Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse apartment, casting a warm glow across the hardwood floors. It’s hard to believe this is my life now. I’m surrounded by elegant furnishings and a breathtaking view of Boston’s skyline. Flint insisted on the best security system money could buy, but he balanced that protection with touches that make it feel like home.
My hand drifts to my swollen belly as I walk past the framed photo from our wedding day six months ago. It was a small, intimate ceremony at my parents’ home in Maine with his brothers and my family, including my sister. Flint insisted our ceremony needed to be out of town as we needed to keep out of Kean’s radar. Plus, it seemed important for my parents and sister to meet him. I swore my sister to secrecy about Flint and how we met. Even she doesn’t know just how deep his ties are to organized crime. I don’t like lying but know it’s for their safety.
What I remember the most about my wedding day was the way Flint looked at me as I walked down the aisle, like I was his entire world. The memory brings a smile to my face as I settle into the window seat, my favorite spot to write.
Living with Flint has shown me sides of him I never expected. He’s still protective, but he’s wonderfully romantic too. He brings me tea every morning or will massage my swollen feet without being asked. The fierce warrior I first met has revealed himself to be an attentive husband and soon-to-be father who sings to my belly each night.
Sometimes when I close my eyes, I still see Ronan Kean’s cold smile as he ordered his men to take me to that dark basement room. The memory sends a shiver down my spine, even now. Especially since the recording wasn’t the victory I’d imagined. The background noise made it hard to hear. When I played it back for Flint and his brothers, their faces fell. The confession I thought I’d captured wasn’t there. As a result, the Keans remain untouchable, their power in Boston unchallenged. For the last few months, the Keans have held back, letting things settle around Marshall and my little stunt that caused them to circle their wagons. The good news is that they don’t seem to know the Ifrinns are back.
Flint and his brothers haven’t been idle as they bide their time. They’ve built their own ventures, some questionable and others completely legit. They have a gambling app and are involved in cryptocurrency.
The buzz of my phone pulls me from my thoughts. Another congratulatory message about my feature article in The Atlantic. My first major piece as a freelancer, and it’s already generating significant attention. I left the newspaper when I realized that I couldn’t do my job if I was worried about Ronan Kean hunting me down. I did turn in a piece that exposed a great deal of the Keans’ questionable actions, including tying them to Marshall and the suggestion that the Ifrinn fire might not have been an accident, after all.
It was Flint’s idea that I freelance write. I could do it at home, and with the phone and Internet, I could actually do a lot of research.
‘You’ve got fire in your words,’ he told me. ‘Don’t let anyone dim that.’
Opening my laptop, I scan through my upcoming assignments. Two investigative pieces for major outlets and a regular column for a respected online journal. The validation feels sweet. It’s proof that I can succeed on my own terms without compromising my integrity or putting myself in dangerous situations.
The floor creaks behind me, and I turn to see Flint walking in from the kitchen with a silver tray, a knowing smirk on his face. Chocolate-covered strawberries, my latest pregnancy craving, are artfully arranged on fine China.
‘Celebrating my brilliant wife’s success,’ he says, setting the tray beside my laptop. ‘Your piece in The Atlantic is incredible.’
‘You’re spoiling me.’ I reach for a strawberry, but he playfully pulls the tray away.
‘That’s the plan.’ His blue eyes spark with mischief. ‘Though I expect proper payment for these.’
‘Oh? And what’s your price, Mr. Ifrinn?’
He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. ‘A kiss should cover it… for now.’
I turn my face to meet his lips, tasting the hint of chocolate. He must have sampled one. I melt into him. Even after all this time, his kisses still make me swoon.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he murmurs against my mouth. He sets the tray down and slides his hand over my belly. “Good morning, little one.” Our baby kicks in response to his touch, making us both smile.
He sits down with me, and I lean back into his chest. His lips trail down my neck, and I sigh contentedly. These quiet moments of intimacy feel precious. Just us, wrapped in our own little world.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ he says softly, taking a berry and feeding me. ‘You’re amazing, you know that?’
The pure adoration in his voice makes my eyes sting with happy tears. Damn pregnancy hormones. But there’s something incredibly moving about how this dangerous man, who can strike fear into Boston’s underworld, can be so tender with me.
“You’re spoiling me.”
“Of course.” His fingers trail along my neck, and I shiver at his delicate touch. His breath is warm against my ear as he whispers, ‘Let me show you how much I love you.’
My pulse quickens as his hands slide down my arms. Even through my sweater, his touch ignites sparks across my skin. I tilt my head to give him better access as he plants soft kisses down my neck.
‘The strawberries can wait,’ he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. His hands drift to my hips, thumbs drawing slow circles that make me squirm.
‘Flint,’ I breathe, reaching up to tangle my fingers in his dark hair.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers between kisses. ‘Let me worship every inch of you.’
His hand slides up to cup my breast through my sweater. Even with the changes pregnancy has brought to my body, he makes me feel desired, cherished. The way he touches me, reverent yet possessive, sets my blood on fire.
‘Yes,’ I sigh as his other hand dips lower, teasing.
The warmth of Flint’s touch fades as a sudden tightness grips my abdomen. I try to ignore it at first, not wanting to break this perfect moment, but another wave comes stronger than the first.
