Chapter 30
THIRTY
HOLT
Once I reach my yacht, I make my way down the pier. Since I haven’t come down here as much as I’d hoped, it’s parked in the farthest spot away at the end. My hands are shaking in anticipation, craving to touch Selene.
It’s amazing how I can touch her, sleep next to her, yet still ache for her the way I did before we started dating.
The cold, early winter breeze nips at my skin. A white cloud puffs out from my cold lips, reminding me this is the entirely wrong season to be here. When I grow closer to the yacht, all the lights are off apart from the one on the top floor, toward the bow.
“Selene?” I shout, heading straight for the small stairway, just inside the deck.
I only hired a few staff to run and manage the yacht during the summer months, so I’m not surprised to find it empty, aside from Selene being here.
But I can’t help how the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand up the closer I get to the upper floor. It could be the colder temperatures coming up off the water, the cold settling in to my bones, or it could be the eerie, chilling silence.
“Wallflower?” I call out again once I reach the second deck. “You up here?”
I slowly walk down the side walkway, fully expecting to find Selene sitting inside the enclosed dining area.
Instead, when I round the corner to the back lounge area, I find her standing on the far side of the bench. Her bare feet sink into the cotton padding, and her dress clings to her entire body as the wind blows. My eyes travel up her body as I take in what the fuck I’m seeing.
The gravity of what’s happening hits me with the clicking sound of a pistol and my name falling from Selene’s mouth.
“Holt,” she cries quietly, a tear slipping down her cheek.
Her hands are gently layered over her stomach, her eyes spread wide in panic.
My gaze moves to the man standing beside her, tightly gripping her arm with one hand while the other holds a pistol to the side of her head.
“Get the fuck away from her.” I take several steps closer without thinking, but I’m stopped when two other men surround me, emerging from their guard positions.
When they step closer, closing around me, I recognize the one on my right.
Only this time, he isn’t wearing a mask.
But the X-shaped tattoo on his chin is clear.
He was the one I caught Rome talking to the night of the ball.
I send the man holding Selene a fiery glare. “Who the fuck are you?”
The question has barely left my mouth before I realize the answer. Sort of.
The clover and dagger tattoo on the back of the man’s pistol-wielding hand is unmistakable.
“Name is Rhys O’Connell,” he utters in a distinctive, unmistakable Irish accent. His eyes are dark and shadowed by the night sky, but something tells me even under the brightest light, this man has no soul.
I swallow, glancing between the three men, unsure of what to say or do. Between the gun pointed at Selene’s head and how close she is to the edge of the yacht, I don’t want to do anything that might give them reason to act. There are too many risks.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Connell,” Rhys mocks. “I’m Holt Capuleti, the fucker who’s been tracking you down for years.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “Italians always forget their manners.”
He gives me a devilish smirk, and the silence that follows makes me want to fucking vomit.
My nostrils flare, and white-hot anger flows through my veins.
“You’re the one who killed my mother,” I state, the words falling from my mouth with a bitter taste I can’t get rid of.
Rhys clicks his tongue in disapproval. “That’s not exactly the proper way to start this conversation, now, is it?
Like I said: manners.” He frowns and tosses his head to the side.
“Now, let’s start with the fact you maybe should have kept your security detail following this little viper for a little while longer.
I did wonder, when my men told me they were no longer an obstacle, why you’d done it. What was your reason?”
I clamp my mouth shut and bite my cheek until the metallic taste hits my tongue. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and I look at Selene.
I keep my focus on her, even when Rhys continues.
“Did you know your boyfriend was conducting surveillance on you?” he asks Selene. “Sweet, really. But it would have been more of a grand, romantic gesture had he been consistent, no? Considering all the media attention you’ve been getting lately.”
Selene doesn’t answer him. She sobs, practically choking on her own tears. Her hands continue to press against her stomach, and I can’t imagine the fear she must be feeling.
“Moving on,” Rhys abruptly cuts in. “Let’s get to the real business of why we’re here. Why you keep following me.”
I huff and curl my hands into fists at my sides. “Let her go, and I’ll talk.”
“Not how this works, Capuleti. If you remember, I’m the one in charge here.” He presses the gun harder to Selene’s temple.
She whimpers, and I take a step forward.
“Familiar, no?” he asks, nodding toward his gun.
