Page 25 of Mafia Boss' Surprise Baby

Just like that, she reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Growing up without a mom must’ve been awful. I’m so sorry.”

“It was fine. I don’t remember her or anything so it’s not like I miss her.” I say, uncomfortable.

“At least I have Rory. You don’t have any family left, do you?”

“I got some cousins. They work in the business. Marco runs the car dealership,” I say.

“That dealership, that was like the coolest thing to me when I was a kid that your family owned the biggest dealership in Southie. I thought you probably got to drive all the new cars.”

“Not really,” I say. “I washed some of them, filled the gas tanks just to help out around the place.”

“Did your dad have the Pearl or is that something you started?” she asks.

“My dad had the Oyster and the car dealership and a couple loan shark joints, pawn shops. I wanted to diversify the business holdings and open up a classier casino. Less video slots and more old school gaming tables—roulette, craps, blackjack, high roller poker tournaments. He was against it.”

“So that beautiful place was all your idea,” she says, “you did a great job. It’s a long way from pawn shops and loan sharks.”

Something stops me in my tracks. If I was gonna act stupid about something I would’ve nave guessed it would be Katie Donahue saying I did a good job with the casino. But here we are. Because it doesn’t hit me so much as I feel aglow like embers kindle to life in my chest or behind my eyes. I feel the warmth of it all the way down to my fingertips. She’s proud of me. And maybe I’ve waited all my life for someone who matters to be proud of me and say so. Or it could be that I’ve been so goddamn lonely all these years that this is what it feels like when there’s a crack in the ice.

I’m breathing hard like I’ve sprinted half a mile flat out. Her smile is soft and fond, warm as a fire crackling on the hearth in a room I can see through a window, from outside in the freezing cold.

So, I reach for her hand. It feels like something in a movie then—like she’s pulling me free of icy water that threatens to engulf me, like she’s bringing me in from the cold.

“Mick?” she says, holding my hand in both of hers. I have to clear my throat before I can answer her.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get out of here, okay?”

“You want me to take you home?” I say.

“No,” she says. “I want to go with you. Are you going home?”

“I can,” I say. “I had planned on going to the Pearl, but I’d rather take you home.”

“Where’s home exactly these days?”

“I’ve got a couple different places. Some nights I stay in the apartment above the Pearl.”

“But where do you live? Your actual home?” she presses.

“I got a place out on Castle Island,” I say.

“Castle Island? And to think Rory thought he was the shit when he got an apartment on East 8thStreet that was about 100 square feet and the stairway smelled like a dead rat. You live on Castle Island?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty. Got a little roof deck, nice view,” I say. I keep my answer short to try and hide how much it excites me to get to show it to her.

“Take me there?”

I’m touched by the shyness in her voice. I pay the check and walk her out to my car. In the haze of the streetlight, I stand there and look at her face for a second. I can’t help leaning in and kissing her forehead right by the bandage.

“I don’t ever want to feel like that again,” I say with a reluctant groan.

“Pissed off that some jerk threw a rock at you?”

“I looked down and saw the blood running down your face. I wanted to buckle, just go to my knees, drag you down with me. I didn’t know how bad it was. Scalp wounds bleed like a sonofabitch. I know that. But when I saw you bleeding, it was the worst thing. And I’ve seen some terrible shit, Katie.”

She hugs me then, hard, just throws both her arms around me and squeezes me as tight as she can. I capture her in a bear hug and kiss the top of her head. Then I take her to my place.

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