Page 73 of Craving Sin

Rian sighs. “They’ll be careful. If there’s anything you want them to get, they can do that too.”

I shake my head. “Nothing. It’s fine.” It’s not as if someone else hasn’t been in my place recently, maybe more than I realize. At least with Rian’s friends, I know it’s for my safety…or Rian’s, I guess.

The person on the phone must speak again because Rian says, “None of your fucking business.” And he ends the call.

Neither of us speaks for the rest of the drive. Honestly, I’m not even sure what to say. In a matter of weeks, my life has been completely altered—leading to tonight, where I find out someone may have tried to kill me, and now my Mafia-boss lover is bringing me back to his place, where he’s sworn to protect me.

I lean forward, pressing buttons on the dashboard, trying to turn on his AC.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m hot. I think it’s all just hitting me.”

Rian turns on the air conditioner, then reaches over, lacing his fingers through mine. The silence is different now, more comforting with the feel of Rian’s steady hand in mine. “I don’t understand how being with you makes everything feel better…how I trust you and know that I’m safe with you.”

“Because you know I’m a monster, and you’re not supposed to feel safe with people like me?” he asks.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s true. I know who I am, but while I’m all the things others should run away from, I’m not that for those who are mine. I’m your monster. The one who will always take care of you.”

His. He said it again. That I’m his. I don’t know how we got here, and if we’re only here now because I’m possibly in danger, but here is my favorite place I have ever been. “I like being yours.”

“Good. It might’ve gotten awkward if you didn’t.”

I give a small laugh, then squeeze his hand.

Rian doesn’t let go until we’re pulling into the driveway of a huge, Greek Revival-style house with towering pillars along the front and made up of white brick. The lawn is perfectly manicured—a family home that looks like it would belong to anyone other than the leader of the most notorious Irish Mafia family still around.

There’s a garage along the side, which Rian pulls into, the door sliding closed behind us.

“Come on, pretty thing. Let’s get you inside.”

I nod, feeling vulnerable in a way I don’t often allow myself to feel, one that I haven’t been given the comfort to feel for most of my life.

Even though he tries, I don’t let him get my bag, instead grabbing it before I follow Rian inside.

The garage door leads into the kitchen, which is filled with more white brick, immaculately clean, almost like no one has been here in days.

We go through the kitchen, then into the living room, Rian flipping on the lights as we go. The space is huge—looks like it could be a spread in a magazine—pristine and perfect, but with soft, personal touches that lure me closer, like a moth to a flame.

I walk toward the wall of photos of different sizes, in a collage of happy memories that seem to have stopped when Moira died.

She was beautiful—long, dark hair with wide, bright blue eyes and a smile that I feel the energy from through the photos. There are some with her and Rian, with her and who must be Cillian, of a red-haired boy that I assume is Rory, a young girl and boy that—“This is your niece and nephew?” I ask.

“Yes. Tiernan and Aislin.” Rian is standing at least five feet behind me, though I think it’s because he can’t let himself get too close to this happiness that he used to have.

Because more than anything, there are photos with the three of them—Rian, Cillian, and Moira—laughing, touching, living, loving. It’s obvious how much they loved each other. Still, I can’t help but notice that there’s not one photo of them after she died. It’s like Cillian and Rian stopped living when she did.

“There is nothing like this in my family home,” I say.

“What?” Rian steps closer.

“This…the life you had, the memories, there is nothing like this in my family home. I’m not saying you don’t have anything to atone for, or that you were the perfect father…but you love your son. You loved your family. That’s why I’m here with you right now.”

He continues moving closer, slow and unsure, like he’s kept these photos up but hasn’t allowed himself to really look at them in so long.

“No one who loves this much can be all bad, Rian. I see that. I see you.”