Page 52 of Iron Cross

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

But he’d never leave Green Fields Enterprises behind. He’d always be a Mafia Monster.

And we were always fated to be a tragedy.

“I love you.” I gave the words life the moment they were uttered.

“I know, sweet muse.” The Eoghan of my dreams whispered gently into my ear.

Chapter sixteen

E.C.G.

Kira

My name is Anna Jones. I am a single mother.

I amnota secret agent on the run from my husband, who gave me the most perfect son in the world.

I am Anna Jones. And I am a single mother. My son’s name is Cillian.

Cillian.

“Cillian!” I sat up, screaming his name.

I looked under the sheets, tossing them off, trying to find the weight of a toddler in its puffiness. He wasn’t there. Had he fallen off the bed and hurt himself?

I looked under the bed, then around it, between the bed and the wall, then in every drawer as if he was a set of lost keys.

Then I heard a low hum from the living room. A male voice. A low, sweet melody of a familiar Irish tune that made me shiver.

Then the nightmare of my son being missing, of beingtaken,wracked through my body. Was there an Irishman in my house? Was one of Eoghan’s men here to drag us back by the hair, kicking and screaming? Was it Eoghan himself?

In my panic, I went to my purse, grabbing the handleless blade I kept secreted in the inner pocket.

What would I do with it? What would I do if I found the man who took my boy? I don’t know. But I would fight, because that was what mothers did for their babies.

I ran out to find the half-lit open floor living space where a man sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone with my son sprawled on his lap.

That man… the one who had come by the kiosk. Come by the park.

What was he doing here?

Was he with one of them? The Mafia? The Irish?

I was torn between running for the gun taped under a drawer of the pantry, or running for my son.

“You’re awake!” He looked down at my son on his lap, his hand idly caressing his golden curls.

“Who are you?” I asked, quietly, still unsure how to play this. How was I going to get my kid back?

“I’m Aaron Jackson.” His smile was confused.

His eyes searched my face, observant and acute.

This space was even smaller than what I owned in New York City. I had to keep up appearances. I had to live in a house that was secure, but cheap enough to be afforded by some local artist that sold paintings under a covered bridge. Even a bridge that was a tourist attraction like that one.

As nice as that ancient wooden thing was, it didn’t attract the same type of clients as the Rialto Bridge.

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