Page 114 of Broken Blood Ties

“Summer!” Aoife says, running to hug me. “Want some waffles? Allie makes the best.”

I smile down at her. “Can’t say no to the best waffles in the world, huh?”

She giggles and shakes her head.

I glance back up and both men are still staring at me. Kieran’s green tie heightens the color of his eyes, and I shiver at his piercing observation.

“What’s with the suits?”

They both look at each other, then at Allie.

I scrunch my nose. “Who died?”

“No one. We’re going to Mass.” Still standing, Kieran cuts into his breakfast and takes a dripping bite.

“I’m sorry, what?” I flick my hair over my shoulder as if it’s impeded my ability to hear correctly. I mean I’m no stranger to Mass. I went growing up, almost every Sunday. But it’s different for mafia organizations. Most of the Cosa Nostra went to absolve themselves of any sins they were planning to commit for the week, and the priest was on my father’s payroll. I’ve steered clear since I’ve been on my own. “I didn’t realize you went to church.”

Kieran studies me, moving around the island with his hands in his slacks. “We don’t normally. But Marco does. Several of our men go to Saint Matthew’s.” He steps closer to me, lowering his voice. “It’s neutral territory and a safe place to go out as a … family.”

The pieces slide into place. I’m confused as to why Kieran is making such an effort to play this out. Is it all for me? I’ll admit the idea of a church filled with made men, both Irish and Italian, piques my interest. Even more so is the prospect of running into Marco. Although, my reasons are different than Kieran’s.

“Ye should eat then get changed,” he says.

When I don’t move right away, he snatches an empty white plate off the island and plates a waffle. “Whipped cream?”

My mouth drops open. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”

Cormac huffs out a chuckle, then ruffles Aoife’s hair as he moves his used dishes to the sink. Allie pretends to fiddle with the tea contraption on the stove.

“Ye want me to cut it for ye, too?” He gives me a lazy smirk while placing a fork on my plate, holding it out for me.

Eye twitching, I bite my tongue and glide over to him. I round to his backside, and he twists his head just enough to eye me. Leaning my front in, just enough to graze his back, I reach around and take the plate, grinning. “Thank you, Mr. O’Donnell,” I say, mustering a charming tone. The need to punctuate my comment with a wink causes me to drag my gaze toward his, but it snags on his mouth instead.

Goodness, his lips are all I can think about. I nibble my own trying to break the spell, but it only increases my yearning for more.

Kieran’s haughty expression softens for a blip, and I swear the slightest graze crosses my thigh.

Cormac spits out the tea in his mouth, and it splatters all over his suit and the kitchen floor. “Hell, mate. Ye’re in trouble.”

“Uh-oh, Cormac. Your suit,” Aoife says.

“It’s all right, bug.” Cormac gives her a laugh and lifts his hand for a high five. “Was worth it.”

* * *

The four of us ride to the church together. Kieran drives while I sit in the back seat with Aoife, and Cormac works from the front seat. I teach Aoife rock, paper, scissors, and she giggles as we play.

Kieran’s eyes on me are like a brand from the inside out. Every so often, he meets my gaze in the rearview mirror, and my heart flutters. He smiles at Aoife with adoration, but when he looks at me … I’m exposed.

Saint Matthew’s Cathedral is imposing, and when we pull up, I remember seeing it several times before on my bus rides in the heart of Boston. With towering spires that reach toward the blue-raspberry sky, I’m struck with the intricate stonework amplifying the featured carvings of saints and angels. In the church’s center, a circular stained-glass window displays a kaleidoscope of colors.

Its beauty rivals that of the church my sister got married in all those years ago.

Kieran opens the door for both Aoife and me, and Aoife, dressed in a chiffon peach dress with ruffled capped sleeves, rushes to hold Cormac’s hand as we walk to the entrance.

Men with beautiful, pristinely dressed women weave through the parking lot to approach the heavy wooden doors, framed with decorative arches while the bell tower chimes solemnly.

Kieran’s hand finds the curve of my hip as he guides us behind Cormac and Aoife. His fingers press into me, and right before the stone steps, he pauses, gently tugging my elbow to turn me. My heart shoots out when he bends down, mouth to my ear. “Ye look beautiful.”

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