Filthy Dark: A SECOND CHANCE/SECRET BABY, MAFIA ROMANCE (THE FIVE POINTS' MOB COLLECTION Book 3)

by Serena Akeroyd

  She was exploring all this new stuff that, to me, was old news. I might only be two years older than her, but nothing about sex was new to me. With her, however, it was like I was learning a whole new playbook. Just for her. For us. What we shared.

  Her knees spanned my hips as she took me between her hands and carefully slid her way onto me. She was still tight, still so fucking small, but I gritted my teeth as I let her find her place. She was new to being on top, so I gave her the reins, letting her take things as slow or as fast as she wanted.

  I knew that was the one way I could prove to her I loved her. By showing her that. By giving her that.

  I never took from Aela. Never stole.

  Watching her as she took me in, as she settled herself on me, I clenched my teeth as she rocked upright, then slowly cascaded back on to me. Fuck, it was torture. A long, rigorous descent into madness as I let her have her way with me. The only consolation I gave myself was to grab her by the hips and to hold on tight. My fingers might leave bruises in the morning, but she told me she liked that.

  She liked waking up in the morning and seeing proof I’d been here. That it wasn’t just a dream.

  I didn’t like marking her, but that she did fucked with my head so badly.

  With her, I could be generous. I wanted to give her everything she wanted. Bites, nibbles, hickeys, bruises, a sore ass, whatever the fuck she wanted, I needed to give her. But I couldn’t.

  If she showed up at school with a hickey? That fucker of a fiancée of mine would have her nose in our business faster than a fox could get through a hole into a henhouse.

  Letting go of her hip, even as I clasped her tighter with my other hand, I reached between us and began to rub her clit. She hissed when I did, and her eyes turned moody, edgy. I loved when that happened. Her pace increased, finally, and she ground down every time I filled her fully. She’d twist her hips a little, making me appreciate the flourish and what it did to her tits, before she reached up and began to grab said tits and squeeze the life out of her nipples.

  She liked a side of pain, and that didn’t come as a surprise. I knew her father had punished her with a belt as a girl. As much as I wanted to wring his neck over that, she behaved now and wasn’t punished often.

  The second I graduated, I intended to get a place for us. My house would have Deirdre in it, but my home would be with Aela.

  Da would want me to get Deirdre pregnant ASAP, but that wasn’t happening.

  Ever.

  I didn’t give a fuck what he said. Didn’t give a shit about what the family needed. No way was I spawning anything with Deirdre. My kids were going to be Aela’s. No other woman’s.

  The thought shouldn’t have been as much of a turn-on as it was, but it twisted shit in my brain, and within seconds, I twisted her around, spinning us about so she was on her back and I was on top of her. I plowed into her, hard and fast, taking what I needed, giving what she wanted.

  I was a little rough, but all within the confines of what I knew she could take. The bed started to clang against the wall, but I was too far gone to care. As I shot my wad, she tightened around me, and she gasped her pleasure in my ear. Soft, breathy sounds that had me groaning under my breath, relief easing me down as I escaped in her body.

  Slumping over her, my dick cosseted by the tiny pulsations of her pussy, I pushed my face into the pillow beside her. Her hands came up to hold me, her fingers digging slightly into the muscles in my back. She rocked her hips, wiggling around, and I let her, because I knew she was getting comfortable.

  If Aela could have her way, we’d sleep like this.

  And I was tempted.

  Every fucking night I came here, I was tempted.

  But I’d already made more noise than was wise. Even though her mom was doped up on sleep meds, I still had to be cautious.

  When I could move again—ignoring the insistent urge to fall asleep—I reached for her wrist and pressed a kiss to the Acuig tag I’d had inked there. It was the only claiming I could give her, and while it’d never be enough, it gave me a sense of peace because I knew it’d keep her safe.

  After I felt her erratic pulse against my tongue, I rolled off her, and slumped onto my back. She didn’t cuddle up against me, just watched me climb out of bed and head over to the connecting bath she shared with her folks.

