Page 54 of Sins of Arrogance (Syndicate Sins #1)

KARA

I'm still reeling from what happened on the helicopter ride into the City when the armored SUV glides to a halt in front of a building near the Meatpacking District downtown.

What I instigated.

And I'm not embarrassed. Not that the men know what we did. Not that I was so hot for my husband, I came twice and close together.

None of it.

Because Mick didn't hold anything back and I loved every second of it.

I glance up and see a Hisashi above open double doors. There are three stylized letters in all capitals on the wooden awning: TAO.

"I've heard about this place." But I never thought I'd get a chance to eat here.

It's huge and even I know security is a logistical nightmare in a restaurant of this size and as busy as it is. But it's one of the top Asian fusion places to eat in the City.

I blink up at Mick. "You’re taking me here?"

"Aye." He doesn’t tease me for asking, since where else would he be taking me?

But I'm still having trouble taking it in.

"You don't even like Asian fusion." I take his hand.

He laces our fingers and holds my hand tight. My heart goes kathump.

"Nah. I prefer a good Irish stew any day," he says. "But you like it and this is a date."

I think I maybe mentioned how much I like this style of food once in his hearing. And he remembered.

Because he's obsessed with me.

Heck, he's probably aware of every single time I've ordered food from my favorite Asian fusion restaurant on Long Island for lunch.

"I guess being stalked by my husband isn't all bad," I tease.

He leans down and kisses me. Right there on the sidewalk in front of the passers-by.

It doesn't last long and the tension in Mick's body tells me he never loses full awareness of our surroundings. But he still does it.

And that causes another kathump in my chest.

The closer we get to the main restaurant area, the louder it gets. Until we're standing in front of a pretty woman giving Mick a warm smile.

She welcomes us to the restaurant and she turns her head enough to encompass me with her smile as well.

I smile back, but it's forced.

Not because she's not lovely. I'm sure she is, but the music and voices in loud conversation to compensate for the volume of it create a wall of sound that presses against me like a physical force.

Mick pulls me closer and leans down. "Okay?"

I want to say yes. He's made a real effort to bring me someplace special, but I have an inexplicable urge to cry. I don't understand this.

No, I don't go places like this. Even the bar we went to for Róise's birthday wasn't as loud as this, with sound echoing all around me. The club for her party was louder, but still not like this.

This cacophony is outside my normal experience, but that doesn't mean it should be this overwhelming to me.

"It's loud," I say.

The hostess isn't smiling now. She's looking at me with concern. "Are you alright?"

Do I look that bad?

"Would you like to get our food to go and eat somewhere more quiet?" Mick asks.

I sag against him and nod. Mick tells the hostess what we want to do, and she gets us menus to look at before calling a waiter over to take our order.

By the time I've picked out my food, I’m practically crawling out of my skin. Leaving one of his men to get our food when it's ready, Mick leads me back outside.

As soon as we are back on the sidewalk, my entire body shudders in relief.

"I would understand Fi having this reaction," I say to Mick as we start walking. "But I'm not prone to anxiety."

"Or you are not put in situations that trigger it for you," Mick replies.

That's something I'm definitely bringing up in my next therapy session.

"The acoustics in there amplified everything," I say, trying to explain it both to myself and my husband.

Mick nods. "When I train my men on interrogation techniques, they have to learn that everyone has a different level of pain tolerance."

"Uh. Okay." Where is this going?

"What barely registers for one person might break someone else. Circumstances matter too. Pain inflicted in an environment that causes mental distress is more acute."

I get the analogy he's trying to make. "But I wasn't distressed."

I'm not distressed. Am I? This is what I've wanted for my whole marriage. For Mick to take time to spend with me like a normal couple.

"But you were excited. Heightened emotion of any kind can increase our reaction to stimuli."

And I don't like loud noises. I've never equated that with anxiety, or anything like that. Only, given a choice, I always go for the quieter alternative.

The alternative where sound is measured and pleasant, not a roar of noise assaulting my eardrums.

And while I have to deal with crowds in my role as my father's daughter and Mick's wife, I don't like them. I never make a big deal about it because protecting Fiona is always more important than my low-level discomfort.

If I didn't step in and do the socializing, her need to escape every social gathering would become more obvious.

