Page 58 of Sins of Arrogance (Syndicate Sins #1)

KARA

Over the next couple of days, it gets easier and easier to believe that I am Mick's everything. Me and our son.

Mick tells me all about this new weapon he's been overseeing the development of for almost a year. It sounds like something right out of a sci fi novel.

When I told him that, he said my father said the same thing.

He also tells me that Brogan told him that I deserved to be loved fiercely.

And I'm starting to think that maybe I am.

Because if there's a difference between Mick's obsessed craving for me and the love I feel for him, I can't see it.

When he tells me why he kept Dierdre at the mansion and how his soft interrogation of her ended, I laughed my head off.

"I wish you'd gotten pictures."

Mick flashes his devil's grin. "You think I didn't know you'd want to see?"

He pulls out his phone and shows me.

I laugh so hard it brings Fitzy out of the pool where he's been swimming with Rory. "What's so funny, mom?"

I put my arms out for a hug and my son gives me an exuberant one before he remembers, he's a big boy and too cool for that.

"Aww, mom." He draws out mom until I'm laughing again.

Before I can stop him, Mick shows the picture of Dierdre facedown in her plate of Dublin Lawyer.

"She fell asleep in her dinner?" Fitz rolls his eyes. "She's not strong or smart. Not like mom."

Mick ruffles Fitz's hair. "You got that right, boyo."

Rory yells to ask Fitz if he's done swimming and our son rushes back to the pool edge before cannon balling right into the water in front of Rory.

The big bad mobster gets splashed with an almighty spray of water right in his face.

Happiness fizzes inside me as I turn back to Mick. We're sharing a double wide pool lounger he bought the day after we arrived.

"You planned to tell me all along?" I nod toward his phone, indicating the picture of Dierdre.

Confusion flashes in Mick's green gaze. "Nah. I didn't."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I'm not." And that stuns him.

Mick is always sure.

"Maybe you were growing as bothered by the walls between us as I was," I suggest gently.

He nods, this time showing zero uncertainty. "I want you back in my office. I've already got a desk set up for you to do your schoolwork at. Once you graduate, you can work there."

"You want me to work for you?" I ask.

He shakes his head and my heart squeezes painfully.

"I want you to work with me. I don't share your father's antiquated views of a woman's place in the syndicate."

"So, you'd be okay with our daughter growing up to be a soldier like Zoey?" I ask.

Mick yanks me right into his lap, our gazes locked. "You want to have a daughter?"

He remembers what I said that terrible day when I realized my grandfather had ordered all the girl embryos to be thrown away.

So do I. And I remember the feelings that made me say that. That made me believe there was nothing worse than bringing a girl into this world.

"You would never take away our daughter's voice, or allow anyone else to," I say with conviction.

"No, I wouldn't. And no daughter of mine is getting married right out of high school either."

"She gets a say about who she marries and when she does, if she ever does it," I say.

Mick nods. "Chances are, it will be an alliance marriage because she won't be exposed to men outside our world."

I know he's right and I don't dispute that. But there's a difference between being told who you must marry and being given a choice about who it will be.

Or if you ever will marry.

"And Fitz?" I ask.

"Will always have a say in his future. We are born to this life, but that doesn't mean our destinies are written for us. Mine changed when I married you."

And mine changed when I married Mick. No other man would ever have held my heart like he does.

"I might not have a girl," I warn him.

"But you do want to get pregnant with me again?" he asks, his tone more hesitant than I've ever heard it.

"Yes. I love you, Mick. And I know you will love our daughter like a child deserves to be loved."

"Like I love her mother."

My heart swells in my chest as tears wash into my eyes. "You love me?"

"I have since the beginning. I didn't recognize it for what it was. Addiction I understood, but love? That was a total mystery to me."

"Then Fitz was born."

"And I knew I loved our son. Every feeling I had for him was fierceness tempered by tenderness."

"Not the way you felt about me."

"Nah."

"I don't love you the same way I love our son either. Or Fi, Róise or moma , for that matter." That love is fierce, but it's not passionate.

It's not accompanied by a need I don't think I'll ever be able to deny.

"Or your father."

"Or him." Yes, I love my father.

And maybe someday, if he really believes the words he said to Mick and acts like it, I'll even like him.

"I didn't understand the nuances of love."

"Because you've never loved anyone else."

"Not even my family."

"But especially not Dierdre."

"Fuck no! Not that disloyal piece of shite."

"Tell me how you really feel," I tease, but I won't pretend I don't like him saying that.

"She was working with Darakov."

"The Russian?"

"Aye. In exchange for information on our mob, he promised to back out of the marriage alliance."

"Why didn't Dierdre just say no?"

"Because her da threatened to cut her off financially if she did."

"I could almost feel sorry for her. It's a horrible feeling to think you're powerless in choosing your own future."

"Don't waste your tender heart on her. She planned to kill you. Even if she hadn't been a traitor, I would have killed her."

"Because you will always protect me."

"Always."

"Because you love me to the depths of your sociopathic soul."

"I'm not sure I have a soul, mo chiste is a stór ."

"Your cherished love? You're pulling out all the stops now." I'm teasing him, but my throat is thick with tears.

Because there's not a single bit of me that doubts that is exactly what I am to my ruthless mob underboss.

