Page 192 of Sins of Arrogance

I am go­ing to bury her.

But I’m go­ing to do it in a way that pro­tects my wife and son. The two peo­ple I love.

Chap­ter 47: Even So­ciopaths Love

KARA

Over the next cou­ple of days, it gets eas­ier and eas­ier to be­lieve that I am Mick’s ev­ery­thing. Me and our son.

Mick tells me all about this new weapon he’s been over­see­ing the de­vel­op­ment of for al­most a year. It sounds like some­thing right out of a sci fi novel.

When I told him that, he said my fa­ther said the same thing.

He also tells me that Bro­gan told him that I de­served to be loved fiercely.

And I’m start­ing to think that maybe I am.

Be­cause if there’s a dif­fer­ence be­tween Mick’s ob­sessed crav­ing for me and the love I feel for him, I can’t see it.

When he tells me why he kept Dier­dre at the man­sion and how his soft in­ter­ro­ga­tion of her ended, I laughed my head off.

“I wish you’d got­ten pic­tures.”

Mick flashes his devil’s grin. “You think I didn’t know you’d want to see?”

He pulls out his phone and shows me.

I laugh so hard it brings Fitzy out of the pool where he’s been swim­ming with Rory. “What’s so funny, mom?”

I put my arms out for a hug and my son gives me an ex­u­ber­ant one be­fore he re­mem­bers, he’s a big boy and too cool for that.

“Aww, mom.” He draws out mom un­til I’m laugh­ing again.

Be­fore I can stop him, Mick shows the pic­ture of Dier­dre face­down in her plate of Dublin Lawyer.

“She fell asleep in her din­ner?” Fitz rolls his eyes. “She’s not strong or smart. Not like mom.”

Mick ruf­fles Fitz’s hair. “You got that right, boyo.”

Rory yells to ask Fitz if he’s done swim­ming and our son rushes back to the pool edge be­fore can­non balling right into the wa­ter in front of Rory.

The big bad mob­ster gets splashed with an almighty spray of wa­ter right in his face.

Hap­pi­ness fizzes in­side me as I turn back to Mick. We’re shar­ing a dou­ble wide pool lounger he bought the day af­ter we ar­rived.

“You planned to tell me all along?” I nod to­ward his phone, in­di­cat­ing the pic­ture of Dier­dre.

Con­fu­sion flashes in Mick’s green gaze. “Nah. I didn’t.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m not.” And that stuns him.

Mick is al­ways sure.

“Maybe you were grow­ing as both­ered by the walls be­tween us as I was,” I sug­gest gen­tly.

He nods, this time show­ing zero un­cer­tainty. “I want you back in my of­fice. I’ve al­ready got a desk set up for you to do your school­work at. Once you grad­u­ate, you can work there.”