Chapter 32 Dante
Dante
With my messy job done and all of the blood and viscera showered off, I slip into bed next to my wife. She's curled up around a pillow, her chest slowly rising and falling. I can't help but smile when I look at her. She's here. She's mine.
She's mine.
From every messy dark wave on her head and the full kissable lips, down to her sock-covered toes, she belongs to me.
The twin babies in her womb belong to us.
They may not have a maternal grandmother anymore, but I don't think they ever really did.
If she was willing to come here to extort Melody…
there's no way in hell I would let the twins anywhere near her.
As I stare at the darkened ceiling, many emotions float through my mind. None of them is guilt. I don't feel guilty in the slightest for getting rid of that woman. I don't feel guilty for bringing Melody into my chaos—not anymore. She's a fierce woman, and she fits my imperfections perfectly.
Snaking a hand around her hips, I gently adjust my body to fit around hers. She inhales deeply, and I freeze—did I wake her? Cursing internally, I watch her face and only let out the tiniest sigh of relief when she curls in deeper. Fully asleep. So peaceful. So beautiful.
My breathing deepens, and sleep blurs the edges of my vision. We're here. We're home. Together.
And she's still mine. She always will be.
We fall into a routine again. I coordinate her doctor's appointments so she doesn't have to think about it, and she scurries around the house waiting for Helena to come back. We just received news that Melnyk is cleared for travel, and we're going to the private airstrip to pick up our comrades.
"Do you think I look pregnant?" Melody grumbles, looking down at her soft tummy.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I peek at my gorgeous wife. She's always been curvaceous, but there is a little extra swell in her lower abdomen. My heart pounds a racket against my ribs as a protective, possessive love fills me to the brim.
"You look gorgeous, love. Gorgeous—and pregnant."
She huffs out an exasperated sigh, but a pleasant smile curves her lips upward. The smile gets bigger and wider as we near the airstrip. Melody plasters her hands against the passenger window and lets out a tiny squeal. "Is that her? Is that their plane?"
A small white plane descends from the sky, aiming perfectly for the landing strip. It's a bit far to read the identifier on the tail, but it certainly looks like the right plane. "Yes, love."
"Oh, my god. It's her. It's them!" My wife bounces in her seat. "God, I'm huge. I look so fucking different. Do you think she's going to… I don't know, hate me? For leaving her there?"
"No." My answer is firm and immediate. "No, she won't. It was damn near impossible to rip her away from Melnyk's side while he healed. In fact, I think she'd be more upset if we forced her to leave him."
Melody pauses and chews on her lower lip. "Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right."
Her excitement comes back in full force as I turn into the small parking lot. Men in pilot uniforms mill about, smoking, and they give a respectful nod as we pass. The private airport is incredibly tiny: one gate, no restaurants, and a friendly receptionist who waves us through.
We watch intently from the window as the plane glides into its parking space.
The ground crew rolls the stairs to the door, and my breath catches in my throat.
Will they have to hoist Melnyk down? Is he still stuck in a gurney?
I know his recovery has gone exceedingly well, all things considered, but I don't entirely understand all of the medical jargon.
"Oh, my god," Melody whispers. Her wide brown eyes glisten with fresh tears as she watches Helena emerge from the door, blinking into the bright sunlight. Her hair is piled in a messy bun, and she quickly flips her sunglasses down to block out the light.
"She's here," I reassure my wife, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder.
"And—oh, my god!" Melody gasps. "Melnyk!"
In awe, I watch my friend—fully upright, standing and walking, with a gigantic smile on his face—descend the stairs behind Helena. He cups his hand over his eyes, searching for us.
"Miss, please—" The receptionist yells after Melody, but she's long gone. I can only offer the receptionist an apologetic smile as I follow my woman.
"Helena!" Melody shrieks, waddling toward her best friend.
"Melody—oh, fuck," Helena gasps. My wife collides with Helena, and the two stumble to keep their footing. "Shit, I missed you, too."
"Sir," Melnyk calls out. "It's good to see you."
"Melnyk. You're looking… shockingly well." I nod to him and offer my hand. He grasps it firmly and shakes once.
