Page 52 of The Mafia Bachelor

“Next time,” I assure Ciara, who looks very cross. “And we’ll play invaders and defenders.”

“Now, have you got your toys all packed?” Kill interrupts what could become tears that Ciara isn’t going to the castle. “Don’t want to forget Muffin, do we?”

Muffin is her plush rabbit with soft fur.

“I’ve got Muffin.” Ciara tosses her hair, castle disappointment forgotten. So confident my little girl. I’m proud of her. And I love that she is secure in her place in the world in a way I never was until I met Kill.

“Is that so? Did you pack her?” he asks.

“Yes.” Ciara’s brows pinch together, and her lips purse.

“I could never have found poor Muffin in the bathroom, then, could I?” Kill did the checks upstairs earlier, and I glance at him questioningly.

“I don’t think so?” Ciara sounds uncertain, then something in my expression must give Kill away, and she goes to take off the shoe I tied for her before putting on the coat. “Mummy, I need to go and check for Muffin!”

“This Muffin?” Kill pulls the plush rabbit from his pocket.

“Muffin!” Ciara exclaims and grabs the toy from him. “Thank you, Daddy!”

“Good save,” I say. Our gazes meet, and despite the very domestic situation, heat sizzles between us. There’s the promise of how we’re going to explode together as soon as we’re alone. Fully alone. That rare thing for parents.

Orla, our middle child, wanders in from the living room. “Can I take the piano?” She’s already in her coat and shoes, her bag packed and by the front door.

There are thumps from above us. Kill narrows his eyes.

“Have you seen Cormac?” I ask.

“He was running around upstairs in only a pair of pants!” Orla says gleefully and smooths down her little dress in an unconscious emphasis of how good she’s being. My sweet kid. I love them all for who they are. Even if that’s trouble.

“Just like his dad.” I grin at Kill.

He raises one eyebrow. “That would explain the noise.”

“Maybe he’s looking to be taught how to behave,” I say playfully.

Kill’s expression goes wolfish. We’ve had our fair share of little role-plays where he’s “punished” me. There’s always time for us to have some fun together, and I confess, I like it when he takes charge. I might have embraced being a bit of a brat sometimes. Being naughty. Just to get a rise out of him.

“I know how to behave,” Orla says from by our knees.

“Do you? Well, then you can have a reward.” Kill scoops up Orla and bounces her in his arms, kissing her cheek with an audible smack, and she giggles, throwing herself at him in a childish excess of emotion. He cuddles her to his chest, and seeing that makes my heart do a squeezing thing that’s so familiar now.

My family. The family I didn’t know I wanted and had no idea I needed.

“Wait here,” I say to Kill. “I’ll fetch our troublesome little boy.” Because that was definitely what the noise was.

“He is trouble, isn’t he?” Orla says innocently.

“He’s the best sort of trouble,” I say over my shoulder, smiling.

I take the stairs two at a time, and pace quickly down the corridor to our youngest’s bedroom. Cormac is a boy’s boy. Where our girls are into teddy bears, books, and studying, Cormac is mainly into charging in circles with a wooden sword, a ball, or toy cars.

I peek around the open door, and yes. True to form, this time he’s removed his T-shirt—I’m not sure where he gets his inner heat from, I guess it’s the Irish blood—and is toddling up and down the room with the shield and sword. He’s talking to himself.

“Here’s the dragon, rahhh! Dragon!” He makes stabbing motions with the sword. Then he swashes it from side to side.

“Do you need help, brave knight?” I take a step forwards.

“Mummy!” He looks up. “Help save us from the dragon!”