Page 62 of My Irish Mafia King

"I ended it," he says fiercely. "I took a bullet from Owen in the process. I was wearing a bulletproof vest. It's over. They're both dead. Nobody is loyal to them anymore. Oh, and remember Shane? It turns out he was one of the men who attacked the bakery. I didn't realize until after I'd handled Owen and Frank. He's dead too: killed by my men as a sign of loyalty."

His voice is distant, numb, not at all like the smiling, happy, charming man who visited me every morning for so many months. I take his hand and lead him to the couch, knowing I need to be here for him right now. I sit him down and gently slide my hand over his.

"I'm here," I whisper. "If you want to talk about it, we can talk."

He looks at me bleakly. "This is the day everything changes. I've killed two people today. Not just killed, either. I put bullets in Owen even after he was dead. I kept thinking about what he said to you, the threats, how he would've used you if he had the chance."

"You did what you had to do," I say.

"That's giving me the easy way out," he replies. "I did what the mafia king inside me wanted, what the demon wanted. From now on, I'll have to feed that side of me, the darkness, the violence, so that somebody worse doesn't take over."

I lean in for a kiss, but he turns his face away. I kiss his cheek instead, carefully looping my arms around his body and cuddling into him, cautious not to hurt his livid bruise.

"Why won't you kiss me?" I whisper.

"I need you more than I need breath,a stór. But is it fair? I'm a killer. I'm a criminal. I've done bad things, and one day, I'll need to do bad things again to keep my throne."

I grab his face, turn him toward me, and kiss him with more heat and passion. Relief flows through me when he groans and moves his hands to my hips, pulling himself closer as he kisses me back, matching my energy.

"I want you, Killian," I tell him. "All of you, the good and the bad. I want a life together. You can't say anything to scare me away. I need you, always."

Slowly, a smile touches his lips. "I need you," he whispers.

I bring my hand to his face, brushing the cream from my scone off his mouth. "Do I have cream all around my mouth?" I ask.

"You did," he says, smirking. "But we kissed it away."

"I may or may not have been comfort eating," I whisper.

"Don't say that like you're guilty," he growls. "I want you curvy... the curvier the better. I love sinking my hands into your curves. I love massaging your beautiful thickness. I love you, Lucy. And I'm not crossing it out this time."

"I love you too," I say, clinging onto his neck, pulling myself close for another kiss.

We sink into the passion. It's like I can feel the darkness draining away.

"I know you're worried about feeding the bad side of you," I whisper. "But isn't that even more of a reason for us to be together? I can feed the good. I can remind you, every single day, what an amazing man you really are."

His eyes glisten, but he doesn't cry, though he looks like he could. "Are you tired?"

"No. Why?"

"I want to show you something. Let's go for a ride."

"Is it safe?"

"You never have to worry about being unsafe," he says. "I'm the king, and this city belongs to me, to us. Nobody is going to hurt you. I'm going to protect you."

"You said this life is dangerous. You said there will always be a risk."

"That was before I put on the crown," he growls. "That was before I tasted what real power is. Before I built my legend. No,a stór. Nobody, ever, is going to hurt you. If anybody even thinks about it, I'll tear them to pieces."

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask as he drives us through the city, wincing slightly.

"It's just a bruise."

"It's notjusta bruise. It's covering your whole chest. I'm shocked you didn't break a rib."

"I can handle the pain. I can take anything when I've got you."

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