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It didn’t matter to me that at his age I was just about to meet Dec. That a few years later I was giving birth to Shay. He’d always be my baby. Always. And I wanted something different for him.
I wanted the best.
Running my hand over his head in an attempt to soothe him, I asked, “Where’s your dad?” Funny how I didn’t even think to call him Declan.
“Him and the uncles are in the living room.”
My brows rose at that. Seemed like we were on the same page—claiming the O’Donnelly clan as ours.
“Why?”
“They’re talking about what happened.”
That had me frowning.
Why were they using the living room?
“Is your grandfather here?”
“No.”
After what had just gone down, that Aidan Sr. wasn’t here was telling.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart?” I questioned, even though my brain was whirring with a million questions.
“You know the night when I hid in the safe room?”
Hard to forget.
“Yes, love, I do.”
“You remember before you came home, Caro was babysitting me?”
I hummed my agreement.
“I saw something on the news.”
“What was it?” The kid was just throwing stuff at me today, and hell, my brain wasn’t ready to function. Not without coffee. And an Ibuprofen.
“It was weird. It was about a funeral.”
“What about it?”
“I just happened to see it because Caro was watching the news, but it was this man called Benito Fieri. The news was saying how he was an alleged mob boss, and his son had just died in prison.”
“Okay,” I intoned slowly, wondering where this was going and why my son was talking about a mafia Don.
It wasn’t like everyone in the Five Points didn’t know exactly who Benito Fieri was.
“I knew him.”
“That’s not possible, sweetheart.”
“It is.” He gulped. “You remember when we were in West Orange? You were making that big chandelier.”
For a human trafficker.
