Seized by the Mafia King (London Mafia Bosses #9)

Epilogue

ZANE

7 Years later

The waves are really small at the beach today but that doesn’t stop us from having fun. We have an inflatable unicorn that holds my two wriggling middle daughters. Caroline is splashing the water happily and Poppy is seemingly trying to drown the unicorn. Or perhaps give it a drink, I’m not entirely sure.

Our latest baby is on the sand with Willow, too small to join in the sea swimming. I sneak a glance over my shoulder at them, and under the umbrella on a big towel, Willow is blowing raspberries on Carl’s tummy and a gooey feeling pools in my stomach. I love my family so much.

“Daddy,” my eldest son calls out to me, pulling my attention back to the sea. He’s on a violently-blue surfboard that’s specially made for kids with soft edges. “Daddy, watch me surf this wave!”

The tiny bit of swell—no more than 3 inches—catches him paddling frantically, and he wobbles to his feet, standing for a good two seconds before he topples into the water.

“Whoop! That was a great ride!” I cheer as he emerges, grinning.

“I’m going to get the sea monster!” Olivia appears from nowhere—I’m not sure how that’s possible in a pink swimming costume—and grabs my leg.

“Raahhh!” I make a generic monster noise and bear down on her, as a slight apology. I was totally distracted from the game we were playing, which was princesses vs sea monster.

But I commit.

Monster is a role I know well.

It’s a long time later, when the princesses have defeated many reincarnations of the sea monster, the sea monster has capsized the great ship unicorn, numerous waves have been surfed, and everyone has wrinkled fingertips, that the kids are tired and hungry, and I shoo them up the beach to where Willow has a picnic ready.

Our eyes meet as I approach, and her gaze slides slowly down my body, lingering first over my heart on the tattoo of a willow tree and the wolf curled around a rabbit beneath it, then lower to where my board shorts are wet. I glance at them, and yeah, they’re clinging. Enough for her to see the shape of my cock.

Witch. She knows her watching me like that will inevitably make me hard, and now is not the time. I shake the shorts out, but she merely redirects her gaze to the tattoos of our children’s names that curl around my leg, just above my knee.

I give her a warning growl as I lean down and kiss her cheek.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish, little bunny,” I rasp into her ear.

“Can’t finish right now ,” she corrects me with a naughty smile. I ease down to sit on the towel next to her, then pull her onto my wet lap, and she shrieks.

“Ugh, they’re so gross,” Caroline grumbles, and the other kids agree. Even our youngest taps his spoon in disapproval.

I grin.

“This was your doing, Willow,” I tell my wife, banding my arm around her waist to trap her to me. “You started it.”

“Mmmm.” She wriggles into me, and I hold her tight. “I did, didn’t I?”

She lets out a contented sigh and we watch our kids eating happily on the beach in the sunshine for a second before I reluctantly let go to deal with our food and ensuring Poppy eats more than just chocolate for lunch. But not before I have a thought.

I need to wake earlier in the morning during this trip—before any of the kids—if I want quality time with their mother.

Thanks for reading!