottle Kieran and my father drank most of back on the shelf. She pulls down the white button-down shirt riding up to expose her midsection. “You’re leaving?”
“Aye.” He glances in my direction. For the first time, red leaches over his cheeks, and he’s suddenly become extra interested in his shoes.
Lizzy’s eyes dart between us, and her mouth splits into a grin. “All right. No problem.” She bends over, disappearing behind the bar, only to come back up with two black plastic crates in her hand. She huffs out a breath, mumbling something about Cormac being worthless—I’m not sure I catch it all—before she turns and lugs her containers to the kitchen.
The air crackles with tension as I study Kieran. The silence swirls around us, accented by the clangs in the kitchen and doors slamming in the back hallway. But up here, in the dining area, the quiet stretches taut between us until I can’t take it anymore.
“I don’t understand,” I say, cracking my bruised and scuffed knuckles. It’s a habit I’d thought I’d broken when I ran to Boston, along with others, but it seems this entire day has threatened to undo the past several years.
Finally, Kieran’s face lands on mine. Somewhere in the depths of his forest gaze it seems anger wars with pity. Immediately, my own defenses erect walls around me. Don’t pity me , I want to say. Before I can pick an expression that accurately displays my annoyance and disdain, he opens his mouth.
His sharp jawline juts out proudly and utterly devastating, no matter how much I’d like to toss my fist across it. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”
Umm … yes. But one, he lied to my father. And Salvatore Buscetta is not someone you can lie to. Trust me, I’ve tried it. Multiple times.
Once, when I was fifteen, I snuck into his office. It was always off-limits to Luna and me, which made it alluring and dangerous enough to elicit a thrill thrumming when I picked the lock. The windows were shut, so it was dark, and there was a lingering cigar smoke that I greedily inhaled because … well, I thought it was cool. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular but ended up running my fingers over the cold steel of a revolver and needing to feel the dense metal in my hands, took it off the stand it sat on behind my father’s desk.
When the door flew open seconds later, my father was dripping with ire. He asked what I was doing and how I got in there, which I replied, “The door was open, and nothing.”
I knew he wouldn’t buy my lie the moment it left my mouth, and my father made me sit at his desk for the remainder of the day, loading and unloading the revolver until my fingers were blistered.
Looking back, it wasn’t as bad as he treated Luna, but still, that man does not like to be double crossed, blindsided, or have smoke blown up his ass.
“He’ll know.” I follow up on Kieran’s question. “You think he won’t have the Italians in this city reporting back to him. From the sounds of it, Marco is eager to worm his way back into the Cosa Nostra bloodlines, so what makes you think he won’t tell him as soon as I leave Boston and come after you?”
Kieran smirks. “Ye aren’t leaving.”
“Excuse me?” I step forward and watch as his fists bunch together at his sides. “I thought you told him we were engaged to get him out of here?”
“I did.”
“Then …” I let the words hang there.
“Ye’re right. He’ll check up on us. He’ll have his lackeys in the city watching us. The best bet, for ye, is we do this whole engaged facade. We’ll make a point to be seen a few times in public, let the underworld think the youngest Buscetta is marrying into the Irish Mob. After he comes back in three months and sees the pretty picture we’ve painted, I’ll help ye go anywhere in the world. Ye just need to play along.”
I swallow the thickness in my throat. It’s the same glob I had to choke down when I decided this morning I needed to leave Boston. The thoughts are unwelcome, but part of me wonders if he’d care I left. Now that he knows who I am, what I’ve brought into his life, would he want to keep me? I mentally shake myself from this rabbit hole. No, he was angry and definitely disgusted by my former identity.
I’ll help ye go anywhere in the world. His words echo in my mind while the growing tension around us crushes me. Everything that may have been between us before this moment, before he found out my blood ties, seems to be devoured in the new lie we’ve perpetuated. The mouthwatering almost kiss on his yacht. The simmering annoyance I coaxed from him only for it to turn it into something more, maybe flirtatious. It’s gone. Replaced by an additional responsibility, like I’m his duty now.
I realize why he was practically red cheeked when my father left. He wasn’t blushing. Kieran doesn’t blush. No, he was embarrassed for me.
