Page 10 of Craving Sin

“The smartest,” Cillian replies, the pride clear on his face. My son is good to his partner, good to all the people he loves. I’m proud of him for being better at it than me.

“Senior year…” I continue. Cillian pushes his hands into his pockets, the fact that we’re still not good at talking to each other painfully obvious.

“Yeah, not for Ollie or Dean, though. We’re going to have to figure that out next year.”

The intent behind his words is clear—he’s not leaving Ollie, and there’s not a chance Tiernan will leave Ashford without Dean either.

It’s only a few hours’ drive away, but both boys are stubborn, so I know he’s right. We will have to figure it out.

“We have time,” I say just as a flash of red catches my gaze, Rory sticking his head through the door. We’re still working on what to do with his boyfriend, Shai. We’ve allowed him to participate in more family business with the younger generation, but he’s not at family meetings like these. He has to earn his way here, and while Rory isn’t happy about it, he’s accepting it.

“Yo, Cil. You ready? We got shit to do, people to hurt…boys to fuck.” He pumps his brows, and even I can’t stop myself from smiling.

I love Rory like he’s my son. From the first day I met him—burnt hand from trying to cook when he was much too young to do anything of the sort—he’d been stubborn and fucking loyal. He’s a wildcard and one we have to watch, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. And even though they’re not in a relationship and not in love, he is my son’s other half.

“Oh shit. Am I interrupting bonding time?” Rory adds.

“Fuck off,” Cillian tells him.

“Go.” I nod my head. “Tell Tiernan I’ll be in touch.”

Tiernan and I have run this family together since Sloan’s death—though for nine months out of the year, while they’re at school, it’s mostly me. The mini-mob—as Ollie calls them—Cillian, Rory, Dean, and Tiernan come back to Boston when they’re needed, but I do my best not to need them as much as possible. While Cillian says he’s only at college for Tiernan, I want that experience for him. I’d love for my son to have as many normal experiences as possible. It’s what Moira wanted for him, too.

Plus, I have Conan here. The group of people I trust implicitly is incredibly small, and Conan is at the top of that list. Before Sloan died, I know how much Conan stepped in to be there for Tiernan, stepped up in ways I didn’t because of the hold my brother had on me.

I’m really not the man most people think I am.

“Okay.” Cillian walks away, making it all the way to the door before he stops, keeping his back to me. “Thanks for asking…about school, I mean.”

My pulse speeds up, a form of pride I don’t often feel surging in my chest. “You’re welcome, son,” I reply, and without another word, Cillian walks out.

Just seconds later, I’m not surprised when Conan approaches. Like me, he’s wearing a suit, not something all the guys do, but it was drilled into me by my father, and Conan has always done the same.

We’re both closer to fifty than forty, probably more tired than we should be, and definitely have seen and delivered more death, too. Conan has no kids of his own, but even though he would never say it, I know he loves Tiernan and Aislin like they’re his.

It was Conan who helped Tiernan cover up that it was Fia who killed Sloan and not some random junkies, like the world thinks.

Again, something they don’t realize I know.

“What’s wrong?” I ask Conan as he pulls over one of the folding metal chairs and sits down. The warehouse isn’t pretty, filled with supplies, boxes, and old blood staining some of the concrete.

Conan doesn’t beat around the bush. It’s not how he is, and he immediately starts, “Remember that guy you took out at the convenience store last month?”

I nod. Honestly, shit like that is beneath me. I usually have better control than that, but it had been late, and I’d had a really shitty day.

“He’s got three brothers—the Bellini brothers.”

I frown, not recognizing the name, but it’s very clearly Italian. “They connected?” I ask, because if they’re connected to any of the Italian organized crime families, I might have bought us some trouble we don’t need.

“No. Low-level criminals, but they’re playing a game that they don’t realize they’re not prepared for. Rumor has it, one of the remaining brothers was drunk in a pub, ranting about Rian O’Shea and how he’s going to take you out for killing his brother.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “He should try. I hope he does try.”

Conan cocks a brow. My first sentence is very like me, my second, not as much. I don’t have a death wish, and I’m not the type who needs to constantly prove my power. I know who the fuck I am, and so does everyone else, but even killing the one brother was different for me. I’ve felt more reckless lately, uneasy, like I’m waiting for something to happen, but I don’t know what it is.

“How does he even know it was me?” I ask.

“You know how shit works in the streets. People find out things they’re not supposed to know.”