Page 3 of Sins of Arrogance (Syndicate Sins #1)

The white sand is too hot from the summer sun to walk barefoot. Reaching down, I scoop up Fitz's shoes as well.

When they reach the grass, Mick lets a squirming Fitz down to run toward his grandfather. Brogan Shaughnessy, Boss of the largest Irish mob in New York, is a more doting grandfather than he ever was as a dad.

I reach the small group just in time to hear Dierdre say, "Micky, I have to admit that of all the places I expected to find you, having a family swim with your sweet wee boy and innocent young wife wasn't one of them. How terribly domestic of you."

There's so much to unpack in that statement. Not least of which is how she makes innocent sound synonymous with stupid. And her emphasis on the word young makes it sound like Mick is twenty years older than me, not a mere eight.

That's not even a decade. Although that eight-year gap was intimidating to an 18-year-old bride, it's seven years on. Our difference in ages hardly registers anymore. I'm a wife and a mother. Hardly innocent.

And seriously, what is up with her calling him Micky?

Suddenly the buzz of conversation around me stops and I realize three sets of eyes are fixed on me expectantly. Fitz is staring in fascination at Dierdre Kelly, but she, my husband and my father are all looking at me.

"Sorry. Did I miss something?" I ask.

My father's lips flatten with irritation. "Kara, this is Dierdre Kelly. Dierdre, this is my daughter, Kara."

Oh, introductions were made while I was lost in my thoughts. There was a time not so long ago that it would have sent my stress skyrocketing to think I messed up.

But I'm working on the perfectionism that plagues me with the help of my secret online therapist. She's not the only online secret I have. I'm also attending university through distance learning courses.

My father would tell me I don't need either a therapist or higher education.

I don't know how Mick would react. I've never asked him, but keeping him in the dark so he doesn't tell my father feels like the safest course of action to me.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Kelly." I reach my hand out to shake the Irish beauty's.

She barely touches my fingertips before pulling hers back, her carmine painted lips twisted in a moue of disapproval. "Wet."

"That happens when you're swimming." Do I sound as unimpressed by the prima donna as I feel?

"It's Dierdre, please," she says, ignoring my comment. "We're practically family, after all."

"We are?" I ask, nonplused. "How?"

"Micky's family and mine are very close." She gives Mick an appreciative once over. "Though we aren't actually related. We've been friends since I was a wee lass in pigtails."

I can't imagine this sophisticated woman wearing pigtails, even as a little girl.

And the way she looks with a little too much interest at my husband in his board shorts, his tattoo covered muscles glistening with water from the bay, makes it clear she definitely doesn't see him like a brother.

Whoever this woman is to my husband, she and I are not going to be besties.

The coolly assessing look Dierdre turns on me makes me wish I had stopped to put on my swim wrap and not just my sandals.

My wet tankini doesn't hide any of my body's imperfections. Well, except the faded stretch marks on my stomach from my pregnancy. They're the reason I wear a tankini instead of a bikini.

I'm rarely uncomfortable in my own skin though. I like my curves, even if I'm too rounded and jiggly to be mistaken for a gym bunny.

But right now, standing before the perfectly coiffed woman almost as tall as my dad in her heels, it's hard not to feel short and pudgy.

"What are you doing here?" Mick asks Dierdre.

Dierdre's mouth turns down in a pout. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Of course," Mick replies with a smile.

I draw comfort from the fact it's his charming persona smile, not a genuine one. I didn't used to be able to tell the difference.

When we were first married, I mistook Mick's charm for some kind of affection for me. After our son was born, I learned the difference between the facade and real affection.

Mick adores our son.

Which makes it impossible to lie to myself about him adoring me. He doesn't.

But sometimes when he smiles at me, it reaches his eyes. So, I know he likes me. Maybe even holds some affection for me.

Like my dad.

Not love.

Casual affection that doesn't impact either of their thoughts when I'm not directly in front of them.

My therapist is helping me work through that too.

"Let's go inside and I'll tell you all about it." Dierdre shoots a significant glance my way. "It's not something for the ears of a stranger."

If my sister were here, she'd be rolling her eyes at the drama queen. I'm tempted, but the six years between me and Fiona means I have to control the urge.

I'm a mature woman with a child.

Sometimes that reminder isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Mick jerks his head in acknowledgment and heads toward the house without another word. Or a look back at me to see if I have Fitz in hand.

Why would he? Our son is my responsibility during Mick's work hours.

And I never shirk my responsibilities.

FML

I grit my teeth in frustration. I can't even say the F-word inside my own head. Just the acronym. Because I'm the good girl. The obedient one.

I willingly sacrificed my life and dreams in marriage for the good of the mob at the age of 18.

But I resurrected those dreams, didn't I?

I might be a good girl who can't curse inside her own head, but I'm also the woman who is attending online university in secret and is only nine months from getting my degree in computer science.

Not that I'll ever be allowed to do anything with it, not in the Shaughnessy Mob anyway. My father's firmly stuck in the Dark Ages in his views on the role of women in the family business.

But maybe outside it. My specialty is programming and well…hacking, but I don't want to make a career out of that outside the mob. Too risky considering who I am.

But lots of programmers work remotely and with Fitz starting first grade in the fall, what's to stop me from filling my days with something more challenging than shopping and coffee dates with other mob wives?

Maybe I'll have a secret career to go with the rest of my secret life.

The parts of life I choose, not the pieces thrust on me because I was born a mob princess.