“So, we aren’t really getting married then, right?” My heart thumps as I ask the question. I’m not sure I know Kieran well enough to actually marry him, but honestly, if there was anyone my mind could conjure to be the husband of my dreams, it’d be him.
“I’m not in the habit of forcing marriage.” He strides toward me, chin held high, and those piercing eyes burn a permanent spot in my temples. He’s never looked more powerful, more in control. His boots run into the tips of my feet, and I sway at the scent of sweat-slicked leather that seems to linger under his suit. What did he do before this? Run a marathon?
Kieran flicks out a pointer finger and I nearly go cross-eyed following it to where he tucks it under my chin and lifts. He lazily traces over my face.
“Get yer coat. We’re going home.”
Having a mind of its own, my tongue darts out and I lick my lips. His gaze drops to my mouth, and while I’m relieved his stare no longer probes mine, heat bubbles to the surface in my stomach.
“Home?”
“Aye. We’re walking.”
I snort, and he scowls. “Don’t have a fancy car to pick you up? I hear that’s all the rage with made men.”
His grip becomes painfully tight, and his nostrils flare when I release a closed-mouth whimper. “Then it’s best ye remember, I’m more than a made man, I was forged, and this is not the Cosa Nostra, love.”
For a second, I want to giggle at the interesting word choice, but the seriousness cutting across his expression keeps me silent.
“Understood?”
Ugh, this man is infuriating. He’s treating me like a child. I don’t answer, but he waits like he’s expecting me to.
When he realizes I’m not going to, he moves my head up and down in a gentle but forced nod. “The answer is yes.”
My blood burns, boils even. Is he relishing this? The walls have been stripped bare for both of us. He knows I’ve walked in this world most of my life and has also concluded he doesn’t have to hide behind the businessman’s demeanor anymore. I know he’s the Irish Mob, and it’s like something has released inside of him.
I’m not going to let him treat me like I’m some criminal that has a ten-year sentence under their belt. He understands why I’ve run, and I won’t let him talk to me like this.
So, because I want to give him a taste of his own medicine, and because apparently, I have a death wish, I whisper, “Yes, Daddy.”
It’s like I’m contagious with the world’s deadliest virus. He drops his hand from my chin, eyes widening and nostrils flaring. His breaths are irregular, chest heaving, while the thumps of my heart can be felt in my toes. Pretty sure I won this round.
“Get yer coat.” And with that, he strides past me, biceps grazing my shoulder.
* * *
Cold wind gnaws at my exposed ears as we traipse down the sidewalk toward the O’Donnell residence. Consider me thoroughly confused because I thought he was joking when he mentioned walking. I’m unsure if he’s trying to reveal us as a “couple” already, or if he doesn’t have a car that takes him everywhere.
His stride is long and for every one step he takes, I scurry three short ones.
My thoughts drift to Shelly and my position at school. No doubt Kieran informed them of my personal time off, and I can’t help but wonder who they got as a long-term sub. Although now that I’m staying for at least the next three months, maybe …
“Do you think I could keep my job at school?” The words leave me faster than I have the good sense to tie a lasso around them and yank them back.
Kieran doesn’t spare me a glance. “No.”
Is he speeding up?
I practically run to catch him, and when I finally match his pace again, I ask, “Why?”
“Ye think that’s the best way to convince those spying for yer father? No mob boss’s wife would work.”
I harrumph. Should’ve known that’d be his answer. “Okay … I knew you were old, but I didn’t know you were that old.”
I watch the muscles in the trunk of his neck twitch, and he turns to me, grabbing my forearm. Stepping back, I run into a red Camry parked on the street.
“I don’t care what ye do for work, Summer, but he will. It’s standard procedure for ye to have left yer job when getting engaged, especially with Aoife in the picture.”
I freeze. Oh jeez, oh jeez. I forgot about Aoife. Not in the I-forgot-she-exists way, but I forgot to consider how she’s going to take this. How will she handle it when I leave?
Kieran moves to step back, but I latch on to his wool coat, fisting the material until he looks at me. “Kieran, Aoife.”
“Aye. What about her?”
“W-what do we tell her?”
“Let me handle me own daughter, Summer.”
