27. Kieran
Chapter 27
Kieran
A llie’s footsteps echo down the stairs, spurring me to muster the strength to rise from the kitchen island and drop my mug into the sink. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Damn.
“She’s all settled.” Allie pops into the kitchen, then leans against the refrigerator. “Anything else you need?”
“No,” I answer, moving past her and out the kitchen.
“I-I hope it’s okay I gave her some of the clothes you had boxed away from Laura. She didn’t have any and I figured she’d want something clean to put on after she got out of the shower.” Allie follows me as I start toward the steps.
Internally I groan, the image of Summer in the shower, one of my showers, bludgeons me over the head. But then the words “clothes” and “Laura” shake away the thought like it’s a design on an Etch A Sketch.
That’s all I need, Summer thinking I held on to Laura’s clothes because I’m not over her or hung up.
After our short tryst ended and she left Aoife, I wanted to burn all the items she left behind. Sat there with the lighter in my hand and the clothes piled high in my clawfoot tub. But as I stared at the tiny baby in my arms, I thought maybe, just maybe, one day she’d ask about her mother. Despite the bitterness and hurt from Laura not wanting to be part of her life, Aoife still might want to know about her.
So I saved the few outfits she’d left in my drawers, the picture booth strip of photos we took one night while she was drunk, and the pregnancy test she chucked at me the night she found out Aoife was a tiny bean inside her.
While it’s not okay, I’m not the mood to reprimand Allie. “It’s fine. Good night.”
Taking the steps two at a time, I pause at the top, willing myself to move down the hall. I flex my fist when I pass Summer’s room and make it to Aoife’s.
I inch open the door and peer at my little love. All her tangled blonde strands streak across her face, and her tiny snores filter through the darkened silence. Pulling the door closed once again, I return to my bedroom, purposefully ignoring the door I know Summer is hidden behind.
Once the door to my room is closed and locked, I shuck off my loosened tie and step out of my suit. Today was a shite show. It was impulsive of me, but I relish the idea of Summer as my fiancée, even if it’s not real.
Let’s be honest. There’s no way after three months I’m going to be able to let her go. But, for the time being, I need her to think she has a choice.
The idea rolled through my mind while I was taking my anger out on the training room heavyweight bag, and I was so shocked at it, I missed my swing at the bag completely. It was perfect.
I knew Salvatore would want to take Summer back. Use her as if seven years hadn’t passed and arrange a marriage to some old cartel member. But as I thought of a way to help Summer, the need to keep her wouldn’t relent. So, I planned to tell Buscetta we were engaged. We’ll play the part. It benefits me because when the Yakuza gets wind of my engagement to the youngest Buscetta, they might think twice before taking over my city.
Yes, I’m using the Cosa Nostra, but it was the best solution at the moment. I didn’t bother telling Summer after I’d concocted the plan. The need to punish her seemed to tickle my fancy, and the sight of her face when I announced we were engaged to Salvatore almost made the lies she’d spun around who she was worth it.
I turn the shower on, letting the water warm up while I rattle off a text message to the crew on the yacht telling them to feed the cat, and one to Cormac letting him know I’ll be in early tomorrow.
The thought of waking up with Summer in my home has me stumbling into the shower and shifting the temperature to cold. Despite my blood boiling over the news she’s a Buscetta, I can’t say I blame her for running and hiding. I’ve been harsh with her, and perhaps that’s because I know she wants to leave this life. It pisses me off.
The chilled droplets of water skim down my back and I savor each electrifying jolt as they tense my muscles and shock away the remnants of my twisted desire.
Yes, Daddy . Bleeding hell. Those words flood my mind and heat my insides regardless of the icy sharp water cascading down around me. I should bend her over and spank her for such a remark.
Damn it, Kieran. Get her out of ye head.
I’m going to have to fight this weekend. Take out this pent-up rage on someone or else I’m going to end up storming into Summer’s room to see what other defiant words I can coax out of her mouth.
No. I turn off the shower, toweling dry and heading to the mirror above my sink. The slow realization drips off me in waves. She’s going to leave at the end of this. She wants to go. To be free.
I growl, flicking the condensation out of the way to stare at my hardened resolve. At this point, there’s nothing I won’t do to keep Summer Smith in my life. I’ve got three months to prove her wrong.
* * *
“Is Miss Summer up?” Aoife’s question halts me as I step into the kitchen. Her spoonful of Cheerios is halfway to her mouth, and I sigh. It’s too early for this. Although it doesn’t stop me from looking over my shoulder to check if she’s coming down the stairs.
