Page 124 of Lovely Venom

He turns playful eyes on me. “You’re the one with the accent,lass. To me, anyway.”

“And does my NewYawkaccent turn you on?” I let the exaggerated tenor fall off my lips.

He pulls me in for a kiss. “The thicker the better. I love how tough and scrappy you are. Do I look like I’d know what to do with a delicate princess?”

Not that I think an Albanian princess would be in gowns and jewels. If there is anything I find intriguing about knowing who I really am, it’s that I feel more like a warrior princess.

We turn onto a block that pitches up about forty-five degrees. By the time we reach the last house, I look over my shoulder, and it feels like we’re on top of a mountain. A mansion rises from the concrete like a damn estate in a fairytale. Stone and iron, wood and glass, sprawling and grand with enough wings to house a small army.

My palms are slick with nerves as I mentally prepare to meet Connor’s family. I’ve faced down drug lords with less anxiety.

With cars parked haphazardly in the paved courtyard in front of the house, Connor steers me around several until we reach a metal gate. A six-foot high wrought-iron fence surrounds the house. The ornately carved front door looks like it should have hanging iron knockers that echo throughout the neighborhood.

I heard Connor refer to this as Quinlan Manor. Glancing behind me, I notice we’re not the only ones who brought guards. There are SUVs with tinted windows lining the block. Plus, a few men in suits and guns are standing around, watching and waiting. More chills run up my spine. It’s not cool or sexy to see Connor and his family use this kind of protection. It’s because he’s dangerous with dangerous enemies.

What the hell am I doing?

Before I can pull him aside and beg him to take me home, and by home, I mean my apartment, I’m led insidea handsome wood-paneled foyer where a pack of kids run past us, screaming hello to Uncle Connor. Laughter echoes as three little boys and two older girls duck into a living room.

“Crap, I didn’t get candy for the boys.” Connor runs a hand through his hair.

“They’ll learn to share,” I say, even though I hid my chocolate pretzel balls.

Connor smiles and brings me into a kitchen that could be used on a movie set. We’re greeted with a chorus of hi’s, hey’s, and alo’s. Connor blushes for the first time as everyone’s eyes land on me.

I give a soft wave, and Connor, who has snapped out of whatever struck him for a moment, starts introducing me to everyone. I clock faces and names like I’m profiling suspects.

Griffin and his wife Ava greet me warmly. Their two little boys, named Lucien and Alexander, rush at them like miniature linebackers. They’re identical twins, but they’re not dressed the same.

Sabine, who I met at The Sterling hotel, introduces her billionaire husband, Grayson. I’m starstruck in the presence of the famous actor, but I play it cool. A growing toddler named Aiden bounces at his feet, then takes off to chase his younger cousins.

All while screaming.

Shane, who I recognize from my undercover gig as a drug addict looking for Havok, gives me a knowing smile. Connor introduces me to Shane’s wife Lennox, who is expecting but holding a baby. I learn the angel is the daughter of Connor’s oldest brother Ewan and his niece/wife Darcy. She’s the baby I bought the lollipops for. The couple’s other daughters are there too, peeking behind Lennox’s skirt, blowing raspberries at each other.

Everyone is welcoming and super nice in a way thatcatches me off guard. Then Connor’s mother appears from a walk-in pantry with a barn door. It’s the matriarch herself, and the technical head of the family since their father passed away almost two years ago.

I expected a towering Valkyrie of a woman who birthed four six-foot-tall sons. Heck, Sabine is six feet tall, as well. No, Norah Quinlan stands shoulder to shoulder with me. She’s elegant and refined, wearing classic, yet simple jewelry. Her perfume is biting but pleasant, appropriate for a woman of her age.

Connor’s hand squeezes mine a little tighter and even grows damp as we pass through the crowd watching him introduce a woman to his mother. “Ma, this is Raina. Raina, this is my ma, Norah.”

She gives me a stern once-over, and I hope she doesn’t see a gold digger trying to trap her wealthy son. I’d rather be in my old jeans and one of Connor’s flannel shirts.

Norah takes my hands in between two warm palms. “Welcome to my home, lass.”

She doesn’t call it Quinlan Manor because that label is for the outside world. This is her home.

Norah smiles, but that gaze tracks across my shoulder to Connor. Her excitement is restrained. I’m guessing no one expected Connor would ever bring a lass home to Mama.

Among the chorus of conversations I’ve heard Connor having with his brothers, they’ve discussed moving his mother out of here and into Manhattan to be closer to everyone. The secure high-rise building, The Lancaster, is at the top of the list because enforcer Trace lives there.

I can see now that it is a futile effort. It will take a crane to move this woman out of here. She’s a part of the fabric of every inch of this place.

“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes,” Norah announces, and I can tell this meal is the highlight of herweek.

“Smells delicious,” I comment. “Can I help with anything?”

“My granddaughters are helping me just fine.” She pats my shoulder. “One day,yourdaughter will, too.”