Page 33 of Mob Saint

There’s no way I’d forget you, Tiera.

We were standing at a stoplight, waiting to cross, when he said that. It made my toes curl in my shoes.

We spend an hour and a half walking around. He’s just invited me to lunch, but his phone rings. Or rather it vibrates in his pocket because he pulls it out, and I see Finn’s name on the screen. I turn away as though I’m looking around some more. I know every building on this street, but I don’t want to appear nosey.

When he speaks Gaelic, I know what’s coming. No one in my family or the O’Briens’ speaks it fluently. I know some phrases like how he greeted me in court, and I knew the word for little girl. It’s obvious he’s fluent and must use it regularly.

When he hangs up, he turns a regretful expression to me.

“It’s okay, Seamus. I know it’s work.” He’ll never tell me what kind of work.

“It is. I’m sorry. I don’t want to run away when we’re having such a nice time.”

“You aren’t running. It’s family work.”

He doesn’t appear thrilled when I put it that way, but he nods. “I’ll walk you back.”

“It’s okay. I’m going to stop by the deli and get some bagels.” It’s the best place in the neighborhood since they’re baked fresh daily.

He hesitates before he nods. He doesn’t like my suggestion.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t walk back to my place alone? Has someone seen us together?”

“I don’t know, but you know I’m cautious.

We walk to the corner where the deli is. He slides his hand down my forearm and takes my hand. He leans in and kisses right beside my mouth. I turn and our lips brush. He kisses me properly, but it’s over way too soon.

“Tiera, will you go on a proper date with me tomorrow?”

“I’d like that.”

I watch him walk away, and it’s like a chilly wind just whipped between the buildings and blasted me in my face.

Chapter Nine

Tiera

Gareth’s been gone for seven weeks. He’s had two trips back-to-back and three more spaced out, but with little time in between, which means he’s left me the fuck alone. Uncle Vince has texted me a few times with complaints about me not doing this or that for them. I’m supposed to lose an insurance claim, deny another, and report a third for fraud. The only fraud to be committed would be me if I did any of those. I’ve talked my way out of it, but I know my reprieve is running out.

He summoned me—fucking douche bag—down to Trenton to sneak onto a house fire site to examine the wreckage. He wanted to be sure it wouldn’t blow back on them. He sent two of his men up to escort me. I could have refused, and they wouldn’t have manhandled me or anything, but it was just easier to give in. Especially once he started bringing up how if I’d done what I was supposed to and met Aaron at the hospital like Darren insisted if I went into labor while Aaron was “working”, then nothing would have happened that night. I hate him so much. I know I shouldn’t wish a relative dead, but I do. All the time.

It was challenging dodging Seamus that night when we’ve seen each other nearly every single day since our walk. I know he suspected something when I said I needed to make it an early night because I had a lot of work and wanted to go into the office early. He didn’t question me, he just nodded.

I’ve dodged Zack too. I’ve canceled every weekend, telling him I had family or work events or games. It’s happened before where I’ve had long stretches of weekends in a row with commitments. I haven’t seen him during the week like I usually do, either. We have a 24/7, so I talk to him nearly every day. I consider Seamus a friend—though I want a shit ton more—so I can rationalize that I’m not lying to my Dom when I say I’m trying to get out more and make more friends. I had my period twice, so that was an excuse, though not one I’ve used often.

Seamus has gone dark four times since that walk. He could warn me the second time, but I had to guess the third time. His brother called to explain the other two. By explain, it was “Seamus didn’t plan it, but he has to be away.” Away usually means at the syndicate’s place—some hideaway where they do things I shouldn’t even try to guess—or an unexpected trip out of town. Each time he was back, he volunteered nothing, and I didn’t ask.

Besides that, we’ve been inseparable, basically. We meet for coffee or lunch or dinner. We’ve been to the movies a couple times. We saw another off-Broadway show, and I only barely remember it a little better than the one we saw the night we kissed for the first time. We’ve texted for two months, and I feel like I know him pretty damn well for a mobster who probably reveals nothing to anyone who doesn’t share his DNA.

I’ve told him the things I can about work and what my job is like. He’s told me about his legit businesses, of which there are way more than I expected. Way more than any of the men in my family or branch—I hate thinking I’m a part of a syndicate, but I am—have. We’ve talked about our childhoods and families in person and through text on the days we can’t meet. We’ve talked about where we’d like to travel and even what we hope to do in retirement.

By mutual silent agreement because of our individual arrangements, Seamus and I haven’t done anything more than hold hands then kiss goodnight. He’ll rest his hand at the small of my back sometimes, and it’s about the sexiest thing ever. But we take it no further than that. It’s rather innocent and sweet. I’m getting to know him without sex complicating things.

We also haven’t defined our relationship. In a normal situation, I’d consider him my boyfriend. What else do you call someone with whom you share—at least I think we share—romantic feelings that you see every day? But, between our D/s relationships with other people and family ties, we haven’t brought it up. I want to, but I’m too chicken shit.

“You ready?”

“Yeah. Let me grab my bag.” We’re going to the park to kick the ball around. We do a few times each week. We’re honestly equally matched in skill, so it’s challenging, which makes it fun.

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