Carving Graves: A Dark Mafia Romance (The KORT Series Book 2)

EPILOGUE

TEN DAYS LATER

LIAM

Current view: the most exquisite creature in existence.

My wife.

Yep. My fucking wife. My seductive, strategic, compassionate, loyal, hot-as-sin, perfectly poised wife.

And my body is in an all-out war with itself. A lump is balled at the base of my throat for the gifts of this girl, this family, the love I never believed I’d have—the only things I couldn’t steal. My heart rate is clambering to meet that lump because she’s mine. Officially. A done deal. No more games.

Chained to me for fucking eternity.

And my cock is eager to jump right out of my pants and consummate this union because my other half is dancing and so damn sexy.

We’ve been married for about an hour and a half. Originally, I had planned for our ceremony to take place at La Lune Noire. Celeste harbors some hurt over missing Ivy and Wells’s wedding, so I thought maybe that would be a nice touch. But there’s some tension with the Noires, so while they’re celebrating with us, being confined to their turf wasn’t the most positive scenario. Plus, I had a better idea.

We exchanged our vows in a simple ceremony in our backyard entertainment area, officiated by Maddox Noire to maintain privacy. The pool fountains crooned the background tune, a reminder of my first night alone with Celeste.

But as soon as Maddox announced that we were husband and wife, I picked her luscious ass up, threw her into a decorated golf cart, and hightailed it to the back end of our property—our family racing us in their own carts.

White string lights illuminate a dance floor beneath a sheer white tent. Gorgeous against the twilight backdrop—my girl’s favorite time of day. Jax and Rena are DJing.

Gage and Ivy went to town on the food and desserts and had an impressive cake designed. They even made candy apples, per my request, not that they’re privy to the reason for my craving—Celeste’s flavor.

Wells handled every detail of the arrangements to ensure both safety and a worry-free reception for us. He even tracked down some historic photographs that he thought Celeste would love—she does. But I think the fact that he selected them meant the most.

And Ty—he helped engineer the best part, setting it all in motion while we were in Tennessee. Three horses, a stable, a fenced area, and we even built her a photography studio out here. A perfect setting for me to press her against the side of the stable, curl my fingers over her throat, rendering her breathless, and kiss her until she’s a feral mess, climbing me—a reenactment of the day when I got my first addictive taste.

For a wedding present, I wanted to convey to Celeste that our home and property were as much hers as any of ours—tough to do since she’s coming in after we’ve all put our mark on the place. But this serves as a memento of the day I realized she was the best human being I’d ever known. Selfless and real.

She ripped open a wound that day at the stables—one I’d believed was nailed shut long before. But she also gave me my first taste of healing against the side of that barn.

Full fucking circle.

After a lifetime of being no one’s—cast aside, unchosen, erased—I found my person in the midst of revisiting my fractured beginnings.

Rooted in brokenness and blooming my reason for everything.

All the shit I’ve endured to get to her. Fucking worth it.

She’ll still pop in at Whispering Pines, of course, but this will enable her to share the horses with the women who come to us. All I want is for her to have a place where she feels safe to be all she is—to live out her passion and dreams. No more hiding.

With Felicity in her arms, Celeste swings to the border of the dance floor where I’m standing, stretching up for a kiss. Since she’s holding the baby, I resist the urge to devour her the way I’d prefer.

Soon.

“Hey there, handsome.” She licks her lips as she drops back onto her heels, a movement that would have been a glorious display of her ample tits if the tiny doll wasn’t concealing them. “You’re looking all golden god gangster. Looming over the room in your all-black suit. Are you planning to make our reception a spectators’ sport?”

“Definitely not. But I want you to enjoy the party and the guests before I rail you in the stables.” I arch a brow so she registers the promise, but then double back. “Golden god gangster?”

“Yep. It’s a fitting description.” Her whole face lights up. The deep brown doe eyes that drag me under her spell swirl with contentment and elation.

After all she’s been through, that peace is astounding—evidence that she was made for this life. For me.

While grief and trauma have both weighed on her these past few weeks, she’s managed to compartmentalize it and work through her struggles far better than I’d ever imagined. I once believed she was more breakable than she let on. She’s proven the opposite to be true.

She still respects pain and sees the inevitability of goodbyes.

But she finally trusts the sunrise.

