Page 60 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

As she happily flips through the pages, I try to push away thoughts of Piers. Of what could have been. Of the future he wanted for us.

This is our future now. Small and quiet and safe.

And if sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, I wonder if I made the right choice...

Well.

I look down at our daughter, at her perfect face and tiny hands, at the future I'm trying to build for her, and I know.

I had to protect her.

Even if it meant breaking both our hearts to do it.

Chapter 29

Piers

The bass rattles the glass in my hand, the steady pulse of music weaving through the din of the club. Dark figures move against neon lights, laughter sharp and fleeting in the haze of cigarette smoke and spilled whiskey. Dublin’s underground looks the same as it always has- loud, crowded, and full of people looking for power or pleasure.

My eyes scan the room, not out of curiosity, but habit. In places like this, you never know who might be watching or what might be waiting in the shadows.

My fingers tap against my glass of untouched whiskey, eyes fixed on the door. The connection is late- not unusual in this business, but irritating all the same.

The job is simple- get the info, pass it along, let the Crowes do the rest.

A woman with piercing blue eyes and raven-black hair saunters over, her smile designed to disarm. She’s all curves and calculated grace, wrapped in a red dress that clings in all the right places. Confidence radiates off her- tall, poised, the kind who’s used to getting what she wants. She leans against the table, tilting just enough to give me a perfect view of her plunging neckline. Her voice comes husky over the music.

“Mind if I join you?” She says, the words dripping with honey.

I glance up at her, my expression neutral. “I'm waiting for someone.”

Her smile falters for a moment before she recovers. “Maybe I can keep you company until they arrive?”

I shake my head, attention snapping back to the shifting crowd. “I don't think so.”

She huffs, but doesn’t push. Smart girl. She lingers for a moment before blending seamlessly into the sea of faces. I’m sure she’s used to men chasing after her, but not me. Not anymore.

Minutes later, a lean figure with a sharp jawline and hunched shoulders slips into the club. His eyes dart around before locking onto me. My contact.

He moves quickly, sliding into the chair across from me. Up close, I notice the slight sheen of sweat at his temple, the way he keeps adjusting the collar of his too-tight dress shirt. His suit is ill-fitting, the jacket a size too big, the fabric wrinkled like he’s been wearing it too long.

He slides a small piece of paper across the table before talking. “The shipment’s moving through Crowe territory,” he mutters, voice low. “Tomorrow night. Warehouse off the docks. Midnight.”

The exchange is quick, clinical- just a time, a place, the confirmation I need. He doesn’t linger, pushing off the chair before his seat has time to warm. A ghost before anyone even notices he was here.

Business taken care of, I fall back into silence.

And then-

“Well, that was rude, brother.”

Desmond slides into the vacated chair, his posture relaxed but the glint in his eyes sharp. Glass in hand, his expression is caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

Brother.

The word still feels foreign. Desmond and I have gotten used to each other, but the resemblance hasn’t stopped being uncanny. Sometimes, I still catch my reflection out of the corner of my eye and think it’s him. Sometimes, I forget that someone else in the world now shares my face.

I arch a brow as I pass him the note. “What was?”

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