He keeps saying my name, like he’s using it to test me, or perhaps trying to convince himself I’m still her. He hasn’t called me Isabella once yet, and for that I’m grateful. I mean my name is Summer now. There won’t be a time in the future I’ll ever go back to Isabella.
The piece of skin I’m ripping off my lip stings against the sharp wind, but I don’t stop gnawing. While everything in me screams to press him about this, I shut my mouth, continuing to jog next to Kieran as he navigates the Beacon Hill streets to the house.
When it comes into view, I’m shocked by the guards openly pacing inside the gate. There are definitely more here than I remember before. “Is everything okay?”
Kieran looks at me, then follows where my gaze lingers on the man in the guard booth. Half expecting him to ignore me, I don’t hold my breath for an answer, but his mouth opens, and he leans into me. I savor his warmth.
“Between the Cosa Nostra coming to town, and the Yakuza increasing in strength, it’s best to be prepared.”
“The Yakuza?”
He nods.
I never pretended to be interested in my father’s business growing up. I was more concerned with what party I was going to next or my next photoshoot, but I’m not a novice when it comes to the workings of these organizations. The Yakuza increasing their numbers, and the Irish’s response of more manpower can only mean this wasn’t a negotiated recruitment situation. The Japanese are growing against the Mob’s wishes.
The dark night surrounding us, previously illuminated by the quaint lampposts, now scatters with the floodlights of Kieran’s home. The gates automatically open when we approach, and Kieran’s palm burns through my coat in the dip of my back as he ushers me forward to the guard’s shed.
Screens filled with full-colored video, each capturing a different angle of the house and surrounding grounds fill the walls of the guard shed. There’s enough room for one to sit, and while the door is open, I notice the biometric locks on the side of it. Pretty sure they don’t normally keep this door open.
“Boss.” A man with jet-black hair and a tapered fade approaches us. His blue eyes pin me with a sour look, but I stretch my mouth into a smile anyway.
“Licon. This is Summer. She has full access to the house and grounds 24/7. If she’s to leave, she takes a guard. No questions asked.”
“Oh, that’s not really nes—hey!”
I’m cut off when Kieran grabs my elbow and pulls me away toward the brownstone. Even as he yanks me forward, I whip my head over my shoulder to catch Licon’s dumfounded stare after us.
“Not one to bring many girls home I take it.”
“Why? Disappointed I might be saving the honor for someone special?”
It’s too easy with him. “Awe, is that your way of telling me I’m special.”
“No, it’s me way of saying I’m holding out for someone worth the effort. Ye just happen to be me problem right now.”
I blink, studying the hard lines of his face that don’t crack. He’s serious? Has he been waiting for someone to fill the void in his life, be a partner? The look on the guard’s face tells me there most likely haven’t been girlfriends needing daily escorts around often, and his comments …
The banter I was expecting from him seems to hold a portion of the truth, and my skin suddenly itches with the idea I’ve monopolized the next three months of this man’s life. He’s going to tell the world we’re engaged all so I can escape my fate with my father. I wish I could take back those words.
“Were you seeing someone?” I’m unable to deal with the idea but I need to know.
He stops before the back door I’m fairly certain leads into the kitchen and looks at me. “Aye, I was seeing someone.”
I cringe, hating the way he seems to search my face and the way the tingles tickle at the nape of my neck. I can’t be upset; I was only his daughter’s teacher. Sure, he helped me when I needed it most and I kissed him but that doesn’t take away he was seeing someone. And it sounds like he doesn’t bother with anyone unless he’s interested. I swallow the pain in the back of my throat.
Working hard, I plaster a fake grin on my face, trying to convey my nonchalance. “Lucky her.”
Kieran pauses, hand on the doorknob, and his intense eyes flick down my person, lighting a flame in me. Lowering his voice an octave, he says, “No. Lucky me.”
He twists the knob, allowing the door to bang open, and strolls into the kitchen. I dart in after him, pulling the door shut quietly. I doubt he wants to wake the whole house to explain this situation at almost 9:00 p.m.
But before I can ask if I should take my shoes off, my gaze clashes with Allie standing in a robe over the stove dunking tea bags in some weird contraption.
“Oh, Miss Summer. I wasn’t expecting you. Would you like some tea?”