Snaking my arms around her waist, I bury my nose in her honeysuckle hair, breathing her in before I pull back slightly to deliver my warning. “While the god part is certainly fitting, I think I’m detecting some sass, Mrs. Graves. You know what that means.”

“God, I hope so.” She bats her lashes. “I’m in the mood for a lesson. And railing me in the stables—no surprise there. I would expect nothing less. But I’m still a little shaken that you orchestrated this—that you all did this for me.” Her gaze peruses the gathering—her parents, Natasha, the Noires, Rex, Dante, and our family chatting and laughing in the picturesque setting—as she strokes Felicity’s full head of hair. “If Ivy hadn’t dragged me away from the horses, I might have become one of those blubbering brides. It’s too much.”

I palm her head, pecking hers and Felicity’s temples. “Nothing is too much. I told you I’d give you anything you wanted, baby girl.”

“And you have.” She gapes at her rings—a black diamond, shaped like a spade and surrounded by white diamonds, and a wedding band encrusted with black diamonds, matching mine. “Far more than my wildest dreams.”

That swells my heart to near combustion. She fought so hard against me—denying, doubting, pulling away—that I wondered if she’d ever let me love her the way I longed to or if it would always be a battle. All I wanted was her.

“Right back at ya, Ace,” I say, leaning in for another kiss as a voice halts my voyage.

“No making out while your wife is holding the baby, Graves.”

My wife.

I tilt my face to Wells, flashing a taunting grin, my scruff brushing against Celeste’s forehead. “What happened to this being my day, Chief? You might want to take the baby. The kiss is the least of your worries. Wait till you hear what I’m going to do to my wife in those stables.”

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses as Ivy sidles up beside him.

“The stables already stink.” She shakes her head and scrunches her button nose, garnering a laugh from Celeste. “I’m all for spontaneity, but you’ll soil Lettie’s wedding dress, and it’s so pretty.”

It is pretty—off-white, lace, sparkly, elegant, and stately while hugging every curve. But my girl could wear a garbage bag and make it look good. Still, Celeste would be sad if we ruined it.

“Fair point, High Society,” I concede, bobbing my head.

That wasn’t the real plan anyway, but I’m impressed that my girl went along with it.

Anywhere. Anytime. Made for me.

“You still owe me a dance, Lettie,” Ty says, breezing up to us and coiling an arm around Celeste’s shoulders as he throws back the last sips of his rum and Coke. He’s got his celebratory game face on, but his eyes are fucking hollow. Not a good look for anyone, but that is especially true for Ty. Once his demons drag him down, it’s an all-out rescue mission to haul him back.

Before Celeste can accept, Wells takes over in his commanding Chief way, issuing silent orders to Ivy and me. “Actually, Celeste still owes me one too.”

“That’s perfect,” Ivy sings. “Felicity needs to eat anyway.”

“I could feed F-bomb, Freckles,” Ty bravely offers.

He latched on to that nickname after Gage sold him out, and he’s going full force with it. For fun, the rest of us occasionally drop it too, much to High Society’s dismay. Although her creased blue eyes betray the humor she finds in it.

Celeste is undistracted by the nickname detour and on the same wavelength as Wells, so she passes Felicity to Ivy and squeezes Ty’s arm. “Let Ivy take F-bomb,” she deadpans as Ivy giggles. Funny girl. “You need to wait with Liam, so when I’m done dancing with Wells, I don’t have to come looking for you.”

I hum, enjoying this little episode of family time but also eager to whisk my girl away. “And then you’re mine again, baby girl.”

“Can’t wait, husband.” She flashes me a coy grin that has me internally growling.

After Wells kisses his wife and daughter, he grips Celeste’s hand, utter pride written in his features for how she jumped in to afford me some time with Ty. He doesn’t just love my girl; he respects her. Appreciates how methodical, fierce, and loyal she is. Those qualities mean everything to the Chief. And I can’t deny that it means everything to me that he cares so deeply about her.

Once they all scatter, Ty lifts his empty glass. “I could use another. And you need one to toast. Never thought I’d see the day when Liam Graves took a wife.”

“That’s the truth.” I chuckle as we make our way to the bar. “Although I think you and Wells saw it coming long before I did.”

A cackle bursts out of him. “Facts. She had you by the balls from the start. You were a fucking mess.”

Christ, I couldn’t have designed a better segue if I’d given him a script.

“I was,” I admit, raising two fingers to the bartender, who already knows our order.