"I'm going to talk to my therapist about this. I can't react that way in a social setting where others could see it as a weakness." I am Kara Fitzgerald, ranking female in the Shaughnessy Mob.

"Now that I know that type of noise is overwhelming for you, I will not allow you to be placed in a situation where you have to deal with it," Mick says resolutely.

I sigh. "That's not realistic."

He stops and faces me. "You need to understand that I will protect you in every way I learn you need it. Every. Single. Way."

"I'm a grown woman. I should protect myself."

Mick's answer is to kiss me. Right there on the sidewalk. He takes his time and when we start walking again, pleasure and warmth are popping like bubbles in my bloodstream.

We walk down 9 th and are turning down W 15 th Street before I ask where we are going.

"Pier 57's Rooftop Park."

"You had a backup plan for my totally unexpected reaction?" I ask with disbelief.

"I had planned to take you to the park to see the view of the harbor after dinner."

Wow. When he decides he's going to take me on a date, my husband doesn't half-ass it.

"And if I'd wanted to dance at TAO's nightclub?"

"Security was in place and the doorman apprised of our possible intention."

"I'm impressed."

"I'm good at logistics," my sociopath says not-so-modestly.

"You are that." I look around us but don't see anyone I recognize. "Your guys are following us, aren't they?"

"Aye. Two went ahead to scout a safe location for us to eat."

"Are we going to sit on the grass?" I'm not sure how I feel about that in my dress.

"There are benches."

"We'll be lucky if any of them are empty."

"I'm the underboss to the Shaughnessy Mob, mo stór . We don't need luck."

That's new. Mick usually calls me treasure and I'm beginning to understand he means that literally, but calling me my treasure makes it more personal.

I decide I like it.

Mick's right of course. There is an empty bench with a radius of about ten feet around it free of other people when we get to the south side of the park.

Not having planned to do any real walking in my four-inch pointy-toed heels that do great things for my calves while squishing my toes, I can't wait to reach the bench. My feet nearly cry with gratitude when I sit down on it.

The view is too beautiful to focus on my sore toes though. We're about a quarter of a mile out over the water and whatever direction I look is a feast for my eyes.

The skyline of Lower Manhattan. The Hudson River and New York Harbor. I can even make out the Statue of Liberty in the distance.

"It's beautiful here," I breathe.

"Nothing is more beautiful to my eyes than you mo chuisle ." Mick's hand clasps the back of my neck the way he does so often lately.

A blatant statement of connection. Our connection.

"You called me mo chroí on the helicopter." He never has before.

His heart. It's a little different than calling me his pulse. Closer to the word I'm afraid he'll never use.

Love.

Will he remember? Will he admit it if he does.

"Aye. Before you, I had no heart to speak of."

"That can't be true. You love your parents." Even as I say the words, I doubt them.

We have been married seven years and we've never gone to visit his family once.

He's been to Dublin on business without me, and I'm sure he sees them then, but when I ask about it, he never has much to say.

They came for the wedding, of course.

His parents came to visit after Fitz was born, but I don't remember a lot about that time. His mom sends gifts for birthdays and Christmas. She video calls once a month, but Sheila hasn't been back to New York.

Brian comes for business with my father and Mick a few times a year and always stays at the mansion. He's always charming to me and respectful of Mick.

He's good with Fitz, but not doting.

I like him, but I don't have any affection for him.

Mick told me once that his family did not approve of our son being given the surname of Shaughnessy.

Maybe that's why Mick and his da aren't close. They're not antagonist, but if I didn't know Brian was Mick's da, I'd never guess it by how they are together.

"No, I don't love them. I did not experience love before you gave me Fitz."

"I guess I did give you a heart then." I remember the first time he called me mo chuisle .

It was when I woke up in the private hospital after taking the sleeping pills.

He'd told me I had to live because I was the beat of his heart. I'd thought that meant he might love me, but he never said anything like that. And he always held part of himself back from me.

I still clung to the possibility for the first couple of weeks I was in The Marlowe Center because Mick was there every day with Fitz. They stayed at a rented property nearby along with his crew at the time.

It was during those weeks that my heart finally bonded with my six-month-old son.

And I found a reason to live.