Page 84 of Honorable Sins

Which is a good thing, because it's imperative we keep what happened to Fitz under wraps.

The SUVs pull out in formation, four in front of mine and three behind it. On the expressway, they shift into a T position with my armored SUV in the center.

The drive to the Bunker takes less time than it should, especially with such a long cavalcade. Our drivers don't hesitate to cut off any vehicle that tries to merge into our group of SUVs, or turn into our lane once we are on surface streets.

Our brigade isn't stopping for anything short of an attack from a rocket launcher and that's not happening on the streets of New York City.

One of the large bay doors is open at the warehouse when we arrive. The lead SUVs turn to the side so mine can go straight into the interior. Three others pull in behind us before the big door is lowered and locked into place. The rest of my security team will take defensive positions outside.

There will be no random deliveries or tourists knocking on the side door asking for directions while a member of the Shaughnessy family is here. My driver pulls deep into the warehouse, parking as close to the access point for the Bunker as he can get, angling the SUV to block any approach from the main area.

It's almost impossible to follow security protocol and let my driver and team clear the immediate area before I get out on the side facing the hallway that leads to the secret entrance.

My phone pings with a message from Mick as I'm stepping off the elevator. They just arrived.

I remind him to wait to start asking questions, of anyone until I get there and head toward the interrogation sector. The warehouse access point is further from it than the one they used.

When I arrive, I'm peripherally aware of a man strapped to Mick's favorite interrogation chair, his feet bound by bloody rags, but my eyes lock on my son, cataloguing everything.

His hair looks like he stepped out of the shower without brushing it, but other than that, he looks way too normal for what he's been through. He's wearing an untucked t-shirt, cargo shorts and tennis shoes. Normal Fitz summer attire. It's the look in his eyes that's different.

The part of my little boy that managed to survive twelve years as the underboss's son is gone.

Fitz is still only twelve, but his eyes reflect a maturity that makes my heart hurt while filling me with undeniable pride. He's strong. And good. He did what he did to protect a friend.

I can't even say his actions were misguided because I'm not sure that I would have acted any differently in his position when I was a lot older than him.

My heart gives one hard, painful thump as I open my arms to him. He doesn't hesitate, walking straight into my hug.

"I love you, Fitzy." I use the name I used to call him when he was Cormac's age on purpose.

To remind him that for as much as he might have been changed by today's events, he's still a little boy.

"Love you too, mom." He hugs me back. Hard.

"Mamo said to tell you she's proud of you," I murmur into his hair. "I'm proud of you too."

I did all my yelling about him scaring the life out of me on the phone earlier. I told him I loved him then too, but that's something that can't be repeated too often. Especially in our world where love is both rare and precious.

I spent my entire childhood and most of my adulthood believing my own father didn't love me. I spent the first seven years of my marriage convinced of the same thing about Mick.

My children will never doubt my love for them.

"She knows what happened?" Fitz asks.

I shake my head. "She knows you."

Fitz nods. "Good. That's good. I don't think anyone should know what happened today. It makes you and dad too vulnerable."

Knowing I can't let the tears burning the back of my eyes fall, I blink rapidly and I swallow against the lump in my throat. "You're a smart kid."

My voice is almost normal.

Mick's hand lands on my shoulder and there is nothing that could stop me from leaning back into his strength. The feeling of his hard body against my back is so comforting I have to lock my knees, so they don't sag.

Like he knows exactly what's going on inside me, Mick wraps one arm around my waist.

"Kara, take Fitz to our office. Get yous both something to eat." Mick's Dublin brogue is so thick you cut it with a knife.