"I don't care what it takes. I want Cormac dead," Keira says.
"Oh he will be," I say. "But not yet. Not while we're scattered."
"Callum—" Declan says, but I don't let him finish.
"Not yet." The words come out harder than I mean them to. "Listen, Mom doesn't want to stay here, so I'm going to move her to another hotel for now. Then I'm heading to the hospital. I'll make arrangements for the body release and transportation back to Boston."
I pause for a moment. I still can’t believe I’m saying these words.
"We'll be flying back tonight if I can get us on a plane,” I continue, “but it might take some time.”
"Be careful," Keira says. "If they got to Dad in a hospital, they can get to anyone."
I almost laugh.Careful. As if I've ever had that luxury.
"I will. Stay close to Octavian. Don't go anywhere alone. Talk soon."
I hang up before either of them can respond. I slide my phone back in my pocket and turn to walk toward the elevators.
"Callum Killaney?"
The voice comes from behind me. Sharp, but not hostile. I turn.
A man stands a few feet away. He's about my height, six foot three. Lean, but built like someone who's fought before. Tailored dark suit. Hair black as ink, cut clean, with a sharp jaw. Eyes so dark they almost reflect the floor. Expensive watch. Polished Italian shoes. A presence that showcases money, power. This is a man who doesn't introduce himself unless he wants something.
"Yeah. Who wants to know?"
He nods and steps closer. "Matei Ionescu," he says, and the name lands like a fist to the gut. "Thought it was time we meet."
2
CALLUM
For a long second, neither of us speaks. I just stare at him.
Ionescu. The Romanian mafia.
The same family run by Nicolae who had a psychotic plan to allow my sister to be kidnapped to force an alliance. The very family that nearly got Keira killed before Octavian came to his senses.
I step forward, needing him to confirm it.
"Ionescu," I say, my hand inching toward the gun holstered under my jacket. "From the same Nicolae Ionescu who put my sister in jeopardy? The same family trying to stage an alliance?"
He hesitates and nods.
"For what your father did," I continue, my fingertips brushing the handle of my pistol, "I should put a bullet in you right where you stand."
Matei tilts his head slightly, almost curious. "You could." His gaze shifts past my shoulder. "And of course my men would do the same to you."
I sweep the room with a subtle turn of my head.
Three men. No, four. One near the concierge desk, pretending to read a newspaper. Another by the entrance, hands in his pockets, too still to be a tourist. A third leaning against a marble pillar, phone in hand but the screen dark. The fourth sits in one of the velvet chairs near the bar, legs crossed, watching us.
All armed, I am sure, and my men are upstairs with my mother. I'm outnumbered, and Matei knows it.
My jaw locks as I force my hand away from my gun and cross my arms instead, the fabric of my suit pulling tight across my shoulders.
I look back at Matei. "You're a long way from Bucharest, so I'll give you thirty seconds to tell me why you're here before I decide I don't care about the odds."
