Epilogue
SAINT
Reaching into the pumpkin, I pull out a handful of slimy guts and seeds.
“The things I do for love,” I say grimly before depositing the guts into a big metal bowl set out on the table.
Isla snorts, disemboweling her big jack-o’-lantern with gusto, scooping orange innards onto mine. “Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying this.”
We’re on the balcony of our new penthouse, chosen specifically for its convenient proximity to the college where she started teaching creative writing this fall semester. Every morning, we have breakfast together, and I walk her to campus. I fucking love it.
And I fucking love her. More and more with each passing day. Which is why I’m about to do something crazy, like hide a million-dollar ring inside a bunch of pumpkin entrails.
“It’s kind of okay, I guess,” I grumble.
In truth, I’m having a blast, but I’m nervous.
Isla told me one of her favorite family traditions was carving pumpkins with her mom, sister, and dad.
It’s something my brothers and I never did because our old man wasn’t the kind of guy who gave a shit about tradition unless it had to do with guns, violence, and greed.
When I picked out her engagement ring a few weeks ago, I decided this would be the perfect way to propose.
Because I’m a stronzo, clearly. And now I’m rethinking my plans, questions running through my mind.
What if she doesn’t find the ring? What if my plan to distract her so I can drop the ring into the pumpkin doesn’t work?
What if the ring gets all full of pumpkin innards and she can’t see the diamond? What if she says no?
“You’re taking the whole domestic bliss thing seriously.” Isla grins at me. “I love how you suggested carving our own pumpkins.”
We drove to an orchard outside the city, picked apples together, drank apple cider, and ate way too many cider donuts.
We got lost in a corn maze and chose pumpkins and came back to the city with a G-Wagon full of potted mums that Isla scattered all over the penthouse.
She’s also decorated the place in a cozy-chic vibe that looks like it could be a spread in a magazine.
But what really makes this place a home is her.
The old me would never have dreamed of doing something so sappy.
It wouldn’t have even been on my radar. But being with Isla has changed me.
I haven’t gone soft. I’m still the best damn consigliere I can be to Priest. Our businesses are steadily growing, and I’ve even grudgingly made a tentative peace with Antonella at Isla’s urging.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to call her Mom the way Lucky does, but it’s a start, and letting go of my anger and resentment has been a relief.
“The next thing I know, you’re going to expect me to sit around and watch Thanksgiving movies with you,” I say. “And just so we’re on the same page, that shit is never happening.”
“Thanksgiving movies aren’t really that much of a thing,” she tells me, pulling out another heaping scoop of orange goo.
“Home Alone,” I point out. “You know, the one with the house with all the lights on it and the cousin who kidnaps Clark’s boss?”
“First of all, that’s not a Thanksgiving movie. And second, you’re confusing Home Alone with Christmas Vacation.” She looks up from her pumpkin, clearly horrified at my lack of holiday-movie savvy, until she sees the expression on my face and laughs. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
“I love fucking with you.” I send her a wink. “Not quite as much as I love actually fucking you, but it’s still fun.”
“You’re terrible.”
She’s smiling at me like I’m the best damn thing she’s ever seen. Fuck, I love the way this woman looks at me. I want her to keep looking at me like that until my last day on earth.
“I know I’m terrible, but you love me anyway,” I tell her, unapologetic.
“I do.” She gives me a tender look and pulls out another pumpkin glob.
Damn. I have to put my plan into motion before she runs out of guts to remove.
“Could you pop into the kitchen for me and check the timer on the lasagna, tesoro? I don’t want to burn our dinner. Zia Maria would never forgive me.”
“That would be blasphemy,” she agrees, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Be right back.”
As she heads inside, I grab a handful of paper towels and frantically clean my messy hands. Then I reach into my pocket where the ring has been burning a hole for the last two hours, pull it out, and drop it into Isla’s hollowed-out pumpkin.
Just in time.
She pops back out onto the balcony. “Twenty more minutes to go.”
“Plenty of time. Thanks for checking, babe.”
I hold my breath as she resumes her position at the pumpkin. She reaches in and then pulls out a palm full of goop, frowning.
“What on earth…”
The diamond is glinting in the lights, sitting on top of a pile of orange slime and seeds.
She looks up at me. “Alessio.”
I abandon my pumpkin and go to her, dropping to one knee. “Isla Davenport, will you marry me?”
“Yes, of course I will, baby.” Her hand trembles. “The ring is gorgeous. And huge. It must have cost you a fortune. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I did.” I pluck it from the pumpkin guts. “I’d do anything for you.” Carefully, I slide the gold ring and massive diamond onto her left hand, grateful she scooped the pumpkin out with her right. “I even asked Luna for permission.”
Isla smiles down at me, tears shimmering in her big green eyes. “What did she say?”
“She said it’s about time and that if I didn’t propose to you soon, she was going to break my nose a second time.”
I wince, thinking about her original wedding day to Priest, when she headbutted me while trying to escape. Needless to say, we’ve all come a long way since then. And it brought me here, to this moment, with this woman I love more than life itself.
Isla laughs and touches a sticky finger to the bridge of my nose. “I’m pretty fond of it just the way it is, so I’m glad you came to your senses before it was too late.”
There’s pumpkin smeared on me, and I don’t care. My woman just agreed to marry me, and from this moment on, life just gets better and better.
I stand up, pulling her against me. “How much time did you say was left on the lasagna?”
“Twenty minutes. I just told you.”
“I was a bit distracted. I’m not sure I was understanding English at that point.”
“Were you worried I’d say no?”
“A little,” I admit.
“You know I’m yours forever, baby,” she says softly.
I kiss her hard. “Grazie, tesoro.” Then I kiss her again. “I can’t fucking wait to make you my wife. We could put that twenty minutes to better use than pumpkin-carving…”
She grins. “I don’t know. I’m kind of a sticky mess. I might have to shower.”
I love fucking her in the shower, and she knows it.
“Excellent idea. I’ll wash all the pumpkin away, and then you can come on my tongue.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, mobster.” She grabs a fistful of my T-shirt and tugs. “Let’s go.”
I follow her back into the penthouse.
I’d follow Isla anywhere.
Thank you so very much for reading Cruel Sinner!