34. Summer
Chapter 34
Summer
T he top step of the stair groans beneath my feet as I stand there, torn between running or backtracking to my room. Deuce wraps around my legs, and I look down to meet his gaze and it’s like he’s silently judging me. “What?”
I glance down the hallway. Aoife’s room is empty, her bed made.
On the other side, Kieran’s bedroom door is shut, and I stare at it, tracing the irregular wavy grain up and down the solid wood.
I hardly slept. Instead, I kept looking at the door willing him to walk through it, or perhaps trying to convince myself to walk through it. It’s been weeks since my time in the ring with Kieran.
It was natural. Fun. And something I’ve been trying to figure out how to hold on to.
It made me angry the leader of the Yakuza is going after Kieran, trying to manipulate him, threaten him.
Because sleep avoided me, I had time to get ready early. I showered and pulled on leggings and a cream sweater that I have no memory of buying but slipped into anyway. I drag a hand over my hair, pumping up the volume and then descend to the kitchen.
When I walk in, I freeze.
Both Cormac and Kieran stand around the island dressed in suits and forking waffles onto their plates. Kieran looks up at me from where he drizzles syrup on his double stack and smirks, inspecting my outfit. Annoyingly, I dip my chin to hide the evidence of my rapidly heating face.
Cormac clears his throat. “Good mornin’,” he says, smoothing his solid navy tie down the front.
“Morning.”
Allie bustles out of the pantry with Aoife following behind her.
“Summer!” Aoife says, running to hug me. “Want some waffles? Allie makes the best.”
I smile down at her. “Can’t say no to the best waffles in the world, huh?”
She giggles and shakes her head.
I glance back up and both men are still staring at me. Kieran’s green tie heightens the color of his eyes, and I shiver at his piercing observation.
“What’s with the suits?”
They both look at each other, then at Allie.
I scrunch my nose. “Who died?”
“No one. We’re going to Mass.” Still standing, Kieran cuts into his breakfast and takes a dripping bite.
“I’m sorry, what?” I flick my hair over my shoulder as if it’s impeded my ability to hear correctly. I mean I’m no stranger to Mass. I went growing up, almost every Sunday. But it’s different for mafia organizations. Most of the Cosa Nostra went to absolve themselves of any sins they were planning to commit for the week, and the priest was on my father’s payroll. I’ve steered clear since I’ve been on my own. “I didn’t realize you went to church.”
Kieran studies me, moving around the island with his hands in his slacks. “We don’t normally. But Marco does. Several of our men go to Saint Matthew’s.” He steps closer to me, lowering his voice. “It’s neutral territory and a safe place to go out as a … family.”
The pieces slide into place. I’m confused as to why Kieran is making such an effort to play this out. Is it all for me? I’ll admit the idea of a church filled with made men, both Irish and Italian, piques my interest. Even more so is the prospect of running into Marco. Although, my reasons are different than Kieran’s.
“Ye should eat then get changed,” he says.
When I don’t move right away, he snatches an empty white plate off the island and plates a waffle. “Whipped cream?”
My mouth drops open. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”
Cormac huffs out a chuckle, then ruffles Aoife’s hair as he moves his used dishes to the sink. Allie pretends to fiddle with the tea contraption on the stove.
“Ye want me to cut it for ye, too?” He gives me a lazy smirk while placing a fork on my plate, holding it out for me.
Eye twitching, I bite my tongue and glide over to him. I round to his backside, and he twists his head just enough to eye me. Leaning my front in, just enough to graze his back, I reach around and take the plate, grinning. “Thank you, Mr. O’Donnell,” I say, mustering a charming tone. The need to punctuate my comment with a wink causes me to drag my gaze toward his, but it snags on his mouth instead.
Goodness, his lips are all I can think about. I nibble my own trying to break the spell, but it only increases my yearning for more.
Kieran’s haughty expression softens for a blip, and I swear the slightest graze crosses my thigh.
Cormac spits out the tea in his mouth, and it splatters all over his suit and the kitchen floor. “Hell, mate. Ye’re in trouble.”
“Uh-oh, Cormac. Your suit,” Aoife says.
“It’s all right, bug.” Cormac gives her a laugh and lifts his hand for a high five. “Was worth it.”
* * *
The four of us ride to the church together. Kieran drives while I sit in the back seat with Aoife, and Cormac works from the front seat. I teach Aoife rock, paper, scissors, and she giggles as we play.
Kieran’s eyes on me are like a brand from the inside out. Every so often, he meets my gaze in the rearview mirror, and my heart flutters. He smiles at Aoife with adoration, but when he looks at me … I’m exposed.
Saint Matthew’s Cathedral is imposing, and when we pull up, I remember seeing it several times before on my bus rides in the heart of Boston. With towering spires that reach toward the blue-raspberry sky, I’m struck with the intricate stonework amplifying the featured carvings of saints and angels. In the church’s center, a circular stained-glass window displays a kaleidoscope of colors.
Its beauty rivals that of the church my sister got married in all those years ago.
Kieran opens the door for both Aoife and me, and Aoife, dressed in a chiffon peach dress with ruffled capped sleeves, rushes to hold Cormac’s hand as we walk to the entrance.
Men with beautiful, pristinely dressed women weave through the parking lot to approach the heavy wooden doors, framed with decorative arches while the bell tower chimes solemnly.
Kieran’s hand finds the curve of my hip as he guides us behind Cormac and Aoife. His fingers press into me, and right before the stone steps, he pauses, gently tugging my elbow to turn me. My heart shoots out when he bends down, mouth to my ear. “Ye look beautiful.”
