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“Your mam’s recipe box?” He sounds concerned rather than surprised.

I answer him with a noncommittal shrug, my hands on his shoulders as he lowers me to the floor. When both of my feet are beside his on the linoleum, I look up at him, an inch between our faces.

His eyes cross slightly as he gazes at me, but before I can suck in a breath, his mouth is on mine. He weaves both his hands into my hair, kissing me deeply, taking his time. With his tongue in my mouth, more warmth pools in my lower belly, and I feel my nipples stiffening against his chest. I arch into him, my body so in line with his.

He breaks our kiss to press his forehead to mine.

“Brioni…”

He’s filled my name with the full weight of his guilt, and I can’t bear to hear the anguish in it.

“I’m so⁠—”

I press my fingers to his lips. We stay there for a moment, our chests rising and falling together. Then he pulls away to look at me in confusion. As I let my hand fall to my side, my fingertips are cold without the warmth of his mouth.

“Please don’t say it,” I whisper. “You already told me, and I never want to hear you say it again.”

I take a step back and clear my throat. When I straighten my shoulders, Liam also pulls himself up to full height. My heart swells with admiration for this man, and I want to pause just to marvel at who he’s become. But I need him to understand that I understand.

“You’re about to be the most powerful mafia boss in this city,” I say, and his eyes brighten with a pride I rarely see from him. I’ve never used those words to describe him before, not out loud. The most powerful mafia boss.

The Vanleusens might be richer, but the O’Sullivans are stronger. Liam’s men are more united, more devoted than simple mercenaries. And he’s more than ready to lead his band of violence. I set my jaw, trying to emulate his confidence.

“The words I’m sorry are no longer in your vocabulary,” I say, echoing him from the gun range. My voice sounds unusually stern, and I press my point. “Do you swear it?”

Liam raises his eyebrows at me. It’s almost like he’s impressed, but I don’t know if he’s also upset that I’m telling him what to do. When I told him what to do in his car, his reaction was… strong. Sexy. If that’s what he wants from me, I’ll get on my knees in this kitchen right now.

But then he raises his finger and places it beneath his eye. I swear it. My lips twitch in a smile.

“I have something to show you,” I tell him.

This time I don’t take his hand, I just lead him upstairs. When he follows me into my bedroom, he glances around like he’s absorbing every detail. The last time he was in here must’ve been years ago, but I can’t imagine much has changed. The green sea glass he collected for me is still in its jar on the shelf, as well as assorted photos of us throughout our teens and twenties.

I crawl onto my bed to reach my notebook on the windowsill. After our messages last night, I flipped through my decades-old handwriting. At first, I used this thick little notebook to help me decipher Morse code, but over the years, I began scribbling things in the margins, doodles and notes to myself.

I turn to the page I rediscovered last night, a message from Liam when we were sixteen. Beneath my dots and dashes, I’d written out his words about how strong I was, and his reminder that he’d help me through everything.

Along the right edge of the page, I’d scrawled: “I don’t know what I would do without him.”

I hand the notebook to Liam, staying where I am on my bed while he stands beside it. As he reads my writing, the muscles beside his lips twitch. And when he turns the page, his eyes go wide.

I feel my face go slack. If Liam’s reading what I think he’s reading, I’ll be mortified. Heart racing, I lean forward to snatch back my notebook, but he pulls it out of my reach. Then, to my horror, he reads my words aloud.

“I fell asleep thinking about Liam last night. He’s my everything. I know it was a sin, but I touched myself while I was thinking about him.”

He flicks his gaze from my notebook to my burning face.

“So that night in our bedroom…” he says, his grin wicked. “When I came home and found you with your legs spread. That wasn’t your first time thinking of me while playing with your pussy.”

I bite my lip, my cheeks on fire at the memory. I shake my head, but it’s clear Liam’s waiting for me to respond out loud.

“No,” I whisper.

“Show me,” he instructs, and my mouth falls open.

“I— What?”

“Show me.” His voice is dangerous this time, a reprimand for making him repeat himself.