Kieran moves out of my way, giving me a better view of the middle-aged woman. Her hair is pulled up in a top-knot bun with a velvet scrunchy. Tired lines stem from her pursed mouth, and I wonder if this woman gets many days off.
“Summer will be staying with us. Please make up one of the guest rooms.” He slides a barstool out from the island and leans in its place. His arms span over the marble, and I stand there fixated.
She blinks at him. “Okay. I’ll do that right now. I didn’t know you were staying with us.” She moves to the fridge, and she seems as surprised as Licon was.
“We’re engaged, for all intents and purposes. I need ye to corroborate this if anyone asks.”
Her eyebrows raise, but she says nothing. It might be a hallucination, but I swear a sly smile spreads over her mouth as she darts from the room.
Kieran stands, all six-four of him towering over me as he slips past and opens one cabinet after another, searching for what I assume to be a mug. His tea is almost done after all.
“Second top cabinet to the right of the stove,” I whisper.
His hand stills above him as he reaches for the wrong cabinet, and a seed of humiliation burrows itself into the depths of my belly. My memory is decent, and after having familiarized myself with this kitchen while trying to navigate it for the chicken soup ingredients—well, I remember the white mug with a pixilated photo of Kieran pictured on the side.
The font mimics a child’s handwriting, World’s Best Dad. Unfortunately, I remember the warm fuzzy hug that skirted over me when I saw that, melting my insides to goo. My brain tries to jam together World’s Best Dad with Irish Mob boss, but I struggle to fit the pieces, and much like when I’m frustrated with a thousand-piece puzzle, I chuck it aside.
He regards me for another moment, and I shrug. Then, he moves to the cabinet I referenced and pulls out, much to my dismay, two plain-as-day, white coffee mugs.
As he pours the tea from the stove into the mugs, I realize I never answered Allie when she asked if I’d like some as well. With a morbid curiosity, I watch him, wondering if he’ll ask me.
I’m answered when a mug is lifted in front of my face.
“Here.”
My front teeth capture my bottom lip, and I hiss out a “thank you” as I grip the hot mug. He eyes my lips, then swipes a thumb across his own bottom one, and suddenly I’m jealous it’s his lip he touched and not mine.
Flustered, I take a gulp of my scalding tea and wince as it burns its way down my esophagus. It’s so hot, I can barely make out the hint of chamomile mixed with peppermint on my tastebuds.
Kieran’s throat bobs as he watches mine work the tea, and my skin crackles under his scrutiny. Lifting his cup to his mouth, he says, “Tomorrow after work we’ll go get ye a new wardrobe.”
I shake my head. I don’t need clothes from him, I have my bag back on the?—
“Deuce!” I yell. So loudly, in fact, that Kieran jumps, hot tea splashing down the front of his suit. I don’t miss the way his hand flinches toward the inside of his suit pocket. For a weapon perhaps?
“Oh, jeez. I totally forgot my bag and Deuce are still on the boat. Oh gosh, he’s probably scared and wondering where I am.”
“The crew is watching over him. In a few days I’ll send someone to get him. Yer bag, however, won’t be needed.” He sets his shoulders. “Besides, it’s a yacht.”
I roll my eyes. Whatever. I can’t believe I left Deuce. Distracted by Kieran, my exposed life now knocking on my doorstep, and this mess of an engagement, I completely forgot the one loyal companion I’ve had in the past seven years, and I rest a sweaty palm on the countertop, guilt gnawing at my stomach.
“I don’t need new clothes.” The tone in my voice startles even me. In my experience, snapping at a mob boss isn’t a recipe for getting what you want, but I can’t help it. I grind my molars together.
“If ye’re going to be me wife, it will be expected for ye to dress that way.”
Part of me wonders if he’s joking. He doesn’t dress formally most days. In fact, the amount of times I’ve seen him in an Armani suit or something similar can be counted on one hand. I scowl at that knowledge. How can he expect to have different rules for me?
He sighs, moving to sit and steepling his hands together. “Summer …” He breathes out my name, and it feels like cashmere caressing my skin. “I’m not doing this to goad ya. Dress the part, play the part, and we’ll figure out the rest.”
“Well … guess I can’t argue with that.” I squint at him, hoping to convey the sarcasm.
He pins me with an incredulous stare.
