Page 33 of My Irish Mafia King

“Things I can’t say in English.”

I take his face in my hands, staring into his eyes, getting lost in them like the old cliché and not caring. “Try.”

“I said this can’t be forever. I said this will end soon. But,a chuisle mo chroí, while this star is burning, I want it to burn bright. I want to savor every moment. I want to forget that, when this is done, I might be dead. Or worse—a mafia king. It would be wrong of me to touch you ever again.”

“Don’t I get a say?”

I throw myself into his arms, kissing him with a passion that surprises even me. I wrap my arms around him and hold him tightly. As we kiss, I can feel my pendant pressing against my chest, his body pressing against mine, both of us aching like we want to melt into each other.

“I got you something,” he says breathlessly.

“What?”

I kiss him again before he can answer. It’s like I’m getting addicted to it.

He puts his hands on my hips, pushing me gently, smoldering. “You know what’s going to happen if you keep going.”

“What’s that, hmm?” I say.

He smirks. “Somebody’s getting more confident…”

“You bring it out in me. But be warned. I might make promises I can’t keep.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket, bringing out a small ring box. “I’ve spent the day meeting with men who I believe will be loyal to me when the time comes. I spent the day visiting them in their businesses and homes, laughing along with their jokes and planning for the first shot. But between all that chaos, I got my woman something.”

Histemporarywoman. I almost say that, but I don’t want to spoil the mood… which might be crazy because he’s the one giving me so many mixed signals. One second it’s ‘this can’t last’ and the next he’s being so romantic. My soul aches.

I take the ring box, open it. “A Claddagh ring,” I whisper, looking down at the jeweled heart in the silver band, a crown above it and two intricately carved hands framing it.

He smiles, touching the ring pendant hanging around my neck. “This one should actually fit you,” he says. “You’re going to wear it at the ball. It’s important I keep my cool.”

“How will this help keep your cool?” I ask.

“Do you know about the meanings behind the ring?”

“Sure,” I tell him. “If I wear it on my right hand with the heart facing out, that means I’m single. Right hand with the heart facing inward… I’m spoken for. Left hand facing out, I’m engaged, and facing in, I’m married.”

He nods. “At the ball, you’ll wear it on your right hand with the heart facing in. Everybody there will know that you’re with me, that we’re in a relationship.”

“As a show,” I say.

“Yes, as a show,” he growls. “I wish it could be different, but… But you need to listen to me on this.”

“What if I refuse to go?” I ask.

“Then I won’t go, either. My uncle will take it as a slight. He’ll argue I’m not respecting him as Don. The battle will begin.”

“Is the ring really that important?”

“It’s going to be hard enough to keep my cool at this damn thing,” he says huskily. “If I look over and see another man fawning over you, I’ll snap. You’ve seen what happens when I snap.”

I get a flash of the violence, the savagery he inflicted upon Shane.

“I don’t want to think about that.”

“That’s who I am,” he says. “Think about it anytime you’re pissed at me for saying we can’t do this forever.”

“You and your mixed signals…”

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