Page 216 of His Pretty Little Duet

And dammit, I won’t share those moments either, outsource them, have others protect her, dote on her, so I can work in the city. Unacceptable. I refuse to miss a moment, refuse to have her live a similar life to her younger self, alone and wanting her mother—I will be present.

Liable.

Madonna Mia.

I’m going to resign as mayor.

I draw my cigar in, the ember eating at the paper, and watch my young pregnant girl play with her white kitten.

My little deer is so many things. At first glance, she’s fragile and delicate, playing on the floor with a creature she matches. Yet, two days ago, she was trekking through a burnt forest to protect my brother. This morning, she was taking my feral thrusts to calm and settle the volatility inside me. And mere hours ago, she was counselling me with wisdom far beyond her age… How the world put her together so flawlessly, it’s hard to fathom such a perfect creature.

She is made for me.

Innocence.

Resilience.

Determination.

Sexual submission.

And she’s so fucking fertile, it makes me frenzied. I’ll keep her pregnant, and it’ll be easy. She’ll carry my heirs. She’ll make me a better man…Christ.I’ve seen it. She’ll keep me grounded. Open for my family. Empathetic and mindful of my brothers when in the past I wasn’t?—

My awareness drifts to their confessions, to the reasons Max closed off, Bronson lost his mind, and Xander hides his.

Butch failed them.

I failed them!

My focus on theCosa Nostra, on Jimmy Storm, on being the heir, is my downfall as a brother. It laid the path that kept us divided. I regret my father’s ignorance, but I can’t blame him for his passion. Not now that I understand it.

Dual-coloured eyes flash at me through the window, and I drop the half-smoked cigar to the ground, preferring her scent to that of my long-term addiction.

The ember smudges the pavers as I step on it and walk inside, twitching to be closer to my reason to breathe. She is my reality now. After the truths from my brothers, the concept of my present, of my past, being riddled with these secrets, she is the constant. The thing I use to ground myself.

She smiles at me, her long blonde hair cascading down her shoulders like a golden stream, and I drop to my knees in front of her, pressing my forehead to her chest.

She holds me to her, and I sigh. “Tell me, sweet girl. Does what my brothers told us today make you uneasy?”

“Of course.”

I hum, displeasure in my very veins over that. “Does it scare you? Does her presence scare you, little deer?”

“I don’t want her anywhere near us,” she says quietly, and her honesty stokes the displeasure to a burn.

I don’t like that. “You need to go to bed, sweet girl,” I state, my voice rough in that order.

She cups the back of my neck, and I roll my face against her little breasts. The supple flesh moulds around me, earning her a groan for her perfection. I’m so damn enamoured, so utterly raw with her, so unnaturally protective, it aches and bleeds. It cuts in through layers and spills violent thoughts.

Love is—Christ.It is heart thrashing, fists clenching, muscles taut and ready. It is fight mode.

“Go to bed,” I state curtly, knowing what I must do now. “Stay in bed. I’m going to have a whiskey with my mother tonight.”

“I could come with?—”

“Absolutely not. Believe me, the last thing I want is to be even an inch away from you. If I could, sweet girl, I would exist onlywhen with you,”—I slide my palms up her slim legs and thighs and cover her abdomen from hip to hip with protective hands— “And him. One day, I will exist only for you and what you make for me… but I have to ask?—"

“Questions.”

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