19. My Son Too
Chapter nineteen
My Son Too
KARA
I tell Mick to wait to question Karl and our son until I'm there.
In an ideal world, he would bring Fitz home, and after I yelled at my son for scaring me half to death, I'd hug the stuffing out of him and we would watch another Christmas movie together as a family.
Or something like that anyway.
Something to settle the terror still gripping my heart at the thought of one of our enemies getting their hands on our child.
Only, I don't live in an ideal world.
Like me, my children have been born into the world of the Shaughnessy Mob.
They will never know a day without danger. Cannot live a normal life, even if they choose not to join the mob. They're mob royalty, whatever life path they choose to take, and therefore will always be at risk.
Some days, that barely registers. But on days like today, it's all my heart can see.
Our children are by no means the only ones born into a dangerous world.
Being born into a wealthy family puts a child at risk for kidnapping, or worse.
Mobsters aren't the only people with enemies.
Being born into a publicly royal family carries many of the same consequences as being born a Shaughnessy in New York.
But I want Fitz to be able to have friends without having to worry about them being used against him. I want to be able to take our children to a theme park like Wraith and áine took her girls.
Would Mick be willing to plan such a trip, especially after today happened?
Do I want him to?
Part of me really doesn't, but another part, the part that decided to stop living in the shadows in my marriage won't allow my children to live there either.
No, their lives will never be normal but that doesn't mean they have to be less. And if Mick tries to tell me otherwise, I'll remind him just how hard I'll fight for what I think is best for our kids.
Right now, there are questions that have to be answered to keep us all safe and that means Mick has to stay at the Bunker.
He's not sending Fitz home without him. I'm positive of that.
Which doesn't mean I'm going to wait to see my son.
I text Mick and tell him my plans. His lack of response is not a surprise.
The walk through the tunnels that connect the basement of one of our apartment buildings that access the Bunker and the subway is about twenty minutes. And there's no doubt in my mind Mick would have opted to use it for the sake of Fitz's safety.
He's not going to expose our son to a possible assassination attempt. We don't even know if the man they took into custody is Karl Nystrom, much less if he's working alone.
I order a red-alert level security cavalcade to be readied for immediate departure before seeking out the rest of my family in the main area of the saferoom apartment.
This underground set of rooms fortified to withstand a bomb blast is the only saferoom big enough for all of us and it has more amenities than the smaller saferooms attached to each of our living quarters.
Right now, everyone but Fiona and Zoey are here.
They opted to wait out the red alert in their private saferoom. Fiona is hiding from mamo's fixation on wedding plans.
My dad looks up from a game of Candyland he's playing with Cormac, Sorcha and Mavie. "Everything all right?"
Seeing him like this is still surreal to me. I don’t remember him ever playing any kind of game with me and Fiona when we were children.
"It is now." I don't mention that Fitz was almost kidnapped and the man who tried to take him from us is on his way to Interrogation Room 1. That's not something the littles need to hear. "I'm going to the Bunker."
"Is that safe?" Hope asks, her blue eyes soft with concern.
She grew up in a religious cult. Her first husband was old enough to be her grandfather and she hated him. Now, she's married to my dad and against what a lot of people would think makes sense, she adores him.
He's gentler with her than he is with anyone else. Including his daughters, Fiona and me.
"I'm taking the necessary security precautions. Will you watch the children until we return?" I ask both her and my father.
Even after six years of my dad trying to be a dad and not just the boss of my mob, I don't quite trust him with my children without Hope there to protect tender feelings.
Mamo did her best to protect us girls in the ways she thought she could. But she never stood up to my dad or grandfather about saying and doing things that left scars on both mine and Fiona's hearts.
Hope, for all her softness, is hard as granite when it comes to my dad saying the wrong thing to his stepchildren, or us. Even though Fiona and I have been adults since Hope met us.
My father has apologized to me more times in six years than he did in the twenty-plus years before that. Which is to say at all.
Hope smiles. "Of course."
"Tell Fitz I'm proud of him," Mamo says serenely as her knitting needles clack rhythmically.
"How did you…" Shaking my head, I let my voice trail off.
