Page 129 of Demanding Mob Boss

I've been spending time with her every day. Sometimes with Elliott, or him and Connor and sometimes on my own. I have a feeling Cian is behind the requests to watch the baby for short periods.

I don't mind. Spending time with her has put a lot of my fears to rest about how I would cope with motherhood. Not enough for me to get pregnant. I haven't had the baby overnight yet.

After I told Elliott I wanted to watch her overnight when she was teething, he laughed out loud. Then he realized I wasn't kidding and he nodded enthusiastically. "I am so down for that."

"I'm sure she is." Mrs. Doyle sniffs. "Not that I have had a chance to see her."

"Cian said you and Shea will be coming back to Chicago when the cartel is sorted."

Everyone around me sort of goes still, except Cian, who pulls me into his arms to rest against his body.

"He talks to you about business?" Mrs. Doyle asks, sounding shocked.

"Not specifics," I assure her. Though I'm confident he's figured out that I eavesdrop. I never mention the stuff I overhear though.

"That's more specific than his father ever was with me," Mrs. Doyle replies. "In fact, my son only told me that Shea and I would be safer here in Spain for now."

"Oh. Well, that's true too," I say.

Cian doesn't lie, even if he doesn't always share everything.

"Shea is on the terrace. Come through when you're ready." Mrs. Doyle turns to go.

"She didn't hug you," I say to Cian.

Mrs. Doyle stops walking, but she doesn't turn. It's like she wants to hear his reply.

"I'm not big on hugs."

"Neither am I, but she's your mom," I tell him.

"Hey, ma," Cian says.

Mrs. Doyle turns, a strange expression on her face.

"Do you want a hug?"

She swallows and nods. "That would be nice."

I step away from Cian and he moves forward to take his mom in a tight hug. She wraps her arms around him and holds on tight. "It's good to see you, boyo."

They step away from each other and Cian's hand comes out toward me. I rush forward to take it and smile up at him.

We go out to the terrace, four of the guards taking up positions to augment the security already there.

Lachlan joins us at the table where Shea and now Mrs. Doyle are sitting, a pitcher of some kind of fruit juice in the center.

I don't ask what it is. I just pour myself a glass of water from the carafe beside it. I'm thirsty, so I drink, but I don't sit down.

Shea grins at me, the expression almost natural. "Hi, friend. I'm glad Cian brought you to visit."

Pulling my hand from Cian's, I go around the table and give Shea a quick half hug. "I'm so glad you're doing better," I tell her.

She nods and her gaze lands on Lachlan before skittering away again. "The Spanish sun is very healing."

After we all sit down, Shea and Mrs. Doyle tell us about their time in Spain.

"The food here is amazing, but I'm glad I have a kitchen. Sometimes, you just need a good Irish stew," Cian's mom says.

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