Page 200 of Filthy Savage

“She’s mine.” His eyes glisten. “Fia’s mine.”

“Oh my God!” I jump out of my seat and into his arms, my face buried in his chest as he holds me.

“I knew it,” I cry. “I knew she was yours from the moment I had her.”

“She’s always been mine, mo ban dia.” He cups my face between his loving hands, his gaze shining with so much love, I drown in it. “No test would ever change that.”

When Fia runs over, he brings her onto his knee, his other arm coming around her.

And I remain there, in the arms of my family—myentirefamily—knowing how lucky I am to have them.

CHAPTER 50

FIONN

TWO MONTHS LATER

When the Russiansinvite you to a party, you don’t say no.

While Amara gets ready in the bathroom, I check my phone for the text I’ve been waiting for from one of my men.

Cahal

It’s done, sir. Both are busy indefinitely.

That brings a smile to my face. Amara never has to know I was involved. That I ordered the hit on Lloyd and Desdemona while they were in prison. A lot of bad things happen in those places.

Tynan was right, after all. But sometimes it’s not a tree.

As soon as the door opens, she struts out, taking my breath away in a knee-length pink-floral-and-white dress that hugs her growing belly.

“My God, I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”

She holds out her hand for mine, and I grab it, lowering my palm over her stomach.

“I can’t wait to meet our baby,” I tell her, my mouth dropping to kiss her there.

“Me either.” She sighs. “Though I’m not all that excited about this weight gain.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, because I love this ass.” I grab her backside and push her into my stiff dick.

She shakes her head. “Come on, let’s go before we’re late.”

Letting out a laugh, I follow my beautiful wife, my fingers slicing through hers as we climb down the stairs, our daughter waiting for us.

Tonight should be fun. Konstantin’s throwing Dinara’s brother a tenth birthday party.

I’m sure it’s going to get crazy, especially with Cillian and Dinara being in the same room together.

AMARA

This isn’t just a party; it’s an affair. Balloon twisters, fire blowers, a magic show. Women in old-fashioned gowns and wigs walk around with trays filled with pastries wrapped around their midsections like walking dessert tables. There’s even a popular singer they hired who is performing on a stage while hundreds dance.

“This is crazy,” I whisper as we head to find Konstantin to say hello.

“This is how they party.”

When we lock eyes with Konstantin, he approaches.

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