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Retrieving a folder from his desk, he tosses it to me and waits until I open it to read. “Sean Smith,” I mutter. The name is familiar, but I’m unsure why. “No picture?”
“Not since he entered the States after plastic surgery. He’s head of the Boston Mob, and he’s been trying to take over the drugs on my island for years. Last year, he returned to Ireland for a few months and came back a new man. Since then, nobody has seen what he looks like except for his innermost circle.”
“He have a reason to want Della?” Other than the fact she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. She’s not a part of this life, never has been, never will be if I have anything to say about it.
“Based off a rumor…. His son is sick, and there hasn’t been anything the doctors can do to help for a long time.”
A woman like Della…there’s no telling what she could do to help.
“Have you thought about moving her?” Getting her out of the line of fire makes the most sense.
“She is isolated enough; I don’t want to make her leave the only home she’s ever had and go into hiding if I can help it.” Yeah, I’d feel the same.
“Is eliminating the son an option?” Carter’s eyes darken in acknowledgment.
“It is. However, it will start a feud that puts a bounty on Della’s head, and I’d like to avoid that if possible.” Nodding my understanding, I continue reading through Sean’s file, hoping there’s something there I can use for leverage.
A wife, a mistress in Boston, one in Ireland, a dog-fighting ring. Locations are all included. It’s his warehouses I want to hit, though. That’s his income, and I’ll use it to my advantage.
“I’m bringing in Johnny Torrio and Nico Moretti.” I’ve known the men most of my life, and if I know anything about them, it’s that they respect the pecking order and won’t take kindly to a man using a woman in our circle as leverage in any way.
“They can’t know about Della,” Carter growls just as there’s a knock at the door. “Come in!” A stalky man walks in, and immediately, I recognize him as Della’s guard. “What is it, Cowboy?”
There’s a pause before Cowboy side-eyes me as I get to my feet. If he’s in here, there’s only one thing that could be wrong.
Della.
“She’s having a panic attack. Locked herself away,” he explains while stepping aside.
“What? What the hell triggered it?” Carter shouts as I’m already on my way out the door and up to Della’s room.
Turning the knob, the lock stops me, but not for long. A solid kick sends the wood panel flying open and bouncing off the wall as I enter to find the room empty. “The closet!” Carter shouts as he races up behind me.
“Della? It’s Holy.” I keep my tone low like I’m speaking to a spooked kitten because I get the feeling I am. When I open the closet door, the sight before me makes me question everything I thought I knew about Della O’Neill.
CHAPTER 3
Della
My ears ring as light shines in through the open closet door, and a shadowy figure bends down to where I’m buried in my weighted blankets and bean bag chair. The panic holds onto me like a vise; I’m hostage to the feelings pouring out of me and helpless to suppress the overwrought sob from escaping my lips.
Warm arms wrap around my body, and I’m lifted into a solid chest before we settle back into my spot. “Della, it’s Holy.” I stiffen at his name, fear etching into my heart. He’s the last person I want to see me at my weakest. “Sshhh, everything will be alright.” His reassurance doesn’t have the effect he likely anticipated because I can’t stop crying now.
My chest burns, and my throat is so tight it feels as if there’s a boa constrictor around it. But when his lips touch my hair, my body releases every ounce of tension weaving through my veins, and I can breathe again.
“Holy.” I gasp as I take my first lungful of air since hiding.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, baby, not on my watch.” Cuddling into his chest, I try not to obsess over Holy Sinclair calling me baby.
I’m not sure how long we stay in my closet. It feels like hours, but not nearly long enough. Holy doesn’t once complain about my weight on him or how we’re sitting. He doesn’t make me feel like a burden. Instead, I feel treasured as he rubs a soothing hand up and down my back, lulling me into safety.
“Why are you here?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
He doesn’t answer right away, and I close my eyes to listen to his heart beating until the rumble of his voice startles me again. “Carter asked for my help.” My heart wilts. I hoped it was for me, but as always, not much ever is.
Part of that is my own fault. I keep myself locked away from the world, mostly out of self-preservation but also because I have lingering abandonment issues. Dad doesn’t know it, but I vividly remember when my mom left me on his doorstep. I remember sitting in the cold, dark, rainy night, jumping and crying at every sound. I remember the sense of hatred that emanated from her touch. It’s because of her that I don’t like being touched.
As much as I love the way Holy holds me, I push up from his chest, needing to place distance back between us. Scrambling from his lap, I swiftly make my exit from the closet and head straight for my bathroom.