About the time I’m ready to come out of my skin from his laser focus carving into the side of my face, Allie shows up. Her bun has practically fallen from her head, and she huffs out a puff of air.
“Okay. New sheets are on your bed, and I added some products to the guest bathroom for you.”
I glance toward Kieran, studying his thick lashes that seem a juxtaposition to his sculpted, hardline face. He doesn’t look at me.
“Shall I take you up?” Allie asks, fighting a yawn.
I nod, then skirt around the island to dump my mug in the sink before following where Allie flows through the hallway past a door on the left and the living room. We move up the stairs, and with every thump, thump of the steps, I try to console myself. To fully come to terms with this new arrangement and silently pray this works to get my father off my back long enough for me to work out a new plan. Although, I slightly worry I’ll have to fly to Timbuktu to escape his wrath once he finds out Kieran and I lied to him.
What kind of position does this put Kieran in? Will the Irish be slated for war against the Cosa Nostra? People would die. And Aoife … I can’t be responsible for hurting more people.
Allie leads me down the narrow upstairs hall. At the far end, Aoife’s door is shut, and I have the strangest urge to open it and check on her. With the click of the doorknob to my right, Allie slides the mahogany door ajar and waits for me to pass her through the threshold where she remains.
A queen-sized mattress is propped up on a vintage spindle frame. The slender wooden dowels are a rich wood, carved intricately to allow for an airy look. Moving forward, I trail my fingertips over the white waffle duvet, and when I glance down, an ugly floral rug compresses under my feet. Besides the dresser matching the stain of the bed, there’s no other furniture in the room.
Allie gestures to a narrow tri-fold door. “The bathroom is through there. Shower, sink, and toilet. If you need a tub you’re welcome to Aoife’s across the hall.”
I peek in. “This is great. Thanks.” It’s much bigger than what I’m used to , I want to say.
“I know you’re without additional clothes, so I pulled some down from the attic where, uh … where Kieran has a few things he saved from Aoife’s mother, Laura.”
My eyebrows raise.
“It’s not what you think,” she blurts. “He was saving them for if and when Aoife wanted to know her mother, feel close to her despite her absence.”
Something cold slithers into my heart punctuated by my not so gentle closing of the bathroom door.
I muster a “thank you,” and Allie smiles, closing the door.
Padding over to the dresser, I open it, glimpsing a silk pajama set. It’s simple baby pink pants and a long sleeve shirt with ruffled ends, but I shove the drawer closed. I’d rather sleep naked than wear the same clothes as the woman who abandoned Aoife. It was thoughtful, but I’m not sure I can see Kieran overly thrilled about me wearing them.
I shuffle on my feet, too wired to dive into bed, yet too nervous to open my door and wander around the house.
Settling for the window, I move toward it and pull back the curtain to stare over the grounds. I figure I must be facing the back corner of the house. A stone firepit sits off to the side, built up from the cobblestone driveway that wraps around into a patio. Ash-gray chairs with curved backs settle around it, and I lean forward ever so slightly, dreaming of the balmy fire I picture in there.
Time passes. I’m not sure how much, but after examining the gobs of cameras, and counting the number of times the guards pace the gate before moving back to check the monitors, my legs buckle. I’m tired of standing.
After brushing my teeth with the new toothbrush left for me, I do my best to wash my face and comb out my hair before stripping off my clothes and pulling back the sheets.
As I slip into them, my mind flutters with memories of Kieran’s words. Ye want me in yer bed. Well now I’m in his bed. Well, one of them. Since I’m not in his bed, this will have to do.
My hands graze my exposed belly button, and my mind conjures images of him several feet down the hall. He’s so close. That almost kiss on the yacht a couple of days ago haunts me, but everything had to go and get all complicated. What would’ve happened had we shared an intimate moment? Would I have left? What if I hadn’t been compromised by Marco? Would I have eventually come clean to Kieran? I like to think I would’ve. What about him … would he have opened up and shared his true nature with me?
Ugh. Jeez.
After squeezing my eyes shut, I imagine his breath as it feathers across my neck. Goose bumps prickle over my arms and legs, stinging against the satin sheets I’m tangled in. I choke down a groan and turn over.
My heart churns and I listen in the dark as the thump, thump, thump of my chest slows, and I drift off to sleep staring at the door.