Chapter 26
Ringo
The luckiest man in the world was in second place as my bride walked down the aisle.
She had shamrocks woven into her hair. The gown she wore was lace, almost completely lace.
The gaps between the flowers and vines woven into it were such a fine mesh her skin peeked through.
She must be wearing something underneath that matched because despite my best attempts, I couldn’t see what I wanted under there.
She climbed the three steps to the altar platform and I snapped my eyes back to her face. Her eyebrow was quirked with knowledge that she’d caught me staring.
For a laugh, I leaned a little to stare at her backside which faced the cathedral. Sure enough, that lace appeared see-through, as well.
Beside her, Allie shook her head. Her dress had the same lace, but only on the sleeves.
Both bridesmaids wore soft silk gowns. Floor-length and fully covering them from neck to toe, only allowing the hands to peek free.
Kat winked at me. Her escort, Loppa, grinned like a proud papa.
Then sobered, mouthing “pay attention” as the priest began mass.
Ninety minutes and a lot of sweat later, I was a married man. Our flight to Ireland left in three hours. While we waited, Ellie held her nephew.
Mario’s boy looked like him. All serious scowls and dark eyebrows. Ellie admired his tiny fingers as she bounced him on her lap. “Isn’t he the cutest?”
No. Ours would be the cutest.
“What?” she asked because of my silence.
I spoke what was on my mind.
That was met with jeers from my side of the family.
“He or she better not have that Conti nose,” Ellie muttered.
The chatter stopped. “That nose has been there since Pope Leo the tenth.” In addition to being a pain in my ass and my newest competition, Firenze was also a history buff. If it was Italian history, that is.
“I didn’t inherit it.” Luckily. But it made me pause. I glanced at Don Manca who was silently watching his family from the corner. I brushed my nose once, asking a question of him. He’d taken the package I’d given him, deep-sixed the photo inside the yellow folder, and never spoken of it since.
His grin lifted. He sent me a knowing wink.
Shit. He’d likely been waiting for this moment since I dumped it on his kitchen table in March. “It’s obvious the luck of the Irish is on us. Our little Devlin, whenever they show up, is going to be as pretty as my wife, or as handsome as I am.”
I grinned at Ellie.
She ate my bullshit up and spat it back out tenfold. “He’ll have ladies lined up for miles as soon as he turns eighteen.”
“She’ll need seventeen bodyguards.”
“Twenty, at least.”
Mario butted in. “My son will be the best shot of them all.”
He was quickly booed down.
“How can he be the best shot when that is me?” Firenze chimed in.
I stood up to set him straight. Ellie frantically tugged me down. “Let him hang himself,” she whispered.
Soon the bragging reached competition level.
Firenze lined up against Molly, who’d taken Kat and Ellie’s mantle as the mistress of the Blarney Zone. With her strawberry blonde hair and those freckles, she was a hit. And when her shots were lined up, Firenze eyed her with appreciation.
I leaned over to ask my wife. “Do those still taste like lemon vodka?”
“Molly prefers light rum with her tea.”
A second later the tumbler hit the wood, and Molly flourished each pour of that evil concoction with a boast. The sign behind her flashed as the countdown began. The patrons pounded on the bar.
Fool he was, Firenze drank the first glass down, not realizing the danger he was in.
Molly swept down the line, pausing at the fifth, then filling his glass again. She offered, much like Kat had, but Firenze didn’t take the bait. Instead, he took a ride he wasn’t going to enjoy. I laughed as Molly drank down the final shot and threw her hands into the air to celebrate.
Firenze looked a little green.
I tipped my head at Mario, daring him to drink one.
He stared at the bar for a moment before walking up to collect his son. He leaned in and asked, “The glasses the woman drank, they didn’t have alcohol, did they?”
“Oh, they had alcohol. Just not a lot.”
Firenze stumbled from the bar.
Mario frowned. “He’s going to embarrass us.”
“Better get someone to show him where the alley is,” I suggested.
Mario handed his son to me and took off to find a willing sacrifice. I stared at the kid in my hands for a minute. “Hey.”
His little cross-eyed stare tried to focus on me. It was cute. “I want one.”
“Give it about nine or ten months.” Ellie sipped on her drink.
Something in her tone made me study her. “You went to the doctor last week, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
Where was the nearest coat closet? “You know we can’t have sex on the plane. Edward frowns on that shit.”
“And the limo to the airport is going to be… cramped.” Ellie’s eyes darted toward the stairs to the downstairs.
“Do you still have your key?” I asked and indicated the door to the basement.
She nodded, slipping off her stool and around the corner to deftly unlock the door.
I waited until a roar of laughter rose from the back of the bar before handing off the baby and joining her on the stairs.
I pulled the door shut behind me. I quickly flipped the deadbolt locked.
“That won’t stop Loppa. He’s an expert lock picker, but—”
“Shut up and follow me before they miss us.” Ellie dragged me down the stairs by the tie.
She kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the largest sofa.
I slid my hand under the yards of lace. Finally, I found the top of her stockings.
She wore a garter belt at the top. With a little flick, I snapped the band against her skin.
Then I forgot about teasing her and lifted the mass of delicate lace and the flesh toned skirting high enough to duck under.
My wife wasn’t wearing underwear.
And she tasted good.
“You’re not getting me pregnant doing that.” Her fingers tightened in my hair, telling me she wasn’t as unaffected as she tried to sound.
Yet, if she could talk, I wasn’t doing this right either. I spread her legs wider and flicked my tongue against her clit while fighting the fabric that threatened to smother me. I freed a hand to push up her skirts, and she took the opportunity to wrap her legs around my head.
