Page 88 of Possessive Mafia Vows

“What about Sienna?” I don’t need to spell it out.

She’s currently on a hijacked aircraft that may or may not be preparing to land in Dublin in a couple of hours. She’s injured and is being held to ransom against the Titan. Additionally, my instincts are screaming at me that Nick Morris is the man we need to find, because I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed Seamus and took my place on board that flight.

“We’ll do everything that we can to locate the plane.” Caleb’s voice softens just a little. “Terry, we need our men to be the first ones on the scene. Wherever they’re headed, they’re sure to have a welcome party waiting for them.”

“I want to be there,” I blurt out.

“Cash needs you here.” Caleb flinches as he says the words out loud.

“Would you stick around if it was Victoria’s life on the line?”

We already know the answer to this one. When Olivia Dragonetti abducted Victoria, Caleb didn’t wait around. He jumped onto his Harley and reached the abandoned warehouse before Terry could get there with his team. He walked into that hostage situation, alone, and without a second thought for his own safety because the woman he loved was in danger.

“That’s what I thought.” I take my time.

I’m still battling the same question: what’s the point of our wealth and our connections in high places if I can’t protect the woman I’m in love with? The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.

“I won’t let Cash down. But I can’t let Sienna down a second time.”

She’ll never forgive me.

There’ll be no going back if I’m not there to save her this time.

Caleb nods once. “Speak to Mateo Dragonetti. His private jet will get you to Dublin before the next scheduled flight out of Newark.

I’m already crossing the room and heading for the elevator.

“And Kyle?” Caleb causes me to stop. “Be careful.”

21

SIENNA

My eyelids are heavy.Without opening my eyes, I can tell that the room is dark. Still night. Although my brain can’t seem to make sense of what time it is, as if I’ve been woken from a deep sleep too soon.

I shift in my bed.

It’s hard. Something—a coil from the mattress maybe—digs into my hip and drags me unwillingly back to consciousness. I’m shivering. My face is squashed up against a pillow that smells like it wasn’t dried properly when it was last washed.

My nose is cold, and my feet feel like blocks of ice. They’re always the first parts of me to feel the cold in the winter; Victoria laughs at me for wearing thermal socks in bed and pulling the comforter over my head when I’m sleeping. But this is a different level of cold. This is the kind of cold I imagine whenever I walk past a homeless person huddled inside a grubby sleeping bag in a store entrance in the city.

I open my eyes. It requires way more effort than it should.

Another tremor travels through me when I find myself staring at a brick wall, slick with moisture.

Perhaps I’m still asleep and this is a nightmare. This is my first thought. It happens. My dreams are so vivid that I often wake up with tear-soaked cheeks or the overwhelming sense of relief that the man chasing me through an empty hospital with a bloody knife was only a figment of my imagination.

But with my heart thumping clumsily against the uncomfortable mattress, and the distinct aroma of damp and mold assaulting my senses, I know this isn’t a dream.

I try to sit up, but my muscles are heavy too. I feel drained, lumpish, hungover.

Then, the memories start pouring into my head like an unblocked dam.

The private jet.

Checking the time on my phone and waiting for Kyle.

He didn’t show. He was never going to make the flight, and he knew it.

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