"Medical science. It's a marvel, is it not?"
"Yeah, yeah, we can talk about that later—let's go!" Melody tugs on Helena's hand, urging her back to our car.
"Girl, wait. We need our stuff." Helena plants her feet firmly.
"Not to worry, sir," the ground agent chirps. "We'll have the cargo to your vehicle shortly. Please bring it around to the designated pickup spot."
Melody squeals again and successfully drags Helena away. Melnyk and I sigh, smiling blithely. Everything feels right.
Back at our house, Helena and Melody pester Marie in the kitchen. Shockingly, Marie's kept my crystal whiskey decanter topped up. Or maybe she poured it out and replaced it when I got home.
I'll never know. But what I do know is that Melnyk sighs gratefully when I pour him a glass, as well.
He gulps the amber liquid down, hissing out a breath to quell the burn.
We settle into our places on the sofa—rather, I settle into mine, and he perches gingerly where Roman sat so many times before.
"It is good to be home, sir." He gently places the glass on a coaster. "Are you settling back in well?"
"That I am," I agree. "Melody is proving to be quite the hellion."
"Proving to be?" Melnyk snorts. "Sir, with all due respect, we have known this. But… motherhood is quite becoming on her. She looks well. She looks… happy."
"Doesn't she just? I must admit, I didn't know if we'd ever get there again. After everything that happened, joy seemed too far away."
"I know what you mean," he mumbles. "Helena has been… ah… very helpful. In that respect."
"Has she now?" I mentally file that away to discuss with Melody later. It makes sense, though I'd deny it if Melnyk asked me outright if I think anything is happening between them.
"Very. I will say that I don't think I could have made it without her." His face softens for a split second. There it is. "Do not put her in danger again, sir."
"As long as she stays employed by me, that is a promise I can't make."
"And if she chooses to leave?" Melnyk holds my gaze with a fierce intensity.
"She is free to do so. Should she leave, there will—of course—be legal consequences if she breathes a word about anything she's seen, heard, or could imply." I straighten my posture and harden my own gaze. "Is she thinking of leaving?"
He huffs out a weary sigh. "No. I want her to. She doesn't. She… she lives for this, sir. With everything that's happened, she feels a deep loyalty to you and Mrs. Lyons."
He wants her to leave? He wants her out of this underworld—this dangerous place.
I can appreciate that. There have been so many days when I wished the same for Melody—but the thought of being without her is so much worse.
I school my expression out of the concerned frown and into something more neutral.
"I understand. Her loyalty is appreciated. As is yours, of course."
"Of course."
The pair of us falls silent as we listen to the soft conversation floating from the kitchen. Marie lovingly scolds Melody for digging into the fridge before dinner, and Helena snickers.
My home has never been a joyful place. This building has been a home base for years, but it was always a means to an end. Ruthless efficiency. Top-of-the-line furnishings placed with care exude a cold luxury. But in a few short months, it will be home to my children—our children. Twins.
I don't want them to grow up like I did. I don't want them to be extensions of me. I want them to be whole people with their own dreams, their own goals. I want them to be… happy.
As Melody turns the corner holding a platter of her latest craving—mozzarella sticks drenched in mayo and ketchup—comfort warms my heart.
We can do this. Together, we can give our children everything we never had.
My wife settles on the sofa next to me, tucking her feet under as she snuggles into my side.
The platter of fried cheese balances precariously across my knees, but I steady it with one hand.
The other arm snakes behind her back, rubbing a gentle pattern into her shoulder.
"What are you boys up to?" Melody asks around her snack.
"Boring stuff, miss." Melnyk grins. "Are those for sharing?"
"No!" she squawks. "Pregnant women only. You can have dinner with everyone else."
"Far be it from me to come between a mother and her… what are those, exactly?"
"They're fried mozzarella, and they're mine."
I can't keep the chuckle down as I watch the affectionate squabbling.
Melody is… pure perfection. I adore the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs.
I love the way she traps her lower lip between her teeth when she thinks hard.
I'd crawl through a minefield to hear her say she loves me.
And she's mine.