My body aches as I drag it forward. Every step I take causes explosions of pain to erupt through my body. Every time my chest draws breath, it feels like a thousand papercuts falling upon one another like a hive of angered hornets.

I hear the tinkling of metal. It sounds like keys jangling together.

“I got yer message, doll. What’s –?”

I look up, and my breath catches in my throat. Kieran’s leaning against his doorframe, spinning a key ring around his index finger. He looks like he always does: completely unconcerned by life; by the universe; by anything at all.

I take the last couple of steps between us at double speed, ignoring the complaints my battered nerve endings send rattling around my body. I press myself against Kieran’s powerful torso, burying my head in his chest. I wrap my arms around him, and lose myself in his heat. For a little while, I let myself forget what happened – the horror that brought me here – and pretend this is just like any other relationship.

“Ye look like shit, babe. What happened?” Kieran asks, finally breaking his silence. He is – as is normal for him – blunt. His voice has suddenly switched. Whereas a second ago, it was – typical Kieran-as-usual – relaxed and joking, now it’s hard and uncompromising. Out of nowhere, Kieran Byrne sounds like a hardened killer. He sounds ready to go into battle on my behalf.

I drag in a long breath through my nostrils. Kieran smells fresh out of the shower: masculine, with a hint of tea tree oil. I feel the stinging heat of tears prickling the corners of my eyes, and I press my eyelids against Kieran’s body to squash them away.

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “Can we just –,” I pause. “Can you just hold me?”

I feel a soft, insistent pressure tugging at my back. Kieran pulls me inside his apartment. I don’t resist. I let him lead me, suddenly finding myself utterly exhausted. The fingers of Kieran’s right hand climb into my hair, and stroke it. I keep my eyes shut tight. I don’t even want to look at the concern on Kieran’s face, for fear I’ll burst into tears.

Kieran guides me to the nearest couch. I’ve never been to his apartment before, but I couldn’t care less for the nervous baby steps of a normal relationship right now. I follow, copying his movements like a dancer – a punch drunk dancer – as Kieran has me sit down.

“Can I … can I get ye something?” Kieran asks. He sounds out of his element – lost – as though he doesn’t know whether to be angry or worried.

I shake my head. “No,” I whisper, clinging to his strength. “Just – please, stay here: with me.” I guess I sound out of my element as well: like Kieran’s melting my shell.

“Of course, doll,” Kieran whispers, as he pulls my body into his. His arms surround me. I feel like a child in the womb; warm, safe, protected. “Whatever ye need, I’m here.”

I take a deep, ragged breath in through my nostrils. I want to drink in Kieran’s scent until I have it committed to memory. What Mickey did earlier – it terrified me. It made me realize that I’m all alone in this world, that I have no family – not anymore. I don’t need someone to keep me safe, I can do that myself: at least, now I can; now that I know I need to. What I need is someone by my side: someone to hold me. Someone like Kieran; only Kieran.

I feel a heat blooming between my cheeks and Kieran’s chest. I lick my lips, and taste the salt from my tears.

“Sofia,” Kieran says, tugging insistently at my chin. “Yer crying. Tell me what happened.”

Kieran pulls at my chin until I have no option but to look at him. His face is lined with concern. He looks like a loaded weapon – just begging for a direction to fire into. I have no doubt that if I told him what happened, my brother would be dead by morning. Part of me is tempted to aim him at my brother.

But I know I can’t let that happen. That would be the same as lighting a match to kindling paper. No matter what choice I make, I’m risking a war. A war that might get Kieran killed; a war which would risk my child’s life. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place – except the rock is Mount Rushmore, and the hard place the damn Grand Tetons.

I make my mind up. I have no idea what to do: not about Mickey, and not about the baby in my stomach. But there are some things under control: things that I can change; like myself, for a start; and the future I can build for my child.

I lose myself looking up into Kieran’s glittering green and hazel brown eyes. They look golden in the dim light of the apartment. I know, without a doubt, that this is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. The thought of Kieran instinctively entered my mind as the first person I should go to after Mickey threw me down the stairs; his arms were the only place I craved.

“Thank you, Kieran,” I whisper. I have to shut my eyes. With what I want – what I need – to say to the Irishman, I don’t think I can bear the heat of his gaze on me.

“I’ve done nothing yet, doll,” Kieran whispers, moving his lips until I feel them tickling my ears. “At least, not until ye tell me what I need to do.”