“I’m sure she will be. Listen, little love. Summer will be staying with us for a while, okay? Is that all right with ye?”
Aoife’s doe-eyed expression widens farther, and those piercing blues lighten with her splitting grin. “Yes!” Her white Keds bounce in rhythm off the highest footrest of the island stool, and I smile at her in her freshly pressed school uniform.
Allie shuffles about the kitchen. She’s dressed in beige tapered slacks and a lavender button down. Half of her peacoat is on while the other half sweeps the floor as she cleans up from Aoife’s breakfast.
It’s 6:30 a.m. so I can’t imagine she’s running late.
Allie pauses, eyeing my outfit.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “A suit two days in a row.”
I don’t bother waiting for more to come after that. I don’t wear them often, but I’ll be taking Summer shopping after work today, and something about chauffeuring her around in a suit makes me smirk.
“I’ll be home later tonight, Aoife.” I slide an arm around her while she allows her spoon to plunk into her plastic mermaid bowl with a plop .
Offering her a kiss to the temple and dropping the velvet box on the counter, I round up my coat. Then I’m out the door, unable to summon the courage to look back to see if Summer made it down after all.
Of course, it takes triple the time to get to the restaurants this morning. I stop at Emerald Table first, one of the high-end restaurants in my portfolio. Because it’s a higher profile location, I don’t conduct any mob business from there, but I still like to check in with the staff on a routine schedule.
The dishes here are a mashup of Irish comfort food with haute cuisine. And because of the elaborate food with luxurious ingredients, Aoife doesn’t enjoy it here. I wonder if Summer would.
I move on quickly, finally making it to O’Brien’s before 8:00 a.m. Callahan, my overnight security, stands outside my office door.
“Boss.” He nods. I return the gesture, and move past him to key in, then I shut myself inside for the remainder of the morning.
I’m so buried in my work I miss the rapping on my door before it’s too late.
The door flies open, and I startle, the signature on my purchase order squiggling down and into a bleeding dot.
“What the hell?” I growl.
“Sorry, Boss. You weren’t answering the door when I knocked. Tried three times.” Cormac’s eyes are wide as he scans the office. I’m not sure what he thinks he’s going to find but leave it to him to hunt a threat even though I’m sitting in one piece in front of him.
“What is it?”
“Marco is here.”
“This early?” I glance down at my watch, shocked four hours have passed. “Give me five then send him in.”
Expecting Cormac to spin and walk out, I turn back to my messed-up work. When the door doesn’t click, I raise my head. “Why ye still in me office?”
“Marriage into the Cosa Nostra? This doesn’t look good. Does Luka know?”
Reaching my hands up, I loosen my tie, regretting the fact I’m wearing a suit. It’s suffocating in here all of a sudden.
“It’s not marriage. It’s an engagement.”
“Same difference. Ye aren’t going to actually marry her, are ya?”
I flip over the top contract and move to the next one. There are certain questions I allow Cormac to ask, along with many answers. This, however, is not one of them.
“Bleeding hell, Kieran. It was one thing when she was just ye daughter’s preschool teacher, but Cosa Nostra? This has so many political ramifications. How do you think Riku is going to take this? He’ll view it as a move against them considering he’s made himself clear with where the Yakuza stand.”
He’s right, and yet, I don’t care.
“And don’t even get me started on how Marco is going to take this. That girl was his in, his way back with the Nostra.”
I sign my name with ease over the next contract, not bothering to meet Cormac’s beady eyes. “It’ll be fine, Cormac. Go pour yerself a glass of Redbreast.”
He scoffs at my suggestion, since he’s never one to drink whiskey. He’d rather have a beer.
But while I say it’ll be fine, I can’t help the tightened grip on my ballpoint pen and the double Ls on my last name have become increasingly loopy.
I’ve been out of the ring too long. That’s it. I need a fight. Need to drown in the euphoria of a win or gobble up the feel of bruised skin under my fist.
“Make sure Joe knows I’ll be in the ring Saturday night.”
“Ye sure about that? What? With all your fiancé duties ye have now.”
Because of all my “fiancé duties” … “Aye.”
Cormac snorts, and I chuck my pen down to glare at him and his insolence. He raises both hands, palms forward. “Aye, Boss.”
Then he saunters out. In almost no time, the booming voice of Marco swearing in muttered Italian filters down the hallway. When he bursts into my office, the first thing out of his mouth is, “Engaged? You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”