Page 41 of The Don's Hidden Heir

Moira pushes me on the sofa across them and slouches beside me, smiling like a high-school girl who’s just seen her crush.

When I don’t immediately start an introduction, she nudges me with her shoulder. “Come on!” she whispers.

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Fine,” I whisper back. “Moira, this is Marcus, Lucas’s uncle.” I gesture to Lucas. “Marcus, this is my best friend, Moira.”

Moira stretches her hand to Marcus for a handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.”

Marcus glares at her hand then drags his icy eyes to her face. “I don’t shake hands with women.”

Moira snorts and retracts her hand. “You’re not one of those misogynistic bastards, are you?”

“I don’t touch women unless I’m protecting or fucking them.” He says with a very serious expression on his face. Although I don’t expect Marcus to smile, his voice is gruff as he says it, so it’s definitely not a joke.

Me and Moira share a glance, both of us flushing. It takes a moment for my eyes to dart to Lucas and for me to remember he’s in the living room.

“Jesus. Guys. No explicit language or curse words around Lucas.”

Lucas chuckles. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m not a kid.”

I widen my eyes at my son. “No. You’re a kid and you shouldn’t be listening to grown up conversation. It’s time for bed. You have school tomorrow.”

He frowns. “Mom—”

“Go. Now!”

He stands up, pouts and shuffles reluctantly to his room.

I drag my attention to Moira and Marcus. “You two have to be careful around Lucas. Kids these days pickup bad things very quickly.”

Moira smiles a lopsided grin at me. “You’re such a mom.”

Marcus stretches his hand on the arm of the sofa. “I was his age when I had my first sex and only a few years older when I first killed.”

My jaw drops and disbelief courses through me. “You’re kidding.”

“Ask Dominic. I’m sure you’ll be stunned to find it was the same for him.”

“Why would anyone sleep with a—” I trail off. I don’t think I have the strength to stomach a conversation like that.

Moira on the other hand seems so intrigued by the conversation she leans forward and props her elbows on her legs. “How old were you when you first killed?”

“Eleven.”

She gasps. “You killed a man at eleven years old? What does it feel like to kill a man for the first time?”

Marcus’s eyes darken as if he is dead on the inside. “You feel afraid. Hands shaking and legs wobbling that you’ve just taken a life. That is what a normal person would feel on their first kill.”

I don’t know why I ask, “How did you feel?”

“Happy.”

I wince and recoil, he notices and smirks. “Our world isn’t the same as the rest of the world. Murder is a terrible sin for people like you, but for us, it’s a thing of pride. Every boy wants to become a made man and killing is the only way to make that happen. For some, they achieve it a bit earlier and become their father’s pride.”

“And for those who can’t?” Moira asks.

“They’re weaklings and unwelcome in our world.”

“What of Dominic?” I hear myself ask, unsure as to why I’m concerned. “How old was he when he first killed someone?”

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