Page 166 of Godless Saints

His words came quieter. “We could skip lunch. I’ll bend you over in the car and try to knock you up properly. They say practice makes perfect.”

I looked away. My cock twitched against my thigh while mortification clawed through me.

“Behave. We’re in Zara’s brother’s restaurant. I’ve caused her enough optics damage since Evermourne. Let alone at the wedding when you and Mikhail decided to…” I swallowed. “I won’t add public indecency to the list.”

The waiter appeared with appetizers Cillian had already ordered, along with a bottle of wine chosen to match.

I speared a piece of tuna, trying to sound casual. “Adoption or surrogacy. What do you actually think?”

Cillian leaned back, watching me. “I’d be happy with either, prince. Whatever you want.”

I scoffed. “Be honest with me.”

“Honestly?” He dragged his thumb around the rim of his glass. “I say we keep trying the old-fashioned way.”

“Shut up. We both know that’s not how it works. Adoption or surrogacy?”

Cillian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, that calm I knew too well settling over him. “Why not both?”

I nearly choked. “Two children? I can barely manage my own schedule. I can barely manage myself.”

Cillian reached across and stole a piece from my plate without asking, eating it slowly. He shrugged. “I love my family. I want to expand it. Fuck, I’d fill a house with eight if you’d let me.”

Seven years ago, the idea of children would've sounded like succession. Duty. A wife I'd chosen for the photographs. Now I pictured green eyes and an Irish accent terrorizing my furniture. I laughed despite myself. “Calm down, Daddy Warbucks.” I slapped his hand away. “You have your own plate. Stop eating mine like some half-feral animal.”

Cillian dragged his plate closer, but not before stealing one more bite, eyes glued to me the whole time.

Five years.

Five years since Evermourne spat us out and I still felt the Academy’s teeth in my throat every time I stepped foot back on those grounds.

Yuna was there now. Aster Court. Yale graduate. Thriving in a way I never quite managed. She had a boyfriend.

I still saw my little sister when I looked at her, but she was a woman now, and the realization lodged somewhere sharp behind my ribs.

I speared another piece of tuna so I didn’t have to meet Cillian’s eyes.

I went back for her, of course. But mostly I went back because after year three I won the Mourning Star seat.

Masked Patron. Even Cillian wasn’t supposed to know.

The first few times I left alone I told him it was business. He hated it. Then he started showing up anyway. Found me. I told him the truth.

He didn’t like that I had a vote in that machine. Sanctioned killings. Blacklisting successions. Territory retaliation. Darker than I ever expected.

And after he learned… he’d been worse. More obsessive. Clingier. More violently protective.

Because all he wanted was out. No more mafia. No shares in House of Moon. Just him and me.

And apparently a house full of children.

The man looked like walking violence and talked like a man who wanted to build a nursery. It was almost funny.

Almost.

I wanted to give him that. I did. Even if I had no fucking clue what I was doing. Even if co-leading House of Moon with my father still felt like walking a razor's edge over open flame. We had grown closer, Father and I. But he was still not okay with Cillian.

I already told him. It was Cillian or I walked.