Page 37 of Submitting to Daddy
“Maybe he was just full of shit.” Nik wipes his hands with a rag, breathing heavily. “Maybe they don’t actually have anyone undercover.”
“Maybe,” I parrot, staring at Frankford’s body. My knuckles are raw, and I’m exhausted. “Or maybe he was so sure of what we have done that he was willing to die to let someone else finish the job.”
We all stand around him for a moment in silence. We just killed a Fed. We might as well have wrapped the piano wire around our necks and asked them to cinch it tight.
True to his word, Cillian called me early this morning, informing me to be ready within the hour. He was knocking on my door by 8:00 a.m., greeting me with a soft kiss on the cheek.
His sports car hums beneath us, the leather seats creaking softly as I shift uneasily, watching the city grow small in the side-view mirror while we drive in silence. I can barely pull my eyes from the bruised and bloodied knuckles resting on my thigh. When I do, I look up to find him stealing quick, guarded looks my way.
I clutch the edge of my seat, like it’s somehow going to keep me from falling apart. Memories of the furious look on his face when he tore me out of that booth burn fresh beneath my skin, and I know without asking exactly why his hand isso tattered.Agent Frankford.The nerves knot in my stomach as we drive further from civilization, fear coursing through me that my handler gave me up at some point last night. I try to swallow down the thought, but my throat feels raw and tight, like I’m swallowing glass.
When Cillian finally slows, we are completely alone. I don’t see a single car in the parking lot. “Where are we?” My voice cracks, sounding small and fragile as I slowly turn toward him.
Ignoring my question, Cillian cuts off the engine. He slips from the driver’s seat and rounds the car. My heart hammers wildly, and my gut twists tighter as he opens my car door, certain this is where I meet my end. He reaches out a hand, taking it gently and helping me out of the car. When he stares down at me, his eyes are filled with exhaustion. “The other day, you asked what Jagger and Hawk were protecting Eavan from. I want to tell you.”
I nod and swallow hard, hoping he can’t see my nerves unraveling.
“Here?” The word slips from over my lips, just above a whisper, barely believing where we are.
He threads his fingers through mine, his rough calluses sliding along my smooth palm. “Yes.”
The air is thick with fresh-cut grass and moss. Gravel crunches beneath our feet as we walk side-by-side with our fingers laced together—silence quickly settling between us. He leads me through rows of headstones. Sunlight gleams off the polished granite and weathered stone, casting soft shadows across the well-maintained grounds. It’s quiet—far too quiet.
We stop before a large marble tombstone—the gravesite evenmore pristine than the rest of the cemetery. I read the headstone.
Saoirse O’Brien
Beloved Mother
My breath hitches when I see the dates. She died exactly sixteen years ago today. I look up at Cillian, searching his face for something.Anything. He rests his hand on the stone, his fingers tracing invisible patterns as if he’s trying to touch a ghost.
“It started here,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. He looks up from the headstone and meets my eyes, his dark and full of grief. His words are equally as heavy and raw. “My mother…”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath and clenches his jaw tight. “She was taken from me… from us… in the worst way.” His voice breaks slightly, but he keeps going, “Kidnapped. Tortured. Murdered by a rival family who tried to use her as leverage to take over my father’s empire.”
Bending down, he kisses the top of the cool stone before continuing, “My father… he let it happen.” His gaze drops to the ground, his voice bitter and hollow as he solemnly shakes his head. “He fed her to the fucking wolves to save himself. To save his power and his money. At thirteen years old, I learned exactly what kind of man my father was. What kind of man he expected me to become—cold, calculated, and merciless. Willing to do the unthinkable.”
The already tight knot in my stomach twists further, terrified of where this conversation is going. His jaw clenches as his eyes find mine—his flickering with a determined fire. “I swore I would never let that happen again. And I swore I’d neverbe like him. But fate is a cruel fucking bitch… I’m more ruthless than he could’ve imagined.”
His eyes not leaving mine, he tells me every sordid detail of the deal his father made with the Irish, Bratva, and Armenian mobs—using Eavan as a bargaining chip to forge them together in the world of human trafficking. Seeing the pain in his eyes when he talks about the hell of a marriage she was being thrust into nearly breaks me. He looks down at the stone again, his muscles coiling. “I was determined to make sure it ended here. With us. That her story wouldn’t be like my mother’s.”
His eyes find mine once more, the weight in them pressing against my chest, a tidal wave of emotion threatening to drown me. “I killed my father. We killedallour fathers.” He tells me everything. How their father’s twisted greed pushed them to forge their families. About the Armenians still coming for Eavan. How Jagger, Hawk, Damon, Gunnar, and his brothers risked everything to save her when she was taken.
He confesses every bit of information I was sent undercover to unearth. Every decision. Every detail. It should feel like a victory. This is the kind of information that would put him behind bars for life—probably take the entire King empire down with him. My mission, my orders, and my duty to the FBI… It’s all here, gift-wrapped in raw honesty. But it doesn’t feel good—not even close.
This isn’t intel. This is Cillian—his pain and his guilt—laying his truth before me because he wants me to know exactly who he is. He trusts me with the ugliest, most inhumane parts of his soul. The atrocities he committed weren’t for power or greed. They were a necessity to save the one person who matters most to him in this world. Everything he does is for his family.
Cillian slips his fingers between mine, and tears burn as they well in my eyes, realizing that I have fully accepted him and his place in the darkness of the underworld.
Eavan is right… It really is just that simple.
What they do doesn’t matter—why they do it does. His fingers squeeze mine hard, and I almost wince at the intensity. “I would do anything to protect my family.” He leans closer, breath warm against my cheek. His voice drops to a near whisper. “Anything.”
Without another word, we walk, hand in hand, back to the car. He leans against it and lightly pulls me into him. His eyes search mine—raw and vulnerable—as he cups my face and lightly strokes his thumb across my cheek. “I need you to know, I would do anything to protect you… Because I love you, Madison.”
My heart races so hard I’m sure he can hear it thudding as I blink rapidly, trying to hold back the rogue tears now trickling down my cheeks. “You don’t really know me.” I struggle to push out the words.
“I know enough.” He tenderly wipes the damp trails from my face. “More than enough. There isn’t a thing in this world that would change the way I feel about you.”