We have seven employees catering tonight. Wells strapped an electronic monitoring bracelet on each of them. If they wander more than fifty yards away from the party area, it alerts us. The man is brilliant.

With my Modelo in hand, I dip into my pocket, instantly recalling that I lost my Zippo a couple of days ago. Shit. This isn’t the kind of conversation to hold without a soothing snick to calm my nerves. But Wells hasn’t been getting anywhere with Ty, so I swig my beer and deal.

“If you hadn’t forced me to face my shit, I might have lost her,” I muse. “She’s mine because you fought for us.”

He glances over at me, touched but tortured. “Thanks, man. I don’t see it that way. But I appreciate it. I love you both.”

“I know you do,” I assure him as I lead us outside the tent so we can find a little privacy. Gage kicks his chin up to me on the way, well aware of the shit I’m about to plunge into. “You know,” I continue once we reach the moonlit grass, “you weren’t even there. It’s not your fault. They took it out on you because you were the one who walked into the house to distract them.”

That little pep talk is in reference to the Noires, who are livid that Rena was put in danger under our care. Ty was at home with them when the bomb went off at the dress shop, but after everything went down with the Skulls, we sent Ty inside when we returned home so we could clean up Celeste and Ivy. And the Noires fucking went off on him. Ty can shoulder just about anything.

Except being told he failed at protecting a woman.

He didn’t offer a single excuse. He simply took the blame for all of us.

And it broke him.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” he sneers. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” I scoff. “You’re not harboring any animosity or guilt over Rena not being allowed near us without their watchful eye? ’Cause it looks to me like we’re headed into that dark place you go.”

His eyes close on a breath before he drains half his cocktail in a single gulp.

Dragging my hand down my face, I let a groan rip from my chest, wishing I had that goddamn Zippo. “They’re being fucking hypocritical, Ty. Ivy was roofied at their establishment after they assured us that everyone had been vetted. That asshole would have killed her. But we never gave them shit about that. It sucks that Rena was caught up in that godawful day, but we kept her safe. And again, you weren’t even fucking there. This will blow over.”

His face is cloaked in the shadows of nightfall, but his grief shines freely as he flings his hand through the air. “None of that matters. They’re right. I’m not pissed at them. She’s their top priority, as it should be. I’d despise them if they were anything other than outraged.” He huffs a breath, head shaking in disbelief as he raises his drink, pausing before a swill. “Their relationship is even more significant than her being their little sister. Axel and Ryker raised her. So, fast-forward twenty-some years and drop Felicity into that scenario.”

Well, that’s some shit. Talk about a bomb. I’d be murderous.

“Okay, fuck.” I stroke my forehead, desperately trying to wipe away the harrowing images of our little princess in danger. “Yeah. I get that. But it’s still—”

“It’s nothing,” he cuts me off, appearing so unlike the man he’s tried so hard to become. “They said I was … my life, our life … was too dangerous for her to be wrapped up in. And they aren’t wrong. They asked us to respectfully pull back. So, we fucking will.”

I sip my Modelo, trying to center myself before I refute his absurd assessment of this situation. “Maybe I could go along with that if (a) I didn’t love that girl enough to know I’d take a bullet for her in a heartbeat. We all would. Which means we are as safe as it comes in her universe whether they fucking like it or not. Because (b) they have so many enemies, threats, and people after them that they can’t even let her date, and she’s twenty-three years old. They aren’t completely wrong for doing that either, but it’s still an asinine solution. You haven’t even dug into that book. We are not who they should be focusing on. If anything, they need us more than ever.”

“And I won’t be digging into it,” he insists.

“Doubt that,” I counter. “Wells already set up a meeting. It affects all of us and involves Balzano. No way will Wells or Ivy let you sit this out.”

He swallows the remainder of his drink in a hefty chug, his empty eyes planted somewhere in the distance. “They will because I have never requested to be left out of something before. But I need this now. I can’t be aware of something coming after that family when I’ve been asked to …”

An incredulous exhale tumbles from my lungs but also an enlightened one. “Well, that brings me to a third reason I can’t condone the idea of us pulling back from that family. Because the whole concept of stepping away from them—or her—is ripping you to shreds.”

“Fuck, man.” His head lolls back, and I know I’ve struck a chord. But that’s all I’m getting because the guy is inwardly reeling and barely hanging on. “This is your night. Lettie’s night. Can we not do this?”

