Page 87 of Mob Saint

“Is that what my little girl thinks?”

I try to nod.

“You think you can issue me orders?”

I try again.

“You want Daddy’s cock down your throat and up your arse without asking?”

I try a third time. It’s getting seriously hard to breathe.

“You think I should obey you rather than you obey me?”

“Yes.” I can only mouth the word.

His lips crash down onto mine, but he releases me a moment before. I suck in a lungful of air, then I’m ready. His kisses drug me. There are so many different kinds, and all of them wipe my mind clear of anything but him.

“I will never compromise about your safety. But we’re equals in everything else. If that’s what you want your daddy to do—if that’s what mo cailín wants Daddy to do—then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

I know mo means my. My little girl. He tucks hair behind my ear, and it’s so contrary to the way he just touched me. He made me feel desired, and now he makes me feel cherished. Together, they make me feel loved. He’s looking at me as though he wants to say something, but he remains quiet.

“I liked that, Daddy.”

My voice is soft, not because I’m scared to voice my opinion after his dominance. Not because I can’t speak louder after he squeezed so hard. I barely speak louder than a whisper because I want him to know how special this feels. It’s as though it would lose some of its meaning if I spoke louder. Like I’d just be stating a fact rather than sharing something deeply meaningful. I guess I’m trying for reverent.

“It wasn’t too much? I didn’t scare you?”

“Seamus, even if we got to a point where I needed to say my safe word or snap, it wouldn’t be because I’m scared. We might meet my limits, but it won’t be because I fear you. I remember when I was seven, I was in the front yard playing. Our neighbors had a dog that was practically feral. It only liked the dad, so even the wife and kids barely touched it. It got loose and came racing toward me. I screamed, but I was frozen in fear. My dad burst out of the house and scooped me up just before the dog got to me. I mean like a second before. He yelled in his deep voice, and the dog ran away. I was terrified and burst into tears. I wouldn’t let go of my dad for five minutes. I sobbed harder when he tried to put me down. He undoubtedly saved me from getting bitten. I knew I was safe with him. I only felt safe with him. You give me that sense of relief multiplied by at least a thousand. I have never felt like I do with you. Not even with my dad. Not even like that day. The only time I’m not frightened of anything is when I’m with you.”

This is one of his kisses that makes me feel precious. It’s so tender, it makes my heart feel like it’ll burst.

“I’ll be home before dinner. We’ll go to my place. Pack a bag with at least a week’s worth of clothes. No panties. I’m having my five days with you. Feck the world.”

Chapter Twenty

Seamus

I’m pissed, but what can I do? This isn’t a great time to prove the mob comes first, but when would it be easy to show that? When we’re sitting around watching some old show on a streaming platform? No. When we’re out at the grocery store? No. It’s only a test because it’s hard. This day is just harder than others.

I’m pissed at the world. I’m not pissed at Dillan—though I am annoyed—because this is the role I play. I’m not pissed at my brother or cousins because I know they would help if they could, but they have their roles to play. I’m not pissed at Mitchell because he’s a damn good scalper, and he didn’t ask to get arrested. I’m certain the Kutsenkos had this in the works for weeks—that’s how long they take to plan anything. I’m pissed because this is just another reminder I can never leave this behind.

But being pissed changes nothing. I force myself to get over it by the time I get to the police station in Manhattan. I head inside, and people take one look at me and find other things to do. It’s not like officers haven’t brought me here in cuffs before, but it’s been fifteen years since they forced me through the doors. They’ve questioned me since then, but no one’s arrested me. They’re not the feds. They all either have a healthy fear of my family or have someone working for us in theirs.

It's amazing how the metal detector just happens to turn off before I walk through and turn right back on when I’m on the other side. So convenient. I walk up to the desk sergeant, and he looks less than thrilled to see me.

“I know, I know. The guy’s a rookie and his TO was talking to someone else. Jameson couldn’t tell the kid why a baby officer’s first arrest shouldn’t be someone who works for one of the families.”

The families. Yup.

“That’s a lesson his training officer should have taught him the first day out. Where’s Mitchell?”

“Locked up where he belongs.”

I spin to my left and glare at the barely out of diapers cop. I’m certain it feels like my eyes bore a hole into his soul. I’ve been told that before. Ron Jameson tries to pull his partner’s arm to keep him from approaching. The kid’s got some balls on him. I’m about to make them shrivel.

I look at his name on the little brass plate when he tries to get in my face. We’ll see how he feels the first time he gets that jabbed into him. He won’t have his vest on when it does. In the syndicate world, we call it a warm welcome. The cops call it initiation. The rookies call themselves little bitches when they try not to cry.

I whisper, so besides the rookie, only Ron and Sam Wilkes, the desk sergeant, can hear me.

---