Page 106 of Possessive Mafia Vows

I’m aware that he chose to attack my family through me: the one he recognized as the weakest link. It’s no secret that I took a three-month sabbatical from the family business and came to Ireland, or that I underwent years of therapy following the accident. If he has done his research, he probably knows that I’m asthmatic too.

But I’m in love with Sienna, and I will not let her down a second time.

I doubt that Nick Morris has ever been in love, apart from with himself. I doubt that he’s capable of putting someone else’s interests before his own. But his lack of empathy is my advantage, it’s what will ultimately make me stronger than him.

The vehicles converge outside a ten-foot-high brick wall, and the drivers kill the engines and the headlamps.

Damon addresses Patrick and I in the back seat.

“We’ll make our way on foot.” He unfolds the plans for the mansion and raps it with hairy knuckles. “There’s a gravel drive that leads to the entrance. The rest of the land is wooded—the guy who built the place clearly wasn’t a people-person. We’ll stick to the trees until we reach the edge here.” He taps the diagram a second time.

“Lights?” I ask.

“Attached to the soffits. They’re sensory activated, but the storm will work in our favor. Even if they pick up our movement, the bratva mob will think it’s the rain lashing the equipment.”

I nod. “We’re going through the entrance or is there another way in?”

“There’s a door here at the side. Mud room. We’ll split up once we reach the property. My Cillian will lead his team through the side door and Aiden will cover us through the front. Once you’re inside, you head to the staircase at the rear of the building. It will take you down to the basement.”

He folds the diagram and stashes it inside the glove box.

The icy rain stings my face when I climb out of the vehicle. The wind is driving it into us in diagonal sheets that slap our faces and drench us from head to toe. It might work in our favorwhen it comes down to the security lights but invading a cliff-top mansion in sodden clothes when you can’t feel your fingers isn’t how I would’ve chosen to do this.

The wall surrounding the property is topped with razor-wire. Cillian and another young lad scale the wall like cats and snip through the wire to allow the rest of us access to the ground. We follow them using ropes and drop down to the ground on the other side by bouncing off the trees and using the branches to slow our fall.

This is the easy part.

The treetops provide some shelter from the torrential rain, and we make our way towards the property, which appears to be in total darkness, not a glimmer of light peeping out from behind closed windows. A security light pops on, activated by the gusting wind and we all freeze. The original owner clearly trusted that few people would attempt to either scale the cliffs or climb the razor-topped wall. The lights are the old-fashioned static type that cast spotlights across the grounds, leaving the rest of the area in darkness, exacerbated by the blinding lights.

I make a mental note of where the lights fall, tracking the fastest and easiest route to the imposing entrance without getting caught in the spotlight like an actor who forgot his lines.

We move stealthily through the woodland until we’re almost in the clearing.

From here, the mansion looks even more sinister and formidable, the kind of property movie directors scour the planet for to feature in their horror movies. I squint against the rain trickling into my eyes and scan the turrets on each cornerof the rooftop for the obligatory bats silhouetted against the full moon.

A glimmer of movement near the front façade catches my attention. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, and peer through the rain, but I can’t see anything, and the security lights remain off.

“Ready?” Damon asks.

25

SIENNA

My head feelsas though it’s going to explode. My vision keeps blurring, and my footsteps are clunky like I’m on one of those festival fun-house attractions where the floors keep rearranging themselves between footsteps.

But I keep going. One foot in front of the other. There’s no room inside my head for anything else.

At the end of the corridor, I stop. I try to retrace the route Nick took when he dragged me upstairs to show me the cliffs and the roiling sea from the window, but my mind can’t quite grab hold of it. I try to take a deep breath, my hand curled around the doorknob, but my lungs are not cooperating either.

I twist the doorknob and crack open the door, just enough for me to rest my forehead against the frame and view the staircase.

It’s clear.

I’m moving on autopilot.

One step at a time, wincing whenever I put my weight onto my twisted ankle. I almost can’t believe it when I reach the top without getting caught.

Convinced that the universe is smiling down on me, I open the door at the top of the stairs tentatively, my breathing coming in short, painful bursts, my heart playing a new irregular tune. Dizziness causes me to stop and lean against the door. I feel nauseous again, but I can’t be sick—I don’t think my head could take the strain.

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