His cherished love. His treasure. His heart and its pulse.

His everything.

Later that night, after we've tucked Fitz into bed, Mick asks me if I want to go swimming.

Loving how he's making it clear he wants to spend time with me, not just in the bedroom, I say yes.

When we get to said bedroom, Mick holds up the tiniest green bikini I’ve ever seen.

"You can’t wear this back at the mansion." His tone is a mix of warning and heat. "It’s hard enough for me to let you wear your tankinis where the soldiers can see you. This? This is for when it’s just us."

I arch a brow. "What about Brice and the others here?"

" My crew know better than to look."

I believe him. But it still sends a little thrill through me that I’m the one who can make this man come undone.

When we get outside, the sun’s gone down, the moon is rising, and the water glows under soft deck lights.

It feels magical. I'm floating on my back, enjoying my view of the night sky when a hand closes around my ankle.

That's the only warning I get before I go under. I come up sputtering and glaring to find Mick grinning.

Carefree and happy and that just does my heart in.

"You’ll pay for that," I threaten, launching myself at him.

I try to dunk him, and I definitely tickle him, but he’s too strong. He flips us both underwater and when we come up, we’re wrapped around each other.

His mouth finds mine with the unerring accuracy of lovers who have shared a bed and their bodies for seven years.

We kiss and tease and laugh until I’m breathless, and my entire body is buzzing. I wrap my legs around his waist, locking my thighs around him, trapping the hard length of his erection between us.

"You surrender?" he asks, grinning down at me, his hands roaming along my back and cupping my bottom under the water.

I rest my head on his shoulder, letting myself melt against him. "If this is surrender, syndicate wars would end before the first soldier dies."

"Nothing else can feel like this, mo chiste is a stór . What we have is unique."

That endearment again. And the way he says it makes my heart flip.

I press a kiss to his neck. "You think we're the only sociopath and mob princess who love each other more than life?"

"Doesn't matter. That love can't be duplicated."

"You're not competitive at all." I rub myself against his erection.

"You ready to go inside?" he asks.

"I’d rather go in the hot tub." I've got plans.

He agrees like I expect, because he would do pretty much anything to make me happy. And just knowing that infuses every breath I take with joy.

We reach the pool steps, and I try to unwrap my legs, but he tightens his hold on my backside. "No. Let me carry you."

I glance around. I don’t see anyone, but I know they’re out there – his men, watching. Protecting.

"All right," I murmur.

He carries me across the pool deck, the blunt tip of his hard sex rubbing against the apex of my thighs with every step. My mind drifts to a dozen scenarios that end with us naked, still in this exact position.

But first…I have my plans.

Mick starts the jets, then steps down into the bubbling hot water with me still in his arms.

I tense. "It’s hot."

"You’ll get used to it." He dips us both down until the water reaches our necks. "This is the quickest way."

My body fights the shock of the heat at first, but it doesn’t take long before I’m sighing. "That feels heavenly."

We settle side by side on the bench, warm water and jets working out the tension in my muscles. It should be relaxing. And it is – for a while.

But I’m too aware of his nearly naked body. Of how good he smells. Of how safe I feel, even with danger always one breath away in our world.

Snuggling into his chest, I slide my hand up his thigh, slow and deliberate. When I brush my fingers against the hard line of his sex, he goes rigid beside me. I smile, as if I’m not up to anything at all.

My hand drifts beneath the waistband of his swim trunks.

"Keep your eyes on the stars, Michael," I murmur.

His hand grabs my wrist before I get too far. "What are you doing?"

"Can’t you tell?"

"My men are on patrol," he reminds me. "I know you can’t see them, but they’re here."

"I love how you keep us safe." I curl my fingers around the top of his shaft. "But relax. The bubbles hide everything."

"You don’t think my shout of ecstasy will give you away?"

I grin. "Do you care?"

"Do you?" he counters.

"No." And I don’t. I’m not ashamed of this. Of us.

"If you keep your face blank, no one will know what I’m doing." I stroke him again. "And you're really good at that."

He has lots of practice.

"You make it hard," he growls, so turned on he doesn't catch his own pun.

"I know," I whisper.

His grip slackens. I slide my hand deeper, curling around his thick length and stroking slowly, savoring the weight and heat of him in my hand.

"You are pure pleasure," he breathes. "But I’m not sure this isn’t torture."

I keep my eyes on the stars and work him with deliberate, steady strokes. It’s heady, knowing I can bring this powerful man to the brink and none of his men will be any the wiser.

Until he shouts when he cums.

His chest rises and falls faster. His thighs jerk.

Then suddenly, he erupts out of the water, lifting me with him.

"Mick!"

He ignores me, carrying me at full tilt across the deck, his face wild with intent.

Feral. Focused. Mine.

He doesn't slow down when we get in the house. He pounds up the stairs and kicks open the door to our room. It slams shut behind us with a reverberation I feel in my chest.

"I want you," he growls, and his mouth claims mine with a heat that threatens to consume us both.

I don’t fight it. I kiss him back like he’s my oxygen and I’ve been drowning. We lose track of everything – time, breath, the world around us – until he breaks the kiss and steps back, his gaze dark and dangerous.

"Take it off," he says, his voice more animal than man.

"What?"

"Take off your swimsuit."

"Is that an order, underboss?"

"Yes."