“Flint.” I gasp, pressing my hand against my belly. The sensation is different from other tightness I’ve experienced before. More intense, more purposeful.
“Yes, Lucy.” He pinches my nipple.
“Stop.”
Flint immediately stills. ‘What’s wrong?’
Another tightening hits, and I grip his arm. ‘I think… I think this might be it.’
His whole demeanor shifts from passionate to protective in an instant. “It as in… it? The baby?”
“Yes.” I suck in a breath.
“Are you sure?” His voice carries an edge of panic.
A stronger contraction answers that question, making me gasp. ‘Pretty sure.” My heart races with a mix of fear and excitement. This is really happening.
‘Okay, stay calm.’ I think he might be talking to himself.
‘The hospital bag—” I start to say, but he’s already moving.
He grabs the bag and pulls out his phone, ordering a car to be brought out front.
Another contraction hits, and I grip the back of a chair, breathing through it like we learned in class.
A moment later, we’re riding down the elevator to the garage. ‘Flint.” I look up at him. “We’re having a baby.’
His blue eyes shine with emotion as he presses his forehead to mine. ‘We’re having a baby.’
Another contraction hits, and I lean into him, breathing through it. His arms wrap around me, strong and secure. ‘I’ve got you, baby. Just breathe.’
‘I’m scared,’ I admit, clutching his shirt.
‘Hey.’ He tilts my face up, his blue eyes intense. ‘You’re the strongest person I know. And I’ll be right here every second. We’re about to meet our son.’
I smile up at him. “Or daughter.” We don’t know for sure. We do know it’s not twins.
“Or daughter.” But he’s pretty sure we’re having a boy.
The elevator dings and opens.
‘Ready?’ He wraps an arm around my waist, his other hand holding the bag.
I nod, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what’s happening. We’re about to become parents.
The idea that some women spend twenty or thirty hours in labor is inconceivable to me. The ten it took me to deliver our son was already unimaginable. But when it was over and my son was in my arms, all the pain and struggle left.
“He’s so beautiful,” I say in awe. I just birthed a person.
“Just like his mom.” Flint’s voice is filled with love and awe too. “How about Flynn?”
We’ve been dancing around baby names for months but couldn’t settle on any. ‘Flynn?’
He gives me a sheepish smile. “Maybe you don’t want to be reminded of my deception but—”
“No. I like Flynn.” Our history together, even that deception, is a part of what brought us here, and I love the idea of honoring it. ‘Flynn Ifrinn.’ I test the name, loving how it rolls off my tongue. Of course, it will be Flynn Tine to the world. Until Flint and his brothers can reveal themselves officially, Flint is still Flynn Tine.
Exhausted but happy, I cradle Flynn as Flint’s brothers file into the hospital room. Their tough exterior melts at the sight of their nephew, even Ash’s perpetual scowl softening.
‘He’s got the Ifrinn eyes,’ Phoenix notes, peering at Flynn’s wide-eyed gaze.
‘Poor kid,’ Blaise jokes.
The brothers crowd around, taking turns holding him with surprising gentleness. These dangerous men who’ve spent years plotting revenge transform into doting uncles before my eyes. Flynn seems to know he’s safe in their arms, barely fussing as he’s passed between them.
‘He’s got your nose, though,’ Blaise tells me with a grin. ‘Thank God for that. Flint’s got a beak on him.’
‘Watch it,’ Flint growls, but there’s no heat in it. He hasn’t stopped smiling since Flynn arrived.
After a while, Blaise checks his watch and hands Flynn back to me. ‘Hate to cut this short, but duty calls. Time to infiltrate the Keans’ sanctuary.’
My arms tighten instinctively around Flynn.
‘Be careful,’ I say.
Blaise winks at me. ‘Always am, Sis.’ He kisses Flynn’s forehead before heading out.
I watch the door close behind Blaise, my heart tightening with worry. Though I’m relieved Flint has taken more of a behind-the-scenes role since we married, I can’t help but fear for his brothers, especially Blaise, who’s now at the forefront of their mission.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Flint says, reading my expression as he settles beside me on the hospital bed. ‘Blaise is smarter than I am about these things.’
“Yeah, he won’t fall for a reckless, beautiful woman,” Ash jokes.
“Too bad for him,” Flint says with a laugh.
His other brothers leave shortly after, and I settle into my new role of Mom.
Flynn stirs in my arms, his tiny fingers wrapping around Flint’s thumb. The sight melts away my concerns. This is what matters now. Our little family, safe and together.
‘Did you think having a family could be this good?’
Flint smiles. ‘My parents were pretty happy, so yeah. I just wasn’t sure I wanted it or could find it. That is until you followed O’Brian out into the alley and fainted in my arms.’
I laugh. ‘Lucky you.’
‘Lucky me.’ Flint leans over and kisses me.
Flynn makes a small noise between us, demanding attention. ‘See? Already jealous of his mama kissing his daddy.’
‘Smart boy.’ Flint grins, carefully lifting Flynn from my arms. Our son immediately settles against his chest, his eyes drooping with sleep. The sight of my dangerous, tattooed husband cradling our baby is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.
I won’t say I’m glad I walked into that alley and almost got killed nearly a year ago, but I can’t deny there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here. My life begins and ends with these two men. I plan to savor every moment of every day with them for the rest of my life.
