Page 101 of Honorable Sins

"Please, Mick. I'll never go against you again. You're my boss," he pleads. "I'll eat all the rat food you want me to, but don't kill me. I learned my lesson."

What does he think this is? A learning moment?

Fuck that. But I pretend to think about it and nod. "Don't forget it again."

He's blubbering his thanks as I walk back toward the door.

He'll be dead dizzy and disoriented in ten minutes and dead in an hour. It will look like a heart attack.

There will be men in the mob who know better.

Some of them listened to Kenneth and his cronies when they spouted off about how I should never have been made underboss. They'll hear about O'Grady's death.

And Noah's basketball buddy who will tragically die tomorrow night in a home invasion gone wrong, shot with a gangbangers gun linked to an armed robbery and the murder of a rival gang member.

Those men will lie awake for the next year wondering when I will learn their names.

Some of them, I already know. They are not a danger to me and mine though. That does not mean they escape consequence.

Every bad assignment I give them, they will know why they got it. When they lose rank, they will understand the demotion even if their lieutenants provide another reason.

When their children are rejected from St. Patrick’s, they will know who closed the door. When their wives discover the mistresses they thought they hid so carefully, they will understand exactly how the information reached them.

They will spend every day waiting for me to decide they have suffered enough.

Maybe one day I will give them peace.

Chapter twenty-three

The Gift of Trust

Kara

"The chislers really enjoyed their gifts." Mick unbuttons his black dress shirt.

I watch as enthralled by the revelation of his inked and muscled chest today as I was at the age of 18 and I saw him undressed for the first time on our wedding night. So, it takes a second to take in Mick's words.

Then I smile. "Yeah. They did."

We figured out that "another one" for Sorcha was a miniature gnome to go with the others living in the little house she's made for them under her bed. She had nine and it wasn't a round number. Now, she has ten. And a new super soft cuddle blanket for when she's feeling overstimulated and needs time alone.

Mavie now has a mermaid tail for swimming and her own cuddle blanket made into one for snuggle time on the sofa.

"They're all really excited about going to Disneyland," I remark, abstractedly as Mick steps out of his trousers. My husband has a fine, fine body. "Even Fitz."

Coming only a few days after Cormac's fourth birthday, our little family's personal Christmas in July celebration was a complete success. It feels like the culmination of so many things our family has become.

An affirmation that our family can be different than the families Mick and I were raised in. We will never treat any of our children differently just because they respond differently to us. Or because one is the heir to a mob throne and the others are not.

Me and my sociopath love them all.

As powerfully as we love each other, if in a very different way. Although I am not convinced that Mick isn't every bit as protective of me as he is of our children, even though I'm the wife that stands at his side.

Never a step behind him.

It's that protectiveness that makes my final gift for Mick both possible and necessary.

"I have one last gift for you." The small blue pill clutched in my hand carries the weight of painful memories buoyed by the love I share with this man.