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“How did you react?”

I took a moment to look out the window. This conversation was awkward, but I knew it had to happen, and we had nothing but time as we drove to Boston.

“Not well, sir.”

“How old are you, Duncan?”

“Fifty-two.”

“Stevie will have a lot to say,” Jefferey added.

“Yes, she will.” Woodlawn laughed and looked back at me. “It will be fun to watch.”

This conversation had taken a strange turn. I knew Stevie was Stephanie Malpas, Freyja’s mother. But the ominous way Woodlawn said it would be fun to watch had me shaking more than pissing off Sal.

Just shy of three hours later, which was impressive given Jeffrey’s age, he and Woodlawn followed me into the building our offices were in.

We stepped off the elevator onto the top floor, and my feet moved faster toward my office. I stopped inside the door and stared at Freyja. She was asleep on my couch. A split lip and messed-up hair marred her appearance. There were red marks around her wrists, and I vowed then and there that whoever had done it would die painfully and slowly.

I sat on the couch and pulled her into my lap as her father and Jeffrey entered the room.

“Wake up,mo bandia.”

Freyja stirred in my arms. Her lashes fluttered and she looked up at me. “Duncan.”

I didn’t care that her father was a few feet away, I dipped my head and took her lips with mine. I kissed her like I almost lost her.

Until a throat cleared.

Freyja turned her head to the two men standing in the room.

“Dad.”

“Are you ok, Freyja?”

She snuggled against my chest. “I am now.”

This woman would be the death of me. Her strength and resolve were unmatched among the other Mob wives. She would be someone they could look up to.

Would she be a Mob wife?

I didn’t know. We still had a lot to talk about. Freyja stood from my lap and walked to her father. I followed behind her, not wanting to be away from her. He wrapped her in his arms and whispered in her ear something I couldn’t hear.

Freyja looked up at him with wide eyes.

“It couldn’t be stopped. Not once your sister called Dimeter.”

“But, Dad, she’ll ask questions. Questions that he shouldn’t have to answer.”

“That will be his decision to make.”

Freyja rolled her eyes at her father and turned to me. “Duncan, sit back down.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, concern marring my brows.

“My mother was visiting my sister, Phoebe, and, well...” She looked up at her father and my eyes trailed after hers. The smirk on his face, as well as Jeffrey’s, told me all I needed to know. “She’s coming with my brother. She will ask you very intimate questions that you do not have to answer.”

I chuckled without thinking. Freyja acted like I was in for a Spanish inquisition. “I can handle your mother,mo bandia.”