41. Kieran
Chapter 41
Kieran
Forty minutes earlier…
S alvatore Buscetta steps forward, his shoulder grazing a black training bag close to him.
“Or should I say pretend son-in-law,” he says, moving around to stand by Riku.
I glance over my shoulder at Callum. His expression moves downward when I try to meet his gaze.
I frown.
“What is this?” I ask.
That’s when Riku stands, his traditional leather outfit creaking with each flex of the material. He lifts a chin to Callum before the door opens and two more Yakuza men enter.
My thoughts sour when I look at Callum beside the Yakuza men. He stands in stark contrast to the others in every way—his long, tousled brown hair against their shaved black, his green eyes among a line of dark, and the disgrace in his expression clashing with the smug smirks on their faces.
Damn it, Callum. What the hell is this? He sold me out? How in the bloody hell did this happen? My thoughts quickly shift to panic. Callum wasn’t some street lackey—he was part of my secure group. Finn, Cormac, Callum, Licon. Each a trusted mob man in my circle given access to everything the Irish has. And this is how he repays me?
Bile surges into my throat, but I swallow it down, backing away from him.
“What is this?” I ask again. The words choke me.
Summer. Where’s Summer, or Cormac?
Salvatore gestures to Riku before sliding his hands into his pockets. The lines around his mouth from one too many cigars, I’m sure, curve upward, and I clench my fists.
He drags a hand through his salt-colored hair.
“We have a mutual interest in seeing this through,” Riku starts.
“See what through?” I bark.
“The end of the Irish as we know it.”
I roll my shoulders, slipping a hand into my pocket and feeling for my cell phone. “Ye’re mistaken if ye think ye can wipe us out. Our blood built these streets, this city.”
Riku chuckles, the laugh slithering down my spine. I bite back a shiver.
“You don’t run the city anymore. You don’t have the manpower. You’re outnumbered three to one. Marco’s men are loyal to the Cosa Nostra, and as you can see … the Cosa Nostra is here with me.”
“Luka would never support a war with me. Ye know that,” I snap at Salvatore.
He tilts his head to the side, angling his wide nose like he’s trying to smell the fear coursing through my veins.
“Luka is busy. Has his hands full in Chicago.” Salvatore sniffs, rubbing a thumb across his wrinkled lips.
“What’s in Chicago?” I take the bait. Luka hasn’t mentioned anything about Chicago. The pit in my abdomen grows. Is everyone untrustworthy?
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Salvatore grins, his face twisted into a smug curl of his lips.
I’ve always hated him. That smile—teeth gleaming in the weak light, as if savoring some cruel unspoken knowledge. Makes my skin crawl.
Riku steps forward, his gaze locking on mine with a predatory glint not to be upstaged by the other mafia boss in the room. “The Bratva isn’t concerned here. I will not be subject to the Irish when I own this city now.”
He nods toward his two men, and they approach me, grabbing my arms. It happens faster than I can react. A sharp blow to the back of my head. I reach behind me, but the world blurs in a sudden flash of white-hot pain.
I stagger forward, my hand splaying out in front of me to shield my fall, but it’s too late. I’m yanked back by one of the men fisting my suit jacket, and with a jagged rip, the fabric gives way, the tightly woven threads breaking under the strain. The noise echoes off the concrete walls of the room.
A groan seeps from my mouth before?—
Another hit—this time to my ribs—knocks the wind out of me, and I double over. Glimpsing a look at them, the two men, cold and focused, blink in and out of shadow as I struggle to stay standing.
“Put him in the chair,” Riku demands.
My head spins, but I reach back into my pocket, pulling out my phone. Cormac …
“I think not.” Riku bats the phone from my hand, and it shoots across the room, splintering onto the floor next to me.
Two sets of hands grip around my arms, digging in. My muscles ache as they yank me forward. I stumble, barely keeping upright, before they force me down into the chair. My teeth grind as I clench them, letting out a guttural roar of defiance.
“Hold him!” Salvatore commands.
The back of my legs hit the cold metal of the seat while rough hands pull my arms back and pin me in place.
Plastic bites into my wrist—zip ties from the feel of it. They dig into my skin with every slight movement, cutting off my circulation and leaving a sharp throb.
I hiss in a breath.
Do I fight? I’m outnumbered. Is Finn trying to get in? Please, let Summer be okay. Cormac better have gotten her out of here. It was a mistake to bring her here because I could never forgive myself if something happens to her.
“I’ll give ye nothing,” I spit. “If ye think—” A fist crashes into my jaw, and my teeth rattle in my skull. You’re used to being hit , I tell myself while blood pools in my mouth. The copper tang is thick and bitter, coating my tongue and oozing between my teeth with each shallow breath.
Another fist sends a disgusting crunch up my nose, which is only a brief distraction from the searing jolt that radiates through my face. I tear up, reacting to the exploding pressure in my nostrils. “Bleeding hell!”
“Did you really think you could dictate my participation in your fights? You’re nothing but Irish scum. You have no legacy to leave. And that little delinquent Italian out there you call your fiancée is nothing but a runaway using you to escape her fate.” Riku tips his head back and laughs when I growl at his words. Even Salvatore stiffens at the way he demeans the former Buscetta princess.
When I spit the glob of blood mixed with saliva at his feet, he laughs harder. “It’s nothing personal, Kieran. It’s all business. I need to secure this city as mine, and Salvatore … well I’ll let him explain what he needs. Get the girl.”
His command is directed at Callum, and my whole body freezes. I blink as Callum nods once and turns toward the door.
“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.
“Don’t touch her!”
“That was all Riku’s doing, Bella.” She bristles with the nickname. “He has his own agenda to this evening, but I am here to collect you . You have a duty to the Cosa Nostra you can’t outrun.”
“No!” she yells, standing tall, chin raised. “No.”
Salvatore purses his lips, inhaling a loud audible breath through his nose. “Ah. I guess now would be the time for negotiation.”
He fumbles with his phone and Summer’s stern resolution betrays her when she looks back at me. Her expression cracks, faltering with worry and crumpling with sorrow.
The device is shoved in front of my blurry vision and shock ripples through my body as I snap back, uncaring of any physical pain. Because this is worse. So much worse.
Aoife.
Video footage, taken from inside a car and out a window, shows Aoife running around at the lake in front of my Maine cottage. She’s playing with a kite, trying to get it to fly.
My heart is suddenly sluggish, slowing to a deadly pace while chills wreck me. And Salvatore’s next words gut me altogether.
“Your daughter, for mine.”