  I didn’t switch on the light because I knew my way around here as well as I knew my way around the rest of the place, but when I dragged off the condom, I frowned at the unusual squelch to the sound. When I peered down into the darkness, and saw shit, I switched on the light and hissed under my breath.

  The condom was busted.

  Fuck.

  My mouth tightened, but I took it on the chin. I’d wanted her to have my kids, just not yet. I needed my ring on the cunt’s finger and Aela in an apartment, someplace safe.

  Brain ticking with a million thoughts as I pondered my next step, I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me, didn’t even have it in me to jerk in surprise when arms slipped around my waist.

  “What are you doing?” she asked softly as she propped her chin on my arm. I knew the second she saw it, because she tensed, then whispered, “Oh.”

  Yeah.

  Oh.

  That about summed it up.

  Ten

  Aela

  NOW

  Declan’s place was nothing like I imagined.

  In fact, it was the opposite.

  It was… Japanese.

  Considering the family was borderline psychotic with their patriotism, both for the motherland and the States, that he’d gone for a very Asian influence clued me into the fact that Declan had opened himself up to the world.

  Hell, I bet he even ate ramen on Sundays, not just roasted meat with two veg.

  My lips quirked at the thought, even as I took a seat on the futon. Yep, that was the extent to this Japanese fusion Declan had going on.

  The dining table was low to the ground, like the same height as a coffee table, and there were unusual dining chairs, which were like office chairs but also low to the ground. They acted as the heads of the table, and large white cushions replaced the regular seats. On the surface, there was a cast iron teapot with little painted teacups on a rush mat.

  Beyond, there was a picture window that was revealed when screens were pulled aside on pulleys.

  In this side of the room, which was compartmentalized with those translucent screens that were like paper, complete with Asian-style designs on them, there was a low sofa, cuboid and boxy, but comfortable nonetheless. A kind of reed-like rug lay on the floor and the coffee table was barely a foot off the ground. Opposite, there was a console table, which was thick, boxy, and dark, gleaming in a way that spoke of expensive Shellac, with a few decorative items on top. Above, there was the only thing I’d expected—a large TV.

  What truly interested me in this whole weird Alice in Wonderland fugue I had going on were the trinkets on the console.

  I’d heard about kintsugi before and had been fascinated by the concept. The Japanese celebrated scars and damage that came in an object’s ‘life.’ They didn’t toss them out, instead, they’d painstakingly piece them together again like expensive jigsaw puzzles, and used gold as the glue.

  The console table was about nine feet long, and all along the surface there were several such pieces. A few dishes, earthenware and colored pottery, a few vases that I didn’t need to be an expert in to know were Ming, and some dishes with Japanese themes—the rolling surf, a bonsai tree, a dragon.

  Even as I wondered what that said about Declan, why he chose to celebrate something that was broken, chose to cherish it, I peered at my son who was watching cartoons.

  He never watched cartoons.

  Said they were too juvenile, too young for him now that he was ancient at fourteen.

  Of course, whenever he watched them, I knew it was his way of coping. He had an old head on young shoulders, and the path he wanted to take in this life was equally as tu
rbulent, equally as stressful. If I could, I’d tell him to be an artist, tell him to follow his heart and create, but he wanted to be in law. Wanted to move into politics. Wanted to change the world because it wouldn’t change itself.

  Even as I feared for him, I was proud of him, and when he did have these moments, when he wandered back a few steps, I just let him. I didn’t give him crap about the cartoons, because we had a tendency to tease each other. I didn’t even mention them or what might be worrying him enough to watch them.

  I just let him be.

  Knowing full well that if he wanted to talk, he’d come to me. Which he usually would. Maybe not as soon as I’d like, but he’d come. Eventually.

  So I watched over him without being seen, and I was sitting in this uncomfortable living room with a book on my lap when I hated, absolutely outright loathed, Rick and Morty.

  I just didn’t get it. But then, I didn’t have to.