I shake my head. “No, not about that,” I say, my voice barely audible. “About this: about … everything. I’ve been horrible to you: a complete bitch,” I say, cringing at the sound of a word I hate; but only because I know it’s true. “But I want to promise you something. I won’t be like that – can’t be like that – not anymore. You have my word.”

Kieran laughs softly. “Ye? A bitch? Who told ye that, now?”

I’m so tired, but even so I feel the corners of my mouth kicking up into a smile. “You don’t need to be an ass,” I whisper, stroking Kieran’s side. “I’m trying to be honest with you.”

“And I’m listening,” Kieran says. He wipes the humor off his face. I know that it was just his way of coping with the situation. Kieran turns to a joke first – he always has. It’s just a part of him; it’s how he operates.

“Why are ye telling me this?” Kieran asks. “Sofia, tell me what happened to ye earlier.”

I shake my head. My hair rustles against Kieran’s body. “I can’t –,” I mutter, my voice breaking, “not yet. But I will, I promise.”

There’s a silence between us. It lasts seconds, but it feels like minutes. I know I need to explain myself better, but it’s hard. It’s like my mouth can’t find the words.

“I know what they call me, you know,” I say. My voice sounds louder now, the pain less intense now Kieran is soaking it up; “The ice queen.”

Kieran grins. I don’t have to be looking at his face to know that is what he’s doing. “I’m sure I don’t know what ye are talking about…”

I elbow the Irishman in the ribs – gently. It’s not meant to hurt him, just to make a point. “Don’t lie,” I whisper. “They are right to call me that. I know what I can be like: cold.”

“Scary even,” Kieran observes. My eyes flicker open, burning with a slight sense of outrage. I see Kieran’s eyebrows raised.

He nods.

“It’s true, ye know. Ye can be one scary lady, Sofia Morello.”

A sad laugh breaks out in my chest. It sounds strangled and broken. “I sure don’t feel scary: not right now.”

Kieran leans down and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Ye shouldn’t doubt yerself, Sofia. I’ve never met anyone like ye before –.”

“You mean anyone this bitchy?”

“Anyone this strong,” Kieran finishes, cutting me off. I have to close my eyes again, because I don’t want to see the expression on Kieran’s face.

“You don’t mean that,” I whisper. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Kieran’s fingers tighten around my chin. For a brief fraction of a second, the touch reminds me of my brother’s fingers crushing my wrists. I shiver, and then I’m shivering because of the heat of Kieran’s touch: because everywhere else feels cold in comparison.

“And ye, lil’ Miss Perfect, don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. Ye dig?”

Kieran’s tone is firm and insistent. Yet, with the big powerful Irishman, unlike my brother, I don’t have to worry that I’m stepping on some deep, scarcely-hidden insecurity every time I threaten his masculinity. Kieran takes it in stride; it’s nothing to him. His confidence is so irrepressible that words or actions that would dent another man’s pride, simply bounce off his armor.

“I – ”

Kieran presses two fingers on my lips. I can’t speak, and I hate it. “Listen to me, Sofia, and listen good. Yer one hell of a woman. I love me boys, but they’re bastards, every one. They stay in line ‘cos they know I could beat them ten ways from Sunday, every day of the week.”

Kieran leans down, and replaces his fingers with his lips. He lingers there, pressing his mouth against mine. I don’t return the kiss, I barely move. I’m transfixed by the words coming out of Kieran’s mouth – paralyzed by them.

“But ye,” he says, drawing out the word as he lifts his head once again. Kieran sounds mystified and amazed by what he’s saying. “Ye get yer boys to do what ye want with yer words. It’s a skill, doll. Ye say jump, they’re a foot off the ground before they ask how high.”

I shake my head free of the fingers that returned to my lips the second Kieran pulled his mouth away.

“It’s a habit,” I whisper. “Now papa is dead, now Mickey’s in charge, our soldiers wouldn’t follow me into a bar.”

Kieran stares down at me. His eyes are gleaming. He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“How would you –?”

I gaze into Kieran’s eyes, trying to reach the message hidden in his stare. It reads like a code: unknowable; inscrutable. There are so many facets of intelligence in those eyes that I hadn’t noticed before – or appreciated. Kieran Byrne isn’t just muscle, though he’s that as well. He’s so much more.

