Page 32 of My Irish Mafia King

I can't act on a feeling, a suspicion. But this is all too damn convenient.

"It seems clear enough, then," I say. "A bloody ring in Uncle Frank's office. Somebody cut the brakes... my father died, and Frank became Don."

"I can't comment on that," Owen says, not meeting my eye, further adding to the suspicion. Am I being paranoid, or are these puppet strings I feel tugging at me? "But soon, my dear boy, it may be time for you to think about the future.Yourfuture. As Don."

"You want a war."

"I want stability. And I want what you want, Killian... for the trafficking to stop."

I stand. "Thanks for the information. What do you imagine Frank would do if I ghosted the party?"

Owen looks at me darkly. "You know the answer to that. You know how sensitive he is."

It's paranoia, but part of me wonders if Owen wants me to miss the party. Maybe he's trying to pit me and Frank against each other. But I can't act too rashly.

Whatever else is true, nobody will trigger a war at a well-attended party with wives, children, and dates there, in a public setting. If things are going to get bloody, it'll be in the shadows, where the monsters live.

"I'll see you at the ball, then," I tell him. "Until then, keep me informed about any updates."

But are they updates... or are they lies?

Thirteen

LUCY

"Thank you so much for asking, Mrs. Rochester," I say, a bright smile on my face as I speak with one of my regulars. "Clover is doing much better.”

"That's wonderful to hear, dearie," she says, popping five dollars in the tip jar. "Get her a treat from me."

"I will. Thank you so much."

After last night, it feels crazily easy to slip into this mood. It's like the aftershocks of the orgasm have left a lingering effect, my head feeling light, my body tingling with the memory of the closeness. Maybe we can make it through this...

The only sour spot is Ronan sitting across the street, watching the bakery like a hawk, a constant reminder that something terrible could happen at any moment. But I get through the whole day without a disaster.

Near closing time, my heart skips with misguided excitement when I see Killian approaching. He walks into the empty bakery, looking at me with undisguised desire.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“Sure.” I turn to Toby. “Could you watch the bakery?”

Killian and I head into the back.

“Good day?” I ask.

Killian frowns. “No,” he replies. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to avoid taking you to a ball.”

I laugh at the absurdity. “I’m sorry…”

He grins, rolling his eyes. “I know. It’s a joke, isn’t it? My uncle is throwing a ball and wants everyone there… that means me, that means Ronan. I can’t leave you unprotected. So, Cinderella, there’s only one solution. You’re coming with me.”

“Is this your romantic way of asking me on a date?”

He takes my hands, pulling me in for a hug. Waves of heat and belonging wash over me each time we touch. The effect is more intense after last night. He sinks his hands into my hips and holds me like he owns me. Then he speaks in Gaelic, intensely, poetically, his voice lilting almost like he’s singing.

Even if I can’t understand what he’s saying—I catch a couple of words—it’s like he’s casting a spell on me.

“What did you say?” I whisper.

---