Ty should know as well as anyone, when one of us is broken, we’re all broken. But tonight probably isn’t the time to dive deeper into this.

I smack his back and drag him into a hug. “It’s our night—yours too—because, as I said, you fought for us. We love you, Ty. I’ll let it go for now, but don’t fucking shut us out.”

He nods against me, but says nothing. I haven’t seen Ty this broken since we were in the Middle East, and that was … not something I can even describe. Not that he’s at that desperate stage yet. But it certainly explains why Wells wouldn’t let him join me in slaughtering Easton.

After we took out the Skulls, I informed the guys that Easton was with Celeste when she was underage. Since Ty’s sisters were sexually abused, that hit a sore spot with him, so I thought maybe it would be cathartic to expel some of his pent-up rage on the asshole. But the Chief called it. It probably would have only exacerbated whatever the hell’s going on with him.

Without another word about it, I release him and swagger back inside the tented area to find the three girls—Celeste, Ivy, and Rena—on the dance floor. Not even Ty’s sour mood can stay intact at the sight. They’re jamming to a Taylor Swift song. Like they’re in a ’90s mosh pit. I think it’s “I Did Something Bad.” Befitting all three of the hellions.

A sharp cackle spills out of me as I strut toward my beautiful brat. But Gage, seeing my intended target, swoops in and hoists Celeste into the air, tossing her about like a ragdoll. She lets out a shriek of surprise and joy, so I give them their moment and turn my attention to her parents, who are also taking in the scene. I haven’t had any time alone with either of them yet.

After a quick, stuffy, well-mannered kiss on Ava’s cheek, I shake Frank’s hand. I can do the upper-crust shit as well as anyone. “Thank you both for showing up on such short notice and celebrating with Celeste and me.”

Frank dips his chin. “Our pleasure. You did well, son. It isn’t the life we wanted for her, but you took care of her far better than I could have hoped.”

By that, he’s referring to the way I manipulated the loyalty test. The day I brought Celeste home to them, I informed him of my reasoning for pissing him off with the hot yoga phone call. When I explained that and vowed to him that I had a contingency plan to get her out should things go south, the man nearly broke down.

Loyalty tests are rough. Sometimes, the actual test is life-threatening. And even if it isn’t, not everyone passes. Frank might not have KORT-level clearance, but his position within the organization has given him an in-depth view of the horrors of failing. It makes sense that he was frantic for his daughter’s safety. I was never bothered by his concern. It was the notion that I would let anything happen to her that irked me. But with the visual that Ty planted about Felicity, I suppose I get it.

“And I always will take care of her,” I assure him before addressing Ava since Celeste relayed her mother’s warning. “Your daughter is my whole world. She will always come first. The rest of my family feels the same way.”

“Thank you,” she says, glancing toward our entire crew, howling and dancing like idiots. “I can see that.”

Her brown eyes brim with tears. Celeste definitely favors her mother appearance-wise. But I hope the brokenness that swirls inside those eyes never transfers to my wife.

My relationship with Frank won’t ever be what Wells had with Tom. And I don’t anticipate Ava growing as close with us as Natasha. Ivy’s parents never saw us as a threat in her life. Tom viewed us as her saviors—or at the very least her safety net. And Natasha respects us more each day. No matter how much trust the Carvers place in us, that will never be their viewpoint. But Celeste and I have both accepted that.

Once I notice Ty is dancing with Celeste while the rest of my family is still immersed in celebration, I politely excuse myself. But only a half hour passes before I get too antsy for some alone time with my girl.

Throwing her back in the fancy golf cart, I hurtle us toward the garage. She laughs the whole ride, and we’re only going about fourteen miles per hour over the bumpy terrain. I’ve got something far more hair-raising in store.

Parking the cart, I scoop her out, fling her over my shoulder while she squeals, and carry her into the garage, setting her in front of my newest bike. “Ivy assured me this dress of yours comes apart easily.”

She laughs, her big brown doe eyes creasing with a hint of panic. “Is this where our consummation is going to transpire, Graves? In the garage?”

“Fuck, it’s sexy when you snap our last name like that, but no. I do need to see the magical way this dress transforms though.”

“Oh.” She smiles, nodding proudly. “Watch this.” She unfastens the sash around her waist and shimmies out of half of the dress, like it was a jacket or robe or some shit. It leaves her in a two-piece ensemble—a strapless top and an ankle-length skirt.

