Page 160 of Vicious Hearts

“She’s in SoHo. Nothing sketchy. Number three-oh-three Greene Street, if you want to have it watched,” I giggle.

He frowns, the gears turning in his head. “I think I actually know that building.”

“Seriously?”

He nods. “Yeah. Dominic Farrell’s construction company did that place.” His brow cocks. “That’s anicebuilding.”

“Well, I guess Gail has good taste.”

“That’s anexpensivebuilding.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry, are you accusing her of something?”

He grins, shaking his head. “Just making observations, that’s all.” He kisses me languorously before he turns to stride away. “Oh, was there anything left in the guest room you wanted to keep? I thought I’d clear the rest out and give it to Goodwill or something.”

I resist the urge to smirk at the notion of a literal murderous psychopath giving things to charity.

Obviously, I sleep permanently in Cillian’s—our—bedroom now. Just like I have my side of the walk-in closet, where I keep all my clothes. But there’s a few things that came over from my old apartment, and some other clothes Cillian got me when I first arrived here—random hoodies and sweatpants mostly—that I just don’t wear or need anymore.

“Nah, it’s fine. Anything in there can go.” I bite my lip before I turn. “Hey, actually, Cillian?”

He pops his head back around the corner. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask you about something.”

He frowns and steps back into the closet. “Yeah?”

“That sketchbook of Finn’s,” I say quietly. “Do you remember the drawing that had my name on it, like, he drew it for me?”

Cillian smiles quietly, stepping closer to cup my face. “I remember it. With the dragon and waterlilies withWhat does not kill youat the top.”

I nod, swallowing my nerves. “Yeah, that one. I’m thinking about getting it as a tattoo.”

His brow arches. “Oh?”

I nod.

“Where?”

“My back. Like, my whole back.”

I watch his mind churn as he thinks about it. “Over your scars.”

“Yeah.”

He’s never asked me about them, and I’ve never told him how I got them. But from the way I catch him looking at them with anger in his eyes sometimes, it’s obvious he knows they’re from my father.

“Your scars are part of what makes youyou, Una,” he murmurs softly.

“I know.”

“When I look at them…” his eyes darken. “I know they’re from him.”

I close my eyes. Cillian cups my face, kissing the top of my head with a strange sort of tenderness.

“That’swhy I scowl at them,” he growls. “Not because I think they mar you or your beauty in any way. But because they make me think of a time when you were hurt, and I wasn’t there to stand in front of you.”

I lean up on tiptoes, kissing him first softly, and then much harder, before pulling away.

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