Bile rises in my throat.
“Answer me!” he shouts, veins bulging from his neck.
“Yes,” I say weakly on an exhausted breath. “Just, please… you don’t understand…”
“Here’s how this will go.” Rhys ignores my plea. “I’ll give you the information you’ve been seeking—within reason, of course—and you’ll make a promise in return. Then we’ll let your precious little Wallflower go.”
My stomach drops at his use of my nickname for Selene.
“If you can’t make the promise,” he continues, “I guess we’ll just make history repeat itself.”
“What information?” I ask.
“About your mother’s untimely and unfortunate death.”
Adrenaline pumps hard in my veins.
“That is what you’ve been searching for since you were, what, twelve years old?” His eyebrows rise on his smooth forehead. He can’t be much older than me.
“How do you know all this?” I raise my chin.
“Which part?” he asks, cooly. “The part where I know all about your precious Wallflower here, or the part about your mother’s brutal murder?”
I grind my teeth. “All of it.”
“Promises first.” He glowers.
“What promise will I be making?”
“I’ll tell you the truth about your mother’s death, and you’ll stop searching for her killer. You’ll stop this pursuit, and you’ll never think of it again. You will let this go.” He quirks a brow. “Do we have a deal?”
I clamp my mouth shut and shift my gaze to Selene.
I think about my mother and all the years I’ve spent searching for answers.
I have them here, right in front of me, but at what cost?
If I make this promise to Rhys, I’ll never be able to bring her killer to justice.
But then I think about Selene. Her green eyes are spread wide with fear, her body shaking uncontrollably.
She’s silently pleading for me to find a way out of this, just like the night of the auction.
Her bottom lip trembles with tacit fear and uncertainty.
She mouths my name, subtly shaking her head as tears stream down her soft cheeks.
I wish I could wrap her up in my arms and take her away from here.
My entire world is standing before me with a loaded gun pointed in its direction.
Instinct tells me a promise made to Rhys O’Connell isn’t one I would be wise to break. Especially one such as this.
I would sell the soul to the Devil himself if it meant Selene and my baby would live.
“We have a deal.” I flick my gaze back to Rhys. “I promise.”
“Good boy.” Rhys snickers.
“Get on with it then,” I grind out. “What do you know?”
He chuckles. “To answer your question about your girl first, I know about Selene, here, because your little circle has been easy to track. In fact, our family has kept an eye on yours for quite some time. Necessary, considering who your mother was.”
“What do you mean?” My focus doesn’t stray from Selene, even though I haven’t taken my eyes off Rhys.
“You’re aware your mother was my father’s cousin?”
“What?”
“Oh, yes. Sweet Tessa Saoirse Horan.” Rhys jeers.
“According to my father, he and her were incredibly close growing up in Southern Ireland. Practically brother and sister.” He frowns as anger flashes in his eyes.
“That was until she escaped to New York City and betrayed our family by marrying that fucking asshole Italian father of yours.”
I flash, jerking back, confusion building inside me. I try putting the pieces together but quickly get overwhelmed. If my mother was Rhys’s father’s cousin, that makes Rhys and I second cousins.
What the fuck?
I never knew much about my mother’s past. She never lived long enough for her to tell me about her life before Julianna and I came around. She was stolen from us before she ever could.
“My parents loved each other.” It’s the only thing I can think to say.
“Do you truly think love conquers loyalty when it comes to the Irish mafia… or family?” Rhys quips, his mouth still turned up in a sneer.
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut before looking back at him. “Irish mafia?”
“Yes, fucker,” he snaps.
Selene lets out a small whimper, and I think I may just die watching her this way. I need to end this conversation as quickly as possible. I’m afraid Rhys will change his mind at any moment and snap, pulling the trigger without another thought.
“I had no idea.” I shake my head. “My mother never told me.”
“Of course, she didn’t.” Rhys scoffs. “Why would she when she thought she was getting away from what was in her birthright?”
“What was in her birthright?”
“To marry an Irishman within the organization. Her leaving put us all at risk of strengthening our alliances,” Rhys explains. “In turn, her marrying your father was a betrayal of the highest standard.”
“I don’t understand how this plays into her death.” I wet my lips. My mouth is dry and my throat burns, but I think I already know the answer before Rhys manages to say it out loud.