  A long while back, I’d managed to reach that enviable state of motherhood where I could tune out the random stuff he used to watch or listen to. It had helped get me through SpongeBob, Pokémon, and TikTok. Rick and Morty, however, required ear plugs.

  With my focus on the book, my ear plugs working—thank God—I didn’t hear any sounds that were out of the ordinary. Only when Shay jerked, jumping to his feet like a gun had fired in the room, did I realize anything was wrong.

  I knew it was a testament to my faith in a family that hadn’t earned any faith at all, that I felt safe.

  I even knew he was just overreacting.

  The O’Donnellys would let nothing happen to Shay.

  They’d let nothing happen to me either.

  They’d kill to keep us safe, and to be honest, that was the best kind of security going. I didn’t have to worry about alarms or the cops. This was the kind of protection that was priceless.

  “It’s okay, Shay,” I soothed, even as I pulled out the ear plugs and set them in the little carrycase I’d put on the coffee table.

  “Who is it? I thought we were alone here.”

  His nerves bled through the words, and I hated the insecurity, even as I recognized this day had been dawning for a long, long time.

  “We are. Someone has probably come to visit.” Sans ear plugs, I heard the rattle, and knew it came from the kitchen.

  That keyed me into the fact it was either staff or… family.

  I wanted to pull a face, but didn’t, because he could misread it and think I was scared too.

  I wasn’t. Not at all.

  That didn’t mean I wouldn’t prefer the noise to have come from a staff member though. I’d even take a security guard.

  As I got to my feet, I moved over to him and pressed a hand to his shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I repeated, smiling at him. What he saw in my eyes must have reassured him because he swallowed, nodded abruptly, then turned to look at the TV.

  Knowing that was about as much of a response as I could expect from my kid, I moved toward the noise.

  To get there, I had to walk down a small hall made of more of those damn screens, all paper and light. Maybe it was a quirk of mine or his, but I actually hated the light. It was my natural enemy. Most artists adored it. For me, though, I did my best work at night, away from the sun.

  This place was like my idea of hell with all the windows and the minutest of coverings over them.

  I didn’t have anything against Japanese decor, but I had to admit, nothing about it gelled with me or my taste. To be honest, I couldn’t believe it fit Declan either. Especially not when I passed an Asian armoire, complete with a carved jade inlay in the doors, or another console with a rack of frickin’ katanas on there.

  Pretty sure I’d remember if my ex had a Jackie Chan or a Jet Li fetish, I headed for the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to encounter Aidan Sr.

  Most people were terrified of this man. My father included. As much as he’d respected him, that was nothing compared to how much he’d feared him. But then, a healthy dose of the two kept men in line. Weird as it sounded, I knew that now after being a professor.

  Not that I threatened to slice my students’ throats if they didn’t get their assignments to me on time or anything…

  I found, oddly enough, as I stood in the doorway, peering into the only normal room of the house because the weird aesthetic even bled into the bedrooms—except they had functioning doors, windows, curtains, and walls, thank God—that I wasn’t scared of him.

  I wasn’t scared at all.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, I watched as my son’s grandfather made himself a pot of tea with stuff that was very clearly not Japanese. The only thing Asian about it was the name—china. But this was Dresden. I figured Dec kept this around the place for when his parents visited. Just like the Irish teabags he had in the kitchen cupboard. I guessed they were for them too.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. O’Donnelly?”

  He was fortunate I was feeling polite, or I’d have called him by his given name.

  “I’m under orders not to see the boy, but you I can see.”

  My lips twisted at that. “That’s a sin to chalk up to Father Doyle.”

  His frown was fierce. “What are you talking about?”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  I shrugged. “Declan, for all his sins, for all his flaws, would never throw me under the bus. I’m pretty sure you’d be ‘under orders’ to leave me alone too.”

  “You kept his son from him.”

  “I did,” I agreed, and not for the first time, I felt little guilt over that.