“Gorgeous, baby girl.” I press her against me and capture her mouth, unable to wait another second to taste her. She’ll always be cashmere, wildflowers, and honeysuckle. Home. But crotch rockets could be another symbol for her—thrilling. So, when I release her, I focus on that. “This little getup isn’t ideal for our outing, but it’ll do. Well, the top will do. Exchange your skirt and heels for these jeans and boots.” I hold up the black pants I brought out here for her.

She takes them, glancing around. “We’re going somewhere … alone?”

“Not exactly,” I say while changing my own pants and shoes. “A quick ride. But, yes, alone.”

Once we’re both changed, I reach for the leather jacket I bought her, guiding her arms into the sleeves. On the back, there’s an ace of spades caught on fire because my girl will set the whole goddamn world ablaze.

I shrug off my suit jacket and slip into my leather jacket, too, before passing her a pair of riding gloves and pulling her hair back into a low ponytail while she puts them on.

“You’ve always sought rushes. I know some of that was because you were in pain or numb and you wanted to feel. But I see the way you light up with the adrenaline—the good kind. You don’t have to escape for that anymore.”

Without providing her time to respond, I slide her helmet on, fasten the strap, and put mine on as well. “There are microphones inside,” I tell her through the helmet speaker. “I’m going to walk you through a wedding night adventure before I fuck you like I hate you.”

She giggles. “Well, get on with it already.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I quip, mounting my Ducati Streetfighter V4 S and instructing her to press in behind me.

We aren’t traveling far, just around the perimeter of our property really. There’s one road that is well lit, so I steer us up there. As soon as we hit the strip that I’m comfortable on, I bark out my order while gripping her arm across my waist.

“Hold on.”

She does, and I take us to top speeds while lifting the bike into a wheelie, her screaming and howling through it. If I had any doubts about whether she loved it, she bulldozes them when the front wheel touches the pavement with a jolt.

“Fuck, that was fun.”

That has me chuckling. “I’ve got something a little more intense this time.”

“Prove it,” she volleys.

Christ, she’s perfect.

“This time, I’m going to stand, and you’re going to slide forward and grab the handlebars. Think you can do that?” I ask.

“Sure.” Her confidence is always such a fucking turn-on.

“Then, I’m going to step behind you and do the wheelie standing,” I add, revving the throttle.

Her murmurs of agreement are less confident, but she doesn’t resist.

Taking off, I speak each direction into the helmet mic as we barrel down the empty road. She follows along like a champ, clearly thriving under pressure. And when I balance behind her, lifting that front wheel and hearing her shrieks of excitement under the dotted canopy of night, I’m in heaven.

I could not love this girl more. Fucking made for me.

We do several more exhilarating tricks, but then it’s time for the second part of my promise.

To be certain we don’t get tied up with any of our guests, I take us through the back entrance of our property—the one we use for the abuse victims—and park behind Celeste’s new photography studio.

We dismount the bike, remove our helmets, and I tow her inside. The guys and Ivy snuck in here after we left and lit some candles, laid out blankets and pillows, and scattered flower petals for us.

Celeste beams in the soft amber glow, blowing out a stilted breath. “Wow.”

“Our family did this for us.” I tug her toward me. “You were stunning in your wedding dress, Mrs. Graves. And so goddamn hot in this biker getup. But I need you naked. Like five fucking hours ago.”

She bites her lip, unzipping her jacket in a sexy sweep. “Your wish is my command.”

“Damn right it is,” I avow with a wink.

In a matter of seconds, we both disrobe. We’ve gotten really good at making quick work of it.

I settle in against the wall, a pillow behind my back, stroking my cock that is already raging for her. “Hop on, baby girl.”

“I thought you were going to fuck me like you hate me,” she sings while taking her ponytail out, so her thick hair cascades around her shoulders.

Cupping an impatient hand to beckon her toward me, I shake my head. “Can’t. Not today. I want to stare at my wife’s face as she falls apart in my arms.”

She lowers to the ground, crawling toward me, tits and hips swaying erotically. “No one can hear us in here,” she taunts.

“Everyone knows you’re mine,” I counter. “Tonight, I want you all to myself. That perfect, weeping cunt swallowing me, the noises that drive me wild, the vision of your doll-like face twisting in ecstasy. Mine.”