“I know,” Kieran growls. “I know because I saw the way yer man moved when ye clicked yer fingers at me brother’s wedding. You know all the books shit. But I know because I know men, Sofia. I know what’s in their hearts. Ye have a way with ‘em – a way of command – that I’ve not seen since,” he shrugs, a shadow running across his face, “since me da was younger. I know because yer brother is a fool. Soldiers are simple people, but they don’t like fools. Fools get them killed.”

“And what if I don’t want this anymore?” I ask; “Any of this. What if I just want to be with you, by your side, and not at the head of a bunch of gangsters?”

Kieran grins, and strokes my hair. It’s soft, and comforting, and I hope that he never stops. “See, gal, that’s the thing. I’m not sure that’s what ye want. Not really.”

Kieran’s words strike home. He’s right and it eases something inside; and I hate him for it, all at the same time. I can’t bear the thought of Mickey destroying the family – that took my papa years to build – all in a matter of months. I know he’ll do it, and I know a lot of good men will die in the process.

Can I really stand by and let that happen?

But then there’s what lies behind door number two: the baby that will soon be kicking inside my stomach. Don’t I have a responsibility to him – or her – that’s even greater?

“Why did you have to make it so damn difficult?” I whisper, reaching up and stroking Kieran’s cheek.

“Ye did that for yerself,” Kieran smiles. “You don’t strike me as the kind of gal who will be happy to stand half-bent underneath a glass ceiling. So smash through it, will ye?”

Kieran’s rough, honest words assault me. That’s the only way I can describe the feeling that overcomes me. It’s pure, unbridled love. I barely know the man, even if I am carrying his child: a child that, through all the laws of science and birth control, shouldn’t be possible. That’s got to mean something, right?

But the way Kieran’s looking at me, and talking about me: like I’ve got a life ahead of me that’s full of possibility, opportunity and open paths… You can’t fake that. It means something.

“Thank you,” I murmur my eyes are hot with suppressed tears.

I reach up and kiss Kieran, smack on the lips. My fingers snake around the back of his head and pull it towards me, like I’m trying to stop the man from escaping. There’s no need. The passion in Kieran’s reply is enough to assure me he’s not going anywhere fast.

We kiss each other like this moment means something more than all the others. I can tell that Kieran recognizes it as well. I don’t think either of us trusts ourselves to speak. We don’t need to. The intensity of this kiss sweeps aside all conscious thought. It even starts to paper over the cracks: the bruises and welts that my brother left on my skin. Suddenly they don’t hurt like they did just moments ago.

Kieran rolls me over so that I’m underneath him. He touches me with tender, almost anxious hands. I grab his arm.

“You don’t need to worry,” I say, staring directly into his eyes. “I’m fine.”

The look Kieran shoots me in reply tells me he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. He reaches down and unzips one of my boots, and pulls it off. It catches, so he tugs harder. I kick it to help.

“I’ll wear sneakers next time,” I pant, deadpan. A smile tickles my lips. Heck, maybe I’ll become a jeans and sneakers girl now. The all black, thigh high boots look: it’s just a uniform. If I could, maybe I would dress all in color and light, silk dresses.

Kieran’s throat rumbles with approval.

He undresses me with soft, unhurried, practiced hands. My top joins every other item of clothing – by my underwear – on the floor. Kieran’s lips hiss with a sudden intake of breath as he sees the first seeds of bruises beginning to sprout on my freckled white skin.

“Who did this to ye, Sofia?” He growls, his voice hard.

“Not now,” I murmur, shaking my head. “I’ll take care of it; I’ll tell you, just not now. Now I need you.”

Kieran grimaces, but does as I ask. I guess he might be thinking of the conversation we just had – the one in which he told me how strong I was: am.

Kieran dips his head to my stomach. His lips graze a bruise just above my left hip bone, and I flinch from the sudden touch. It doesn’t hurt; but still, I’m tense. Kieran does it for every single bruise he can find, staring into my eyes for each one, never looking away. His lips kiss their way up my skin, until his mouth meets mine once more. He keeps holding me, keeps his arms around me, as though he’s scared I might blow away in the wind.

I won’t. I’m here. I’m his.

The last thought that crosses my mind, before Kieran’s fingers stroke my sex, is that I need to open up to Kieran. I need to tell him my secret. He needs to know that he’s going to be a father.

Just … Not yet.