Mamo may not know the details, but she knows Fitz is the only child not here and I'm leaving the saferoom against protocol. Ergo, Fitz was in some kind of trouble.
She just assumes he handled himself in a way she can be proud of.
And of course, she's right.
"I will," I tell her and bend down to hug and kiss first Cormac, then Maevie and then brush the top of Sorcha's head before I leave.
There are eight SUVs waiting in the drive when I get outside. All of them have at least four men inside.
No one will question this level of security because everyone already knows about the attempted hit on Wraith and áine and that my family is on red alert status.
Which is a good thing, because it's imperative we keep what happened to Fitz under wraps.
The SUVs pull out in formation, four in front of mine and three behind it. On the expressway, they shift into a T position with my armored SUV in the center.
The drive to the Bunker takes less time than it should, especially with such a long cavalcade. Our drivers don't hesitate to cut off any vehicle that tries to merge into our group of SUVs, or turn into our lane once we are on surface streets.
Our brigade isn't stopping for anything short of an attack from a rocket launcher and that's not happening on the streets of New York City.
One of the large bay doors is open at the warehouse when we arrive. The lead SUVs turn to the side so mine can go straight into the interior. Three others pull in behind us before the big door is lowered and locked into place. The rest of my security team will take defensive positions outside.
There will be no random deliveries or tourists knocking on the side door asking for directions while a member of the Shaughnessy family is here.
My driver pulls deep into the warehouse, parking as close to the access point for the Bunker as he can get, angling the SUV to block any approach from the main area.
It's almost impossible to follow security protocol and let my driver and team clear the immediate area before I get out on the side facing the hallway that leads to the secret entrance.
My phone pings with a message from Mick as I'm stepping off the elevator. They just arrived.
I remind him to wait to start asking questions, of anyone until I get there and head toward the interrogation sector. The warehouse access point is further from it than the one they used.
When I arrive, I'm peripherally aware of a man strapped to Mick's favorite interrogation chair, his feet bound by bloody rags, but my eyes lock on my son, cataloguing everything.
His hair looks like he stepped out of the shower without brushing it, but other than that, he looks way too normal for what he's been through. He's wearing an untucked t-shirt, cargo shorts and tennis shoes. Normal Fitz summer attire. It's the look in his eyes that's different.
The part of my little boy that managed to survive twelve years as the underboss's son is gone.
Fitz is still only twelve, but his eyes reflect a maturity that makes my heart hurt while filling me with undeniable pride. He's strong. And good. He did what he did to protect a friend.
I can't even say his actions were misguided because I'm not sure that I would have acted any differently in his position when I was a lot older than him.
My heart gives one hard, painful thump as I open my arms to him. He doesn't hesitate, walking straight into my hug.
"I love you, Fitzy." I use the name I used to call him when he was Cormac's age on purpose.
To remind him that for as much as he might have been changed by today's events, he's still a little boy.
"Love you too, mom." He hugs me back. Hard.
"Mamo said to tell you she's proud of you," I murmur into his hair. "I'm proud of you too."
I did all my yelling about him scaring the life out of me on the phone earlier. I told him I loved him then too, but that's something that can't be repeated too often. Especially in our world where love is both rare and precious.
I spent my entire childhood and most of my adulthood believing my own father didn't love me. I spent the first seven years of my marriage convinced of the same thing about Mick.
My children will never doubt my love for them.
"She knows what happened?" Fitz asks.
I shake my head. "She knows you."
Fitz nods. "Good. That's good. I don't think anyone should know what happened today. It makes you and dad too vulnerable."
Knowing I can't let the tears burning the back of my eyes fall, I blink rapidly and I swallow against the lump in my throat. "You're a smart kid."
My voice is almost normal.
Mick's hand lands on my shoulder and there is nothing that could stop me from leaning back into his strength. The feeling of his hard body against my back is so comforting I have to lock my knees, so they don't sag.
Like he knows exactly what's going on inside me, Mick wraps one arm around my waist.
"Kara, take Fitz to our office. Get yous both something to eat." Mick's Dublin brogue is so thick you cut it with a knife.
I don't want to go anywhere, but Mick's right. I need to get Fitz out of here.