She smiles at that, and her eyes become glossy as she climbs on my lap. “Ours,” she retorts. She’s already wet, so as I suck one of her pert nipples into my mouth with a groan of agreement, she lowers easily onto me. “You’re so fucking pretty,” she whispers, voice straining through the stretch.

“You think I’m pretty, Ace?” I rasp—just like I did the first time she said that—but don’t wait for a response. I clutch her hips as she bounces and shift to praising her. “So tight. Pretty doesn’t cut it for you, baby. You’re more. In every way, you’re more.”

We don’t say much after that, just purrs of rapture filling the room. It’s soft and gentle, so unlike my unhinged lessons with ragged breaths and punishing thrusts. But no less passionate or meaningful. Our eyes stay locked through every electric touch, twinge, and throb. There was a time her ever-changing brown beauties felt like an enigma I was desperate to dive into. And while the latter is still true, they’re far more constant now—my paragon of hope and trust and belonging.

Doing exactly as promised, I cradle her cheeks and watch my breathtaking wife fall off the edge of utter rhapsody before I do the same.

When we’re nothing but a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and panting breaths, me still deep inside her, she nuzzles her nose into my neck. “I like the jacket. The ace. You got me too many presents. That orgasm would have been plenty.”

“You should know by now that orgasm was just the opening act. And no such thing as too many presents,” I contend, petting her head. “I’m glad you like the jacket. I never told you why that’s your nickname.”

She lifts her face, eyes wide as she bites her lip. “No. You haven’t.”

I brush her hair off her shoulder, my thumb dusting over her cheek. I’m still so overwhelmed that she’s mine. “I got the tattoo because I needed a reminder that once I found the ace, I’d seize it and never let it go. That night at the Noires’, I knew you were it. You’d always been the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, but you were more that night. Exquisite. Sharp. Smart. Unflappable. No matter what you played, you were the game changer. I couldn’t put it into words then because I wasn’t ready.” A heavy breath escapes me as I recall how untethered I felt. “Mostly because I was afraid that I’d finally found the ace and you’d be impossible to catch because I wasn’t enough.”

Her lips fall open to counter, but I press my fingers to them so I can finish. Because I need her to understand this, and my voice is already shaky.

“But I knew. I knew that you were who I’d always been searching for, that every fucked-up moment of my life would fade in your presence. And after our first night together, there was no letting you go. You’re my favorite part of every breath, my jackpot, the win I waited my whole life for. I love you so damn much, baby girl.”

Those deep brown eyes spill, and her mouth twitches, fighting a frown. “I love you too. More than anything. Thank you for telling me that. It sounds stupid, but I really wanted to know if or how my nickname correlated to your tattoo.”

She wipes her splashing tears off her cheeks and flings herself toward her discarded clothing, grabbing something. “I had enough foresight to hide this in my bra,” she says, sitting back up. “I considered getting a new one, but then I discovered that Wells had given you this, and I didn’t want to replace it. I wanted to add to it.”

She doesn’t hand the item to me, but by the size and flash of silver, I think I know where my Zippo disappeared to. The sentiment of her adding to what I share with my family clearly extends far beyond the lighter though.

“You are more than I ever dreamed of having.” Her voice quivers but she pushes through, chin wobbly. “The best move I’ve ever made. It is such an honor to be yours, to be a part of the family you deserve.”

She passes me the Zippo, the same one Wells gave me for my birthday after we were erased. It was the nicest present anyone had ever gifted me. And now … it’s more.

On one side, it has an ace of spades engraved with script reading, The game changer stole the Ace. And on the other side, it reads, To the one we chose.Love, your wife and your forever family.

“It’s perfect, baby girl. Absolutely perfect.” I choke down the boulder of emotion clogging my throat, clearing it and blowing out a breath. “You did good not using any names too. Smart.” Flipping the Zippo back over, I rub my thumb over the engraving. “My tattoo says, Seize the game changer, which is you, Ace. But this seems purposefully switched around with the game changer stealing the ace. Explain.”

She smiles—evidently grateful for my question—and glides her hands over my cheeks. “I’ve been the pawn in other people’s games my whole life. You promoted me to queen. Gave me my greatest victory. So, you’re the game changer. Not me.” Pressing a gentle kiss to my lips, she pulls back and arches a haughty brow. “But that sums you up, doesn’t it? A damn thief. You did it, Liam. You stole my heart. I am forever yours—your good girl, your family, your Ace.”

THE END