Page 115 of Broken Blood Ties

I glance down at the honeydew-green maxi dress sprinkled with a floral pattern reaching my ankles and cinching my waist. When Kieran told me we had to leave for Mass in twenty minutes, I’d devoured my waffles, without whipped cream, mind you, and ran to my room to change. This was the first dress I pulled out. It just so happens, it’s one from our Target excursion. Not a brand-name dress, nor a display of wealth.

Still, he thinks I’m beautiful.

I smile, and he peers down at me, bringing his thumb up to swipe across my bottom lip. We’re in our own world for a moment, and it’s entrancing.

He drops his hand from my face, glancing at the swarms of people flooding into the church. Grabbing my hand, he says, “Let’s go.”

High vaulted ceilings narrow into steepled peaks above us. The hint of incense calms me as we walk between columns to the rows of wooden pews arranged symmetrically, leading my eye toward the altar at the front.

Aoife stomps on the gold leaf swirls through the marble floor with her Mary Janes, purposefully walking on the whirling opulence of the white floor. Colored light filters in landing on the empty pews, and Kieran gestures toward one farther back in the sanctuary.

Whispers among the congregation clash with the quiet hymns being played over the surrounding speakers. For a church filled with mostly members of organized crime, the scene is surprisingly serene.

But when the Introductory Rites start and everyone stands to their feet, I don’t miss the glimpses of pistols trucked into the back pants of many men. Instead of a Mass it looks like a giant mash pit of made men and their families. Frankly, it’s creepy.

Halfway through, Aoife snuggles up underneath my arm, while Kieran draws lazy shapes on my thigh, often offering me a tantalizing grip in which I stifle a surprised gasp. He smirks slightly, then continues his flaunting ministrations.

I’m not sure if others can see he’s touching me, so does this play into his plan? Or is he putting his hands on me because he wants to. Something curls in my core, and I slap his hand and squeeze before he continues any further. But instead of removing his hand I’m trying to push off, he threads his fingers through mine and moves our entwined hands to his lap.

They stay that way for the rest of the service.

“Well, that was borin’,” Cormac says, stretching, then rubbing his stomach after Mass. “Ye going to feed us, Kieran?”

Kieran snorts, but he doesn’t look at Cormac. He’s too busy scanning the crowd. Aoife’s running through the pews with several other kids, and I smile before I’m met with scowls of disgust from a handful of women.

I let out an exasperated sigh and look away. What’stheirproblem? I don’t have time for this petty drama. As a result, I hook my arm through Kieran’s offering them an exaggerated smile while I lean into him. Then, for added effect, I flutter my eyelashes. Jeez, I’m petty.

“Kieran O’Donnell. Didn’t expect to see the boss here this morning.” A younger guy approaches, complete with light brown hair and blue eyes. He’s dressed in a suit, but the hoop ring in his nostril and the gauges in his ears practically mock his outfit.

“Aye. Ronan, this is my fiancée, Summer. Summer, this is one of me men, Ronan,” Kieran introduces.

“Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand to him, but he grabs it and brings it to his mouth to place a kiss on my knuckles.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He winks and I tense, but Kieran shakes his head.

Ronan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you have a minute?” he asks.

Kieran glances down at me. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

He steps off to the side with Ronan and Cormac, the ever-present shadow following him.

His departure leaves me alone, and I slowly spin, combing the dispersing people. I spot the bald head before his face, but he turns, laughing with someone next to him.

My heart pounds with the quick fix of adrenaline, and I glance back toward Kieran who’s now immersed in further conversation with Ronan. It must be heated because his face is stern and unyielding. I take it as the perfect opportunity.

Rolling my shoulders, I stride over to Marco, plastering a wide grin on my face when he notices me. His brow lifts before he returns the smile and steps forward.

As he closes in on me, he whispers, “Hello, Isabella.”

“It’s Summer,” I correct.

Marco snickers. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is. Kieran wasn’t engaged before Salvatore came into town. It’s a farce the two of you made up so you wouldn’t have to go home.”

“New York is not my home.” I fix a steely gaze on him, curling my lips in disgust.

“I should’ve told Salvatore your scheme.”

“But you won’t,” I taunt. “You’re just a dog looking for a master. Tell me. How is getting back in with the Cosa Nostra going?”

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