19. My Son Too #2
Our son shakes his head though.
Mick takes a deep breath, his chest expanding against my back. "Okay, a mhac, we'll all go."
It's a huge concession for my husband. He's putting our son's feelings ahead of the mob, but I'm not surprised by that.
We matter more to him than even the mob he's sworn to lead.
"No," Fitz says firmly. "We need answers before anything. There are immediate security concerns."
"Stop sounding like you're twenty instead of twelve," I admonish our son with emotion laced exasperation. "Your da will get the answers."
"I want to be here." Fitz draws himself up, flicks a glance to the man in the chair and then back to me. "I deserve to be here."
"That's not—"
"Tell me your concerns and I'll make sure I cover them during interrogation," Mick says, like his son's assumption he might have identified security issues his father wouldn't have doesn't bother him at all.
It probably doesn't.
Mick's arrogance is bullet proof against pricks to his pride. He doesn't even feel them, much less allow them to pierce his certainty of self.
Our son is a lot like his father in that regard.
"I'm not sure I'm going to survive your childhood without divine intervention," I tell my son with complete sincerity.
"You're not going anywhere," my son and husband say in unison with equal force.
Okay, then. "I have no plans to do so."
"You broke security protocols to come here," Fitz accuses.
Crossing my arms, I give him my best mom look. "You think you have a single leg to stand on in that regard?"
"I thought Sadie was in danger. You knew I was okay."
"Your actions scared your mam and she had to see for herself you're okay. Own it. Our actions, justified, or not, always have consequences and some of them are harder to live with than others."
Fitz opens his mouth. Closes it. And then after a few seconds of contemplative silence says, "I understand, da." Then he looks at me, green eyes burning with sincerity. "I'm sorry, mom."
"You are never allowed to do that to me again."
"I know."
"No, you don’t." My voice breaks. "You can’t."
And he will scare me again. It's inevitable. Even if we weren't in the mob. That's the nature of parenting and watching your children grow into independent adults. Especially smart and resourceful ones.
Fitz stiffens his shoulders. "I thought he had Sadie."
"I know, sweetheart." And the would-be kidnapper timed it perfectly so Fitz couldn't get through to Sadie or her parents.
"I knew it could be a trap." There's no apology in his voice now, just honesty.
"Good." I don't question why he chose to go suspecting that.
He'd made a promise to Sadie. We all did. Fitz made sure we kept them. He walked into a kidnapping attempt and gave his family enough time to save him.
Someday, he'll lead the Shaughnessy Mob and he'll be a good boss. Just like his da.
"I couldn’t leave her with him."
"You made a promise."
He jerks his head in a nod, but his shoulders relaxed a little.
I pull him into another hug. Unlike the first one, he's stiff for a second but then he hugs me back and I kiss the side of his head. "And I’m so proud of you I can barely breathe."
"I'm proud of you too, mo mhac." Mick hugs our son too and then cups Fitz's face. "You didn't think I'd prioritize Sadie's safety."
Fitz's eyes drop from his da's. "Not over mine."
"You were right."
"Are you mad at me da?"
"Nah. You're my son through-and-through, but you're your mam's too and I think that's a fine thing."
Fitz grins, showing a little of the boy still living inside him. "I have to be, don't I? That's how genetics works."
"Aye, it is, mo mhac." Mick steps back and fixes Fitz with a stern expression. "Now, tell what security concerns have you identified."
And I realize my sociopath husband has decided to make this a teaching moment for our son. I have no doubt Mick is entirely sincere about listening to Fitz's concerns, but he also wants to test his heir's understanding of the situation.
Fitz doesn't hesitate before he starts firing off questions. "How did he know where to find me? How did he know about the Bunker? What other intelligence does he have that could put our people at risk? How did he get it?"
"Fair questions," Mick approves.
"If someone told him those things, we need to know who and silence them before they can tell anyone else," Fitz adds without compunction.
"The boy's right," Conor says, his tone laced with pure venom.
My attention expands to take in the others in the room. Brice is near the sink wiping blood away from his tattoo covered chest. My heart skips a beat but when I can't see any wounds on him it settles down.
Conor is wrapping the prisoner's feet with pressure bandages.
"What happened to his feet?" I ask.
There are no security cameras angled to see the short hallway that leads to the entrance to our tunnel. We make sure of it and always have done since the first cameras were installed on the subway platforms.
"Dad shot them." Fitz says it like he's telling me what he wants for breakfast.
In fact, there's less inflection in his voice now than there is then.
"He was trying to run. I wasn't in the mood to chase him," Mick says with the same lack of inflection.
Both seem excessive. "Wouldn't one have done it?"
"He made you cry." Mick's body moves behind me in a shrug.
I don't want to contemplate what Mick will do to punish the man for trying to take his son. I love my sociopath with my whole heart, but there are some things I never want to know.
"We need to know who else knows what he does," Fitz continues his list of security concerns.
And silence them too goes unsaid, but we all hear the unspoken words.
"Aye," Mick says.
"He also knew about the hit on Sadie's parents." Fitz goes on. "The message from Sadie's phone came right before Uncle Brice said we had to go into lockdown in Sector I. That wasn’t a coincidence."
"No," Mick agrees. "It wasn’t."
"And an ally wouldn’t have taken me. So, where did he get the Vanta?"
"You saw that, did you?" Mick asks.