Epilogue
DEX
8 Years later
There is a moment dreaded by every mafia boss who loves his children.
In the open doorway to Sophia and my bedroom, seven-year-old Raina stands with a confused furrow in her brow and her hands on her hips. I glance between my eldest child and my wife, pleading with both to not make me do this.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, I heard you, Raina.” I try for the strict tone I used to use with my men who were messing about and now use for bedtimes that get raucous. Admittedly, I am usually to blame for starting the play at bedtime. I can’t resist another half an hour with my kids. All five of them. “Close the door as you leave. We can talk about this later.”
Or never.
Sophia snorts and continues unbuttoning my shirt.
“What happened?” Raina asks in a small voice. That nearly breaks me. Even Sophia’s clever fingers pause. “Are you hurt, Daddy?”
Most parents worry about their children asking about how babies are made, walking in on them having sex, insulting their uncle, or falling off their bicycles.
Most mafia bosses worry about their territory, power, and lives.
But the top concern these days for the London Mafia Syndicate kingpins—including me—is how to explain to our respective children that sometimes people have to die, and occasionally that process gets blood on our clothes.
“It’s okay, baby girl, I’m not hurt,” I say gently. I still have my little one and my good girl —Sophia—but I love that I now have three perfect baby girls and two little buddies . The five children Sophia has gifted me with to spoil and love.
“But Daddy, there’s blood.” Raina has switched with the remarkable efficiency of a child from utter distress like a puppy left alone all night, to a fully grown bloodhound tracking a scent. “Whose blood is it, Daddy?”
“Canary Wharf is right,” she says quietly enough that Raina can’t hear as she takes my wrist and flicks off the cufflinks. Her wry smile adds, “I told you so”. “You should change your shirts before you come home.”
I look down at my wife, and she looks up at me.
“For the younger kids, anyway,” she adds. “Maybe it’s time to talk with the biggest baby about the family business?”
Her undressing me when I’ve caught someone I’m after is a tradition begun after I killed the Essex Cartel man who shot at her—us—after the night that everything changed. I still have the scar, but it’s the memory of that night when I got revenge which really lingers.
Sophia helped me out of blood-stained clothes, then as a rare allowance, I allowed her to wash me in the shower. To cleanse me of all my sins.
Inevitably, her naked in the shower with me leads to her being pushed up against the wall, me getting to my knees and licking her out until she screams. And then sex, all wet and slippery, and soaking everything in the bedroom with water… and other liquids.
Very satisfying all round. I was looking forward to it.
I sigh. Catching up my wife’s hands, I kiss them. The shower sex will have to wait.
“Can you get me a clean shirt?” I murmur to Sophia, and she nods.
“Okay, baby girl,” I say to Raina. “Come in and close the door. Pop yourself onto the sofa and you can ask your questions.”
None of us will have any peace until my daughter knows more. She’s determined and brave, just like her mother. And she is seven. She can understand a little.
I hope.
When I’m in fresh clothes, I take my place next to my daughter on the cushions. This is our cosy private relaxing space, away from the hubbub of the rest of the house with the nanny and our younger kids. Sophia and I sit on either side of Raina, and we explain, in simple terms, about how some bad men want to hurt people, and sometimes we have to stop them.
I leave out the intricacies of how we brought down the worst parts of the Essex Cartel, and some of the details that are pure protective rage. My daughter doesn’t need to know that when I returned home to her and Sophia after dealing with the Essex Cartel assassin, it was like I’d been swimming in red.
I was very angry with the man who nearly shot Sophie.
“Sometimes we have to stop people from doing cruel things,” I finish. What we found in the container echoes through my head, and for a second, I imagine any of my family in that situation, and my fists clench. “It’s like we discussed about animals, remember? They have to die.”
She frowns, digging deep lines in her forehead.
“What is it?” I ask, with some trepidation. I hope my daughter hasn’t developed a strict moral code that I can’t?—
“Should we eat them?”
“What?! No!”
So much for strict moral code. I appear to have raised a savage little cannibal.
“But we ate the lambs from that farm we went to,” she argues with apparent reasonableness. “And you said that it was normal. Part of the circle of life, you said.”
“I did not say to eat humans.” I am very certain about that.
“You just said that this was like animals.” She pouts.
God help me.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Sophia covering her mouth to prevent herself from snort-laughing.
Damnit, this never happens in Sophia’s romcoms. I’ve read a lot of them now, and I’m positive there isn’t one—even the dark ones—where a murderous kingpin has to talk his child out of cannibalism. I suppose I was due some bad luck when I’ve been blessed with my wife, my five children—so far—and having destroyed the Essex Cartel, but really.
“It is in some ways, but not others,” I say.
“So that rule applies only to animals?” Raina asks seriously. “The one about eating them or it’s a waste.”
“Yes.” I think we’re back on solid territory. This is fine. No inappropriate consumption?—
“What about dogs?”
“No.” Zero positive thoughts that I’m on the right track until this conversation is entirely over. I just tempted fate. “We don’t eat dogs. We don’t eat anything that eats other animals.”
“What about insects?”
“They’re okay.” I hold my breath, waiting for her to bring up another scenario. Goats, perhaps. Or pigs. Did I tell the kids about pigs eating bodies? Please, please no. And I really hope I didn’t mention vegetarianism.
“It’s confusing,” she tells me with absolute confidence of a child who knows her father will also fix things and always explain it all.
“Yes.” It’s hard to admit there’s no simple explanation. I want to be a parent who protects and makes the world perfect for my kids, but even I can’t manage that.
Raina nods seriously.
“Daddy,” she says in that voice that announces she has a question, and she’s not sure I’ll like it.
“Yes, baby girl.”
“Can we go to the park?”
Oh thank god.
A grin spreads across my face. “Yes, we can go to the park.”
I look out over Streatham Common less often now, but when I do, it’s more enjoyable. I used to feel alone and isolated when I saw families. But now I have Sophia, and the kids. I have everything I want.
“With everyone?” Raina checks.
“Yes, the whole family.”
Above Raina’s head I catch Sophia’s eye and our gazes lock. Her expression is full of relief that this conversation went well, and my heart expands.
Sometimes I just cannot stop looking at my wife. This is one of those moments. She’s perfect, glowing, and sweet. The opposite of me, and yet she’s mine.
“We’ll all go to the park,” Sophia agrees. But the way she bites her lip tells me she hasn’t forgotten what we were about to do before our eldest baby interrupted.
Tonight , I silently promise her.
Thanks for reading!