Page 107 of Broken Blood Ties

Kieran steeples his hands, elbows resting on his thighs. “I shouldn’t have won. I’m not bad, but I’m not the best. Definitely couldn’t have beat Oscar. I think he threw the fight.”

I don’t know anything about boxing, or betting, but I still don’t see the issues.

As if he can see the confusion etched on my face, he continues. “I think someone paid him to throw the fight. It screws up the odds, angers other fighters, and in this delicate balance of being the place where dirty money gets washed, ruins our credibility.”

“Who would do that?” I pull his arm up so he’s looking at me before placing the butterfly closure over the top section of his cut and adding another to the bottom.

“Riku,” he rumbles. It’s throaty and angry, and I don’t know this Riku, but it makes me want to punch him in the nose. “He’s the new leader of the Yakuza. Killed his father for the position. In front of me.”

“Jeez. Why would he do that?”

He shakes his head, hands rubbing over his jeans. “They’re growing their numbers. I don’t know why. I don’t know his game plan. He’s threatening me family. Me legacy.” Kieran bolts up, choosing to pace the few strides between the front and back of the room. He’s panicked.

“I don’t even know if I have a legacy to pass on, but I don’t want it ripped away from me!” He’s yelling now and I flinch.

“You have Aoife,” I say, trying to calm him.

He seethes. “What if she doesn’t want this life? What if I can’t raise her to feel connected to her blood ties, to her duty like …” His words trail off, but the meaning behind them punctuates the air.

Like me. He means like me.

As much as it shouldn’t, his words sting. Not because I regret running. I’d do it over again in a heartbeat, but part of me does regret hiding. For feeling so powerless that I felt I had to cut ties with everyone just to protect myself.

“Kieran, listen to me.” I stand. “Aoife is not me, and you are mostdefinitelynot my father. You’re a good dad, and Aoife wouldn’t run away because she knows you love her. If anyone can raise a woman to do a man’s job in the made world, it’s you. The fact you want her to have a choice is more than most of us born into it have.

“And if she chooses to live her life differently, outside the Mob, then you’ll support her because that’s whoyouare. There is no legacy worth forcing if that mean severing your own blood ties.”

His shoulders visibly relax with an audible sigh. “Ye have too much confidence in me.”

“Maybe.” I wink. “And who knows, maybe someday you’ll have a son to solve all your problems.”

I mean it in jest, sarcastically, but his jaw flexes and I wipe the grin off my face, working the uncomfortable lump down my throat. Fiddling with my robe ties, I glance up to find Kieran staring at me.

“Ye volunteering?”

The rawness in his voice comes deep from in his chest but almost sounds strained underneath the gritty husky tone. It rattles me, so I step back. Maybe I’m even subconsciously seeking the door.

But as I retreat, Kieran follows me. His nostrils flare as he matches me step for step, his tall frame moving with a fluidity that exudes confidence.

I grind my molars.

He tilts his head and quirks his brow. “Ye runnin’ again?”

“Maybe,” I whisper.

My back presses against the solid wall, preventing me from moving any farther back, and Kieran slowly leans in close to me, hand caging me in. There’s a quiet intensity in his expression as he searches my face. “Thank you,” he says.

“F-For what?”

“For taking care of me cut, and for listening. I don’t usually have the privilege of talking through things with others.”

A pain drills deep in my chest. He’s on his own. Navigating Aoife alone. I hate that I ever made him feel like he wasn’t doing enough.

“You don’t have to thank me. I want what’s best for Aoife, and I happen to have a firsthand experience on how not to handle Mafia daughters. Maybe I should start charging a fee, go into the consultation?—”

Kieran lowers his mouth to hover above mine. My heart kicks into a wild thump while my body sparks at the scent of sweat mingled with mint as he blows a puff of air across my cheek. Anticipation crackles in the stagnant air of the office as his fingertips graze my arm.

“Summer?”

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