Page 45 of Her Michigan Mob Boss

“Really?”

“Yeah, they carried a disease or something that killed other plants. I’m not up on my fruit facts. Anyway, I’m using cranberries instead.”

“That should work.”

“Doubt I’d be able to tell the difference.” Ciaran winked at me.

Trying to ignore the way my spine tingled whenever he looked at me, I carried on cutting the strawberries. They were plump, so I quartered them before dropping them into the cream and meringue mix.

An unsettling feeling came over me as I realized how much at home I was. Thoughts of my real home were fading, and it crossed my mind that I should hand in my resignation at work.

As I realized how deep in I was with Ciaran already, I lost focus and sliced into my finger.

“Shit!” I cursed as I dropped the knife.

I scanned the countertop for a towel or something to stem the bleeding, but Ciaran was by my side before I could find one.

“Get the first-aid kit,” he barked at Emily as he put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me over to the sink.

He turned on the cold water and held my hand under it. I watched as blood trickled down the plughole.

“Ciaran,” I grumbled. “It’s too cold.”

He pulled my hand out of the stream of water and shut off the faucet. Grabbing a clean dishcloth, he wrapped it around my finger. Steering me back across the room, he picked me up and set me down on one of the stools at the island. When Emily returned with the first-aid box, they both hovered over me as Ciaran peeled back the white cloth.

“How bad is it?” Emily asked. “Does it need stitches?”

“It’s just a cut!” I snapped. They were fussing over nothing. “Shouldn’t you be stirring your sauce?”

As Ciaran inspected my finger, I looked over my shoulder at his sister. My tone with her had been harsh. “I’m sorry, Em. Pain makes me grumpy.”

“It’s okay. You should see me when I’m on my period.”

“Can you not?” Ciaran growled.

“Look at that.” Emily grinned wickedly. “The big bad mob boss can’t handle the mention of a perfectly natural bodily function.”

Ciaran’s shoulders stiffened. We’d danced around the subject of his involvement in organized crime, but now Emily had confirmed it. An uncomfortable silence descended on the room as Ciaran stared at me, waiting for a reaction. Though I didn’t like the thought of him being a mobster, I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. I was sure I’d get used to it, eventually.

“So, what’s the verdict?” I said lightly. “Will I live?”

“Uh, yes.” Ciaran reached into the first-aid kit and took out a small spray bottle. “It’s not too deep.”

I hissed as he squirted disinfectant on my finger without warning me first. He got a bandage and wrapped it around the cut.

“All better?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Yes, thanks.”

As I jumped off the stool, Seam came into the room. His gaze landed on the first-aid box, open on the counter. “What’s going on?”

“Annie cut herself,” Emily explained.

Sean’s brow furrowed. “You okay?”

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Good.” He turned to Ciaran and tilted his head toward the door. “Need you, brother.”

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