Page 63 of Sins of Arrogance (Syndicate Sins #1)

KARA

We travel to Dublin for Dierdre's funeral with Fitz and my father.

Brian and Oisín were furious when they discovered that Deirdre and Ilya Darakov had been in contact while she was in New York. His capsized inflatable raft was discovered by a fishing trawler. Then their bodies washed up on the beach a day later.

Both deaths were ruled accidental drownings and warnings were issued again about the use of a pleasure craft without lights in the bay at night.

Recovery of Dierdre's phone records confirmed Mick's account of events.

Things got rocky between my father and the Northie leaders, Oisin demanding to see the security footage from that night.

My father played the role of furious and offended very well before finally handing it over. Of course, it had been manipulated to back up our story about her death as well.

The lack of alarms on the water was explained by the ability to disarm them from the yacht inside the boathouse. No one was supposed to know about that, but Dierdre was good at sussing out secrets and her family knew that.

Nevan vehemently denied the narrative, but couldn't divulge his knowledge of Dierdre's fixation with Mick and desire to get rid of me without repercussions from Brian Fitzgerald.

She hadn't told him about her deal with Darakov, so eventually, even he had to accept our version of events. On the surface anyway.

Dierdre's bodyguards were recalled immediately to Dublin where I'm sure they were interrogated and killed for dereliction of duty.

My father told Oisín that he was capable of protecting Dierdre from outside threats, but not from herself. He even said it with what sounded like genuine regret.

Eventually, Brian and Oisin agreed that Dierdre's death was a tragic accident resultant of her headstrong nature.

Not that either of them verbalized the last bit, but Dierdre's personality was well known to them all.

Now we are here to pay our respects and for Mick to interrogate Nevan.

We stay with his family, but their reserved demeanor toward us and Fitz is even more obvious when I see how they interact with the rest of their children and grandchildren.

We're a subdued group gathered in the drawing room before dinner, the night before the funeral. Most of the Fitzgeralds and all of the Kelly family are here.

Fitz walks up to Oisin and pats the man's arm. "I'm sorry for your loss." He sounds so grown up it makes me tear up.

Six years going on sixty sometimes.

Oisin clears his throat. "Uh, thank you, Fitzgerald."

"My da would cry and cry and cry if I died," Fitz goes on and turns to Mick. "Wouldn't you?"

"Aye, mo leanbh , I would at that." Mick's words seem to electrify the others in the drawing room, who stare at him with varying degrees of shock and disbelief.

"Dierdre was real pretty and she smiled a lot," Fitz continues, ignoring the way everyone in the room is now hanging on his every word.

"Aye, she did," Oisin says, his voice catching.

Fitz lifts his hand toward Oisin. He's holding his two favorite figurines. "This is Spidey and Miles. They help me when I feel sad sometimes. They'll help you too."

Ashlynn lets out a sob and Sheila hugs the other woman to her.

Oisin's eyes are filled with tears when he takes the toys from my son. "Thank you, Fitz."

After that, both families warm up to my son. And I'm glad for their sakes that they do. Because if they'd hurt his feelings by continuing to keep their distance, it wouldn't only be Mick's wrath they'd have to worry about.

My father returns to New York the day after the funeral, but Mick, Fitz and I stay on in Ireland.

I spend the next week getting to know Mick's family while Fitz bonds with his cousins. I like Mick's family and now that they dote on Fitz like they should, I'm even starting to feel affection for them.

A couple of days after the funeral, Sheila invites me to share a morning cuppa in her favorite room. It's a cozy room that reminds me of moma's sitting room. Five people at the max could sit in here comfortably.

Right now there are four. Mick's mom, his older sister, Chivon, and his younger sister, Brigid.

I like Brigid the best because she's giving her father fits and that makes me feel a kinship with her.

Sheila serves us all cups of teas and offers a plate of biscuits . Which are not fluffy, carby goodness served with butter and jam, but crispy cookies.

Just like moma serves with her tea and talk with us girls. There's more than just the layout of this room that reminds me of moma's space.

I take a cookie. "Thank you."

"The other night…" Sheila's voice trails off.

Chivon continues her mother's thought, like they've discussed this before inviting me to tea. "My brother said he would cry if Fitzgerald died."

I nod slowly. "First, he would probably kill a lot of people and maybe burn down the city, but yes, he would cry."

Brigid frowns at her mam. "That's why I don't want to marry into this life. Did you hear how matter of fact Kara talked about her husband murdering people. And she's a sweetheart."

"My aunt, who I loved like a second mom, was gunned down in front of me, my sister and her daughter, my cousin.

My uncle was shot and killed after I married Mick.

My cousin was kidnapped right in front of me and Fitz in August. Our lives are hemmed in violence, but I wouldn't give up being married to Mick for anything or anyone. "

The silence that follows my pronouncement lasts for nearly a minute.

"You really mean that," Brigid finally says.

I sip my tea and smile at her. "I do."

"But he's…" Chivon's voice trails off.

"He doesn't feel love," Sheila says. "He pretends, but he's my son. I raised him and no matter how he and his dad worked to hide it, Mick isn't normal."

I shrug. "We live in a world of violence, crime and justice that has nothing to do with government laws. None of us is normal."

"But he's different ," Chivon says. "Scary."

"Not if you're part of his family," Brigid says firmly. "He'd never hurt one of us."

"You really believe that?" Sheila asks her youngest, hope lacing her voice.

"I know it for a fact," I say. "Mick is absolutely loyal to those he considers family and he loves me and Fitz."

I don't claim he loves them. He doesn't and I'm not going to lie to my in-laws unless I have to.

