Page 105 of Possessive Mafia Vows

“Is there a way into the basement from underground?” I ask.

It will make life a whole lot easier if we don’t have to go through the house to reach Sienna.

“I checked.” Cillian shakes his head. “I couldn’t find any plans.”

“What about the cliff?” Patrick studies the drawing spread across the table. “Could we gain entry that way?”

“Not unless you can grow some fecking wings before we get there.” Aiden chuckles, a dry throaty sound, the product of a lifetime spent smoking cigars.

“It’s blowing a hoolie out there now.” Cillian helps his dad load weapons into an oversized rucksack. “Not the kind of weather I’d go abseiling in.”

“Don’t worry, lad.” Patrick looks me in the eye. “We’ll get her out of there.”

Aiden claps me on the back. “You’re with the O’Haras now, boy. The bastards won’t even see us coming.”

I’ve heard the term ‘blowing a hoolie’ before. I never really understood what it meant until now.

The entire county is on red alert for Storm Humphrey. The government has issued a warning for folks to stay inside, shut away or lock down any freestanding garden equipment, and prepare for loss of power. It’s a short distance from the O’Hara property to the waiting, blacked-out vehicles, but the gale-force winds have us walking head-down, almost horizontal into the squally gusts. We’re saturated by the time we load up the trunks and climb inside.

We drive in silence.

The closer we get to the coastline, the stronger the gales become. The rain is torrential; the windshield wipers are working at double-speed, and visibility is still practically non-existent. The vehicle we’re traveling in is getting buffeted about by the wind,and my stomach lurches each time the driver has to wrestle with the steering wheel to keep us on track.

I try to picture Sienna in the basement of the mad scientist’s mansion. What’s down there? An image of shelves filled with glass jars containing pickled body parts and rodents swimming in formaldehyde pops into my head, and I shove them away.

I hope that she knows I’ll save her.

I don’t even know if she has regained consciousness or if the bastard Nick Morris is feeding her with drugs.

“We get Sienna safely out of the house,” I say to the group in general, “but you leave Nick Morris to me.”

“Goes without saying, lad.” Damon glances at me over his shoulder from the front passenger seat. “Ye’ve got a score to settle. Ain’t one of us going to stand in your way.”

The terrain begins to climb.

There are no streetlamps, and it’s impossible to see anything other than the rain lashing the vehicle’s windows.

So, I sit back and think about Sienna.

The way she pants when she’s having an orgasm. The way she tastes when I’m eating her pussy. The way she arches her back and pushes herself onto me when she’s about to come.

The twenty-four hours she spent in my apartment were exactly how I envisaged it would be to live with her. As a couple. I can’t help smiling when I picture her padding around my kitchen with the comforter wrapped around her like a cocoon. Her rosy cheeks. The easy conversation over scrambled eggs and black coffee.

It’s everything I want.

There’s only one person standing in my way.

Nick Morris.

Sure, he isn’t working alone, but I’m unfazed by the new Russian bratva. They dared to try stealing my brother’s business, and they’ll get what’s coming to them. I’ve yet to figure out the best way to deal with Nick Morris.

He isn’t a member of the bratva. He’s a slimeball playing on the periphery of the mafia world without having first learned the rules. A worm who needs to be crushed underfoot.

My mom recognized the cruelty behind his eyes the instant she saw him.

Men like Nick Morris never learn from their mistakes. They simply duck under the radar, throw their accomplices under the bus to save their own skin, and find a new target. They prey on the weak. Only Sienna is a lot stronger than he has given her credit for.

As am I.

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