  It had happened when Declan had called me, and again now. In theory, I felt bad. I knew keeping father and son apart was heinous, but… And it was a big but, being back here, being around these people… it was a reminder of what I’d taken us away from. If anything, I was glad Shay had had the chance to be normal.

  As normal as the kid of a nomadic artist could be, at any rate.

  “You feel no shame for that, do you?” he questioned roughly, his hand on the teapot turning white, making me wonder how long the china would withstand such pressure.

  “I’ve not been back in your stratosphere for a week. Declan’s been shot, I had to kill a man, my home was invaded, one of your men was murdered on my street, I’ve had to move houses, and I discovered that a close personal friend is a Fed.” I gritted my teeth. “If you think I feel any shame at letting Shay avoid any of that, you’re as crazy as they say.”

  He narrowed his eyes on me, but his hand released its firm pressure on the teapot, and carefully, with a care that told me he was getting himself back under control, he placed it on the counter.

  “Who says I’m crazy?”

  I smiled at him in earnest this time. “Anyone who’s ever met you.”

  He surprised me by laughing at that. A short, sharp bark, but I had to admit, I’d thought it more likely that he’d scream at me than laugh. “Well, never let it be said you don’t speak your mind, Aela.”

  “I’ve learned bullshit is futile. Cutting to the chase saves everyone a lot of time. So, feel free, Aidan, to tell me what a piece of crap I am… I’ve been waiting for it for years.” Before he could open his mouth, however, I stated, “Bear in mind that I did whatever I had to in order to protect my son, because that’s what mothers do.”

  “She’s right, Aidan.”

  Lena O’Donnelly.

  I cut a look at the other side of the kitchen, and saw she was standing there as poised as ever. I wasn’t sure if I’d seen her be anything but poised. Even during lockdown, where the women and kids were holed up in a compound for safekeeping, she was rarely rattled. She always looked like a secretary with her pearls and neat skirts, and the only bit of color on her was her hair. The only time I’d seen her dress down was when she cooked in the compound kitchen, but she always changed for dinner.

  “That’s exactly what mothers do,” Lena continued as she ceased wiping her hand on a paper towel.


  I looked at the door behind her and winced at the fact that the guards would keep us safe, apart from where their own people were concerned. Evidently, they’d had enough time for her to use the fucking bathroom, and only the fact that Aidan had rattled a dish had given their presence away to Shay, which had alerted me to the danger.

  And to be completely frank, that was something I was about to deal with.

  Call me brave, call me goddamn crazy, but I just tipped my chin up and said, “If this is going to be where Seamus and I live from now on, I will expect you to respect our privacy.”

  Aidan’s eyes flashed with anger, but Lena’s features turned to ice.

  “I don’t think you have any rights to respect after what you’ve done—” Aidan started to snarl.

  “I protected my son. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. All the while that I kept him safe, you idiots were playing cowboys and Indians, shooting everyone up and getting into a war that, somehow, we were dragged into.

  “You ever stop to wonder how a Famiglia goon knew where Seamus and I were living? You had a rat. Which put Shay and me in jeopardy. You wanted to meet your grandson so badly you sneaked into his new home. Well, good luck meeting him if he had been in a body bag because of the battles you’ve brought him into.”

  Guilt merged with the rage and outrage my declaration triggered. I truly thought Aidan was going to have an aneurysm for how bright pink his face turned, but Lena? If she’d been like ice before, she defrosted.

  Tears poured down her cheeks. Her eyes were liquid with her grief.

  “You feel like shit now, but how do you think I felt when I had to shove my fourteen-year-old into a safe room I only had in the first place because I knew, someday, your family would find us?” My tone was cold, but I felt it.

  I felt frigid as I chose Seamus’s welfare over my own.

  I tipped my chin up some more, wanting them to know that I wouldn’t take their shit.

  When I was a kid, I had. I’d listened to these people, or people like them. I’d taken their stupid rules and edicts into full sway, but I wouldn’t again. I wouldn’t.