Page 124 of Mob Knight

“Remy, we can’t go inside yet.”

“But I heard there’s a music room—withdrums.”

“Whose bright idea was that?”

I mutter the question to no one in particular, but when Cormac’s face flushes, my eyebrows shoot up to my hair. A little girl of about five runs up and grabs Cormac’s other hand and tugs down on it while Remy keeps pulling him toward the door.

“Señor Cormac, ¿puede darme un perdedor más tarde?”

Perdedor? Can he give her a loser later?

Now my brow furrows, and Cormac laughs. I’m the native Spanish speaker, but I don’t know what the little girl means. Is it New York Spanish?

“An underdog as in push her on the swing and run under it.”

“Oh.”

I wrack my brain for the right phrase. It’s been years since I’ve thought about that game. There isn’t a Spanish equivalent.

“Dar un empujón por debajo.” Give a push from below.

The girl looks up at me as if I interrupted a private conversation. It’s the same offended look the teenage girl gave me when Cormac basically ignored her. I can’t win with a five- or fifteen-year-old. Girls at neither age like me when I’m with Cormac.

“No lo sé. ¿Puedo?” I don’t know. Can I?

“¿Puedes por favor?” Can you, please?

He grins as he corrects the girl’s manners, and it’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Está bien.” All right.

“Gracias, señor Cormac!” Thank you, Mr. Cormac.

“You’re very popular among the kindergarten crowd. I had no idea. What’re you doing here?”

“I—um—I?—”

He’s beet red. What on Earth?

“Mr. O’Rourke?”

I turn toward a voice I recognize. Five, fifteen, and now thirty-five. Fucking women flock to Cormac.

“Jocelyn?”

“Hi, Courtney. How’re you?”

“Fine. I didn’t know you knew Mr. O’Rourke. I got the email you were coming.”

“I’m Ms. Bracero’s fiancé.”

There’s something about the way he words that. He’s acknowledging my claim to him rather than the other way around. That he belongs to me and no one else. If Courtney was in doubt, he wraps his arm around my waist, his hand resting low on my hip. It’s an intimate gesture that’s possessive. I know—because he’s done it many times, and I’ve pointed it out—he doesn’t even notice what he’s doing. He always says that’s just where his hand belongs. There and between my thighs.

“I didn’t know you were involved with someone.”

Bitch, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Cormac’s chin rises, and the look he casts her is one only a billionaire or royalty can carry off. I discovered he’sWAYricher than I imagined when we talked about our finances and our future. Like he makes my family look impoverished in comparison, and we’re one of the wealthiest families in Latin America. Since he’s part of the family that leadsthemob—theIrish—not just in NYC, but pretty much all of North America—he’s syndicate royalty.

---