"Brian pushed him to accept the marriage alliance because he was worried Mick might…" Her voice trails off again.

I set my teacup down on the small table and lean forward. "Never! Mick would never harm family."

Not unless they betrayed him and negated his sense of loyalty. I don't mention that because it's never going to happen and it would hinder the argument I'm trying to make.

"But he's so emotionless." Chivon shakes her head. "The only living thing he ever loved was Toby."

"That's not true any longer," I remind them. "Who was Toby?"

"Mick's dog. A drunk driver ran him over. My son killed him. Mick was eleven." Sheila says this like it should shock me.

It doesn't, but then I know my husband's dark nature and accept it for what it is. Part of him.

"My son has a cat. His name is Gobby. His uncle, Rory, is cat sitting while we're here. If someone ran over Gobby while driving drunk, my son wouldn't have to kill them. Mick would do it for him."

Chivon frowns. "You say that like you think it's a good thing."

"He calls Rory uncle?" Brigid asks.

"Mick has one of his lieutenants cat sitting for your son?" Sheila asks.

I pat Chivon's arm. "Yes, it is a good thing. Mick will protect us from anything, including my son feeling the need to exact vengeance at an early age."

Then I turn to Brigid. "Yes, he calls Rory, Brice and Conor uncle. They're family."

I focus my gaze on my mother-in-law. "They're more than his lieutenants, they're his brothers. Brothers who would die for him or to protect our son and me. Not because he asks them to, but because we're family."

Sheila rears back like I struck her. "We're his family."

"Yes." It's true. "But so are they."

"And they're the family he trusts. That's what you're saying," Chivon says.

"Yes."

"You don't think he trusts us?" Sheila asks, her voice laced with sadness.

I don’t ask what there is to trust about a family who basically banished him out of fear because I want Mick to have a better relationship with his parents and siblings.

"Do you trust him?" I counter. "I do. In all things and every way."

"Mick really does love you, doesn't he?" Chivon asks. "That level of trust doesn't come from anything but knowing you are loved on a cellular level."

Chivon's husband has been dead longer than I've been married, but I wonder if she trusted him like I trust Mick. If he loved her.

Arranged marriages are common in our world. Love? Not so much.

"I know my family loves me that way," Chivon says, as if I asked the question.

"But Mick doesn't," I say.

"I didn't think he needed our love," Sheila says.

"I think every child needs love." And maybe my sociopath would have developed tender feelings for one or more of them, if they'd given it.

But Mick scared them, it sounds like from a very young age.

"He was so emotionless when he was little. He only cried if he was hungry or wet. Never because he wanted attention. He ignored us most of the time."

"He didn't ignore me the day he broke that bully's arm," Brigid disagrees.

They tell me a story about Mick exacting retribution for an older boy knocking Brigid off the monkey bars.

"That's Mick. He protects the people he considers family." If I say it often enough, maybe they'll believe me.

"Then I wish he'd known what my husband was doing to me," Chivon says grimly.

Her mother gasps, but Brigid nods vehemently. "Mick would have gotten rid of Jack after the first time he hit you."

"Did you tell anyone what was happening?" I ask Chivon gently.

She shakes her head. "I thought it was my duty to take it, to endure."

"It wasn't," Brigid says with vehemence.

Sheila reaches out for her daughter. "Is that why you never came home during your marriage?"

"Jack wouldn't let me travel without him. He barely let me leave the house."

The look on Brigid's face says she knows all this and I think maybe that has more to do with her refusal to marry into another syndicate than anything else.

"If you'd told us…" When Sheila's voice trails off, we all know it's because she knows what she was going to say would have been a lie.

I tell them about moma's box then.

"I had no idea Maeve was so blood thirsty," Sheila says.

"She'd kill to protect us girls." And I'm just realizing how lucky I am to have been born into a family with her as my grandmother.

"I want a box like that," Brigid declares.

"You're never getting married, why would you need one?" her mother asks with some asperity.

Chivon's face sets with determination. "I wish I'd had one and I guarantee my daughter will if she ever gets married."

"That's enough talk about murder boxes," Sheila says. "Tell me more about Mick and your lives together in New York."

We stay in Dublin for two weeks while Mick gathers intel and we all get to know his family better. Most importantly, they start to get to know Mick.

MICK

I don't know what Kara said to my mam and sisters, but they treat me differently.

The wariness that's always been there is gone. Before we came to Dublin, I would have said it didn't matter, but I find that I like it.

That it makes me happy.

Not happy like I am with Kara, but not neutral either.

My father and brothers are the same and that doesn't bother me, so I haven't had some epic emotional epiphany.

Still, I like not scaring my mam and sisters.

Maybe it's seeing me with Fitz too. I show tenderness for him and Kara that I don't show anyone else.

Once I've gotten the information I need on Nevan's schedule and social patterns, I'm able to nab him and interrogate him using the benzo compound.

I discover no one else in the Northies is privy to his plans to kill my father. I also learn that he's doing business that his father and mine know nothing about.

I assign his assassination to Rory with the instruction that his death should lead to the discovery of those behind-closed-doors dealings.

Rory makes it happen on the night of Samhain.

Just in time for Kara to go off her birth control and us to start trying for that daughter she wants so badly. If we have another son, we'll rejoice in his birth and enjoy the hell out of trying again.

Because Kara and me, we're that epic love story I always believed was a fairytale.

The one where the sociopath in tarnished armor lives happily ever after with his mob princess.

And kills with prejudice anyone who so much as breathes a threat toward that happiness.

The End