I glance down at the honeydew-green maxi dress sprinkled with a floral pattern reaching my ankles and cinching my waist. When Kieran told me we had to leave for Mass in twenty minutes, I’d devoured my waffles, without whipped cream, mind you, and ran to my room to change. This was the first dress I pulled out. It just so happens, it’s one from our Target excursion. Not a brand-name dress, nor a display of wealth.
Still, he thinks I’m beautiful.
I smile, and he peers down at me, bringing his thumb up to swipe across my bottom lip. We’re in our own world for a moment, and it’s entrancing.
He drops his hand from my face, glancing at the swarms of people flooding into the church. Grabbing my hand, he says, “Let’s go.”
High vaulted ceilings narrow into steepled peaks above us. The hint of incense calms me as we walk between columns to the rows of wooden pews arranged symmetrically, leading my eye toward the altar at the front.
Aoife stomps on the gold leaf swirls through the marble floor with her Mary Janes, purposefully walking on the whirling opulence of the white floor. Colored light filters in landing on the empty pews, and Kieran gestures toward one farther back in the sanctuary.
Whispers among the congregation clash with the quiet hymns being played over the surrounding speakers. For a church filled with mostly members of organized crime, the scene is surprisingly serene.
But when the Introductory Rites start and everyone stands to their feet, I don’t miss the glimpses of pistols trucked into the back pants of many men. Instead of a Mass it looks like a giant mash pit of made men and their families. Frankly, it’s creepy.
Halfway through, Aoife snuggles up underneath my arm, while Kieran draws lazy shapes on my thigh, often offering me a tantalizing grip in which I stifle a surprised gasp. He smirks slightly, then continues his flaunting ministrations.
I’m not sure if others can see he’s touching me, so does this play into his plan? Or is he putting his hands on me because he wants to. Something curls in my core, and I slap his hand and squeeze before he continues any further. But instead of removing his hand I’m trying to push off, he threads his fingers through mine and moves our entwined hands to his lap.
They stay that way for the rest of the service.
“Well, that was borin’,” Cormac says, stretching, then rubbing his stomach after Mass. “Ye going to feed us, Kieran?”
Kieran snorts, but he doesn’t look at Cormac. He’s too busy scanning the crowd. Aoife’s running through the pews with several other kids, and I smile before I’m met with scowls of disgust from a handful of women.
I let out an exasperated sigh and look away. What’s their problem? I don’t have time for this petty drama. As a result, I hook my arm through Kieran’s offering them an exaggerated smile while I lean into him. Then, for added effect, I flutter my eyelashes. Jeez, I’m petty.
“Kieran O’Donnell. Didn’t expect to see the boss here this morning.” A younger guy approaches, complete with light brown hair and blue eyes. He’s dressed in a suit, but the hoop ring in his nostril and the gauges in his ears practically mock his outfit.
“Aye. Ronan, this is my fiancée, Summer. Summer, this is one of me men, Ronan,” Kieran introduces.
“Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand to him, but he grabs it and brings it to his mouth to place a kiss on my knuckles.
“The pleasure is all mine.” He winks and I tense, but Kieran shakes his head.
Ronan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you have a minute?” he asks.
Kieran glances down at me. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”
He steps off to the side with Ronan and Cormac, the ever-present shadow following him.
His departure leaves me alone, and I slowly spin, combing the dispersing people. I spot the bald head before his face, but he turns, laughing with someone next to him.
My heart pounds with the quick fix of adrenaline, and I glance back toward Kieran who’s now immersed in further conversation with Ronan. It must be heated because his face is stern and unyielding. I take it as the perfect opportunity.
Rolling my shoulders, I stride over to Marco, plastering a wide grin on my face when he notices me. His brow lifts before he returns the smile and steps forward.
As he closes in on me, he whispers, “Hello, Isabella.”
“It’s Summer,” I correct.
Marco snickers. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is. Kieran wasn’t engaged before Salvatore came into town. It’s a farce the two of you made up so you wouldn’t have to go home.”
“New York is not my home.” I fix a steely gaze on him, curling my lips in disgust.
“I should’ve told Salvatore your scheme.”
“But you won’t,” I taunt. “You’re just a dog looking for a master. Tell me. How is getting back in with the Cosa Nostra going?”
He glares at me, but I don’t miss the flicker of humiliation that winces over his expression.
“Why do you need him? He ignored your opinions about the alliance. Don’t you think it’s time to settle into your own here?”
Marco considers me, crossing his arms and scanning around. “What’s your point? We don’t have the manpower anymore.”
“Because of the Yakuza?”
Marco’s thin lips pop open, then closed, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “What do you know of the Yakuza?”
“I know they’re growing in numbers—worming their way into the Irish’s fights.”
He snorts. “Kieran running scared because of Riku now?”
My nostrils flare, and I step closer to Marco, snarling up at him. “Kieran doesn’t run.” Then I school my expression into a gritted smile, bringing both hands to smooth out his red tie.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to support Kieran.”
He lets out a chuckle, and for appearances, I join in with him. “What makes you think I care what you want?”
“You said it yourself. I’m a Buscetta by blood. What better way to prove to Salvatore you’re loyal to the Buscetta family after all these years.”
“Please. You ran from this life, and I’m sure you’re biding your time until you can again.”
Yanking his tie toward me, I whisper, “I’ll make it my mission to destroy you if you turn your back on me.”
Marco stumbles back, a genuine smile spreading wide on his face. “You really are a Buscetta.”