I was trapped and loving every minute of it. It was a pleasure to trace through the intricacies of my wife’s pussy with my tongue.
My wife’s… wow. It was finally real.
That would take some getting used to. Me, the consummate bachelor, the guy tasked with getting in and out without entanglements or complications, had hung up his spurs, settled into a quieter life of business and neighbors, and I embraced the ever-expanding circle of friends my wife attracted like a magpie.
She was my North Star, my joy, and an unexpected gift.
Her gasps grew louder and the fluttering of her pleasure was sweet to taste. I drew my tongue across her clit once more to test her patience.
“Stop.”
“Stop?” Her skin was flushed and the meticulous wedding updo was falling apart.
“I mean… not stop. But not that? Please.” The quickness of her breath interfered with her ability to speak full sentences.
She was so beautiful. I set my hands on my belt and relayed a question to her with a lifted eyebrow.
“Yes. Now.”
Since she demanded, who was I to deny her? I unbuckled and slipped my pants down. Then dragged my boxers to join them.
She fussed with the dress, getting it out of the way and welcoming me between her thighs. I slipped inside, holding on to the rush of sensations as I stilled.
“Ringo?”
“A minute, baby.” Patience wasn’t her strongest asset.
While I had enough patience to make me a good hunter, that flew out the window when I was bespelled by the sensation of being inside her.
I adjusted as I began my slow glide out, then in, over and over.
All the while, I watched the subtle shifts of her expression.
I studied her, the things that caused her eyelids to flutter closed, or the sharp thrusts that made her gasp.
Mine. Now and forever. An emotion I thought I’d lost a long time ago overwhelmed me.
I belonged. Not just to a family, but to someone I’d give my life for. Someone I could create a life with, not death. It was incredible and frightening.
Some might call love a weakness, yet I felt stronger than I ever had before. My mind and heart were aligned and tuned to a greater purpose. I was a husband. Someday, maybe even a father.
My skin prickled with awareness that this day pushed me into a deeper connection with life. No longer was I just an instrument of death, of finality, and solutions, but now I was part of creation.
The majesty of it made my breath catch and my knees weak.
This woman took me there. She initiated me into a rare gift.
With her cries of passion and the sharpness of her fingernails digging into my skin, I was reborn. And with the last thrust and the pulsing of my orgasm, I answered her call, falling or rising, I couldn’t tell which. But it changed me.
In the peace after, I caressed her skin.
As my hand slid away, I lifted it to look at my palm.
It was my left hand. The same hand Don Manca taught me how to memorize the history of assassins dating back to their service in Egypt and possibly before civilization kept records.
With their left hands, they toppled empires, created dynasties, and most importantly, remembered that life and death are bound.
Like the thumb and the pinky. But in between there is honor, duty, love…
I touched my ring, the first I’d ever worn. It would be the last I’d ever wear, God-willing. It sat between home and innocence as symbol of an oath.
“You like it?” Ellie asked about my ring.
“Love it.” Just like I loved her.
The noise from above got louder. Quickly I scrambled off Ellie and pulled up my pants. Meanwhile, she fussed to get her dress straightened out.
By the time Loppa tromped to the last step, she stood beside me, trying in vain to fix her hair. It only made the waterfall of her temporary curls fall apart faster.
“Forgive the interruption, the guests are asking for you two.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you,” I growled.
“If you’d been upstairs not—”
I slipped my knife from its holster and brandished it to silence him. “You were saying?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s right. Nothing.”
I turned to Ellie and plucked a bobby pin dangling from one of her curls. “Here. Go find your sister or Kat so they can help you fix your hair. I have to kill this guy.”
Loppa made a noise that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.
“What? We’re married. Don’t tell me you’ve never snuck off with your wife.”
He turned a shade of red I’d not seen on him before.
Well, I’ll be damned. “You have?”
“That’s enough out of you. You can’t wait for the honeymoon?”
“No. Duh.” Ellie flounced past him, carrying her shoes. She turned with a mischievous smile aimed at me. “Ringo?”
“Sweetheart?”
“Don’t kill him today. I don’t want to make Molly mop up blood.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Think harder. Okay?”
Loppa grinned. As soon as she reached the top of the stairs he said, “I like her best.”
I slapped the back of his head. “Mine. And I’m going to tell Mario you said that.”
“Please don’t. I value my life.”
“Yet you picked the damn lock.”
He shrugged. “Don Manca asked me to. But I’ll have you know, I did it very slowly.”
“Why didn’t he make Mario do it?”
Loppa chuckled. “We drew lots. I lost. I was unlucky.”
“You’re still alive. I’d say you’re lucky enough.”
“Like you could kill me.”
I stuck my fist against his back right where the blade would do the worst damage. It was a damn good thing I’d dropped it into my other hand before I did it.
But Loppa jerked away, hands up and wary. He stared at the knife I could have killed him with. “Firenze needs to learn that trick.”
“I’ll teach him. Have him ready in three weeks.”
“Are you going to have any energy left in three weeks?”
He was yanking my chain. “Marriage didn’t slow you down.”
“That it didn’t.” He studied me for a silent moment. “You’ve always been welcome as one of our own. But now, I believe you know why we fight so hard to stay alive and protect each other, no?”
I nodded.
“It is not blood this family fights for. It is love.”
With that, he left me alone to ponder his words.
Love.
Family.
I was lucky to have it. Even if it came with its share of cutthroats and criminals, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.