Epilogue
On May 7th, the results for the West Hill Council elections fall. After my arrest, I pulled out of the race amidst the PR shit storm that hit me. Addams has been reported “missing” for weeks, though I know very well where his dismembered body rests.
Unsurprisingly, mayor Lewis put one of his little followers on the map though there wasn’t much of a campaign to do. Susie Allen is elected to the council without fanfare. I might not know the woman personally, but I searched for every piece of dirt on her and despite an addiction to prescription meds and invaluable artefacts that should be in a museum, she’s rather clean.
Accepting that I work better in the shadows, dealing in black market items and now supplying the Y drug in small quantities to a very few selected VIPs, has been a journey. I still feel like I’m spitting on my father’s legacy by not going legal, but then I remind myself that eighty percent of my revenue is legal, and the rest helps me protect the ones I love.
Maybe Nico and Giulia’s ordeals made me even more of a control freak than I was before, but monitoring the dark underbelly of West Hill and knowing the business of each of the prominent crime families in Europe keeps me calm. I need to make sure that Dobrev-Ventura reconciliation doesn’t threaten the precarious peace we’ve all established. The shadow of Misha Petrov still lingers and we all want him out, not only of the country, but of our lives. And that permanent type of conclusion takes time. War is coming, and we need to be ready.
Speaking of which, I text Pierce.
Me
Any news on Petrov?
Pierce
Which one?
Me
Both.
Pierce
Misha’s been meeting with the Bratva leaders across Europe. Except Dobrev, they all seem to follow his lead. He won’t take kindly to one of his own pushing back. Igor is still MIA.
Me
We’re landing at 7 pm. Let’s have dinner and see what Lana and Giulia think.
Pierce and Lana’s wedding is planned for Saturday but we arrive early. I know my little wife is eager to get some time with her cousin before the chaos of that day starts.
A wedding of this magnitude hasn’t happened in decades in the mafia and everyone in the Mediterranean Sea knows that the Moretti-Bartoli union will strengthen their hold on the drug market. Everyone wants to be in their good graces, so all invites have been answered positively. It’s going to be the fucking event of the year, families securing deals and potentially marry off family members to each other in hopes of new alliances.
Given that we want to go after Moscow’s Bratva Pakhan, we’re all going to be on our best behaviour.
“Ready to go, guerrieritta?” I ask Giulia, who’s closing a gigantic pink suitcase. One more waits on her bed. Our bed.
“Can you sit on this, amore. I can’t manage to close it?”
I laugh. “We’re only staying a week. Are you bringing your whole closet?”
“O baullo, you know this is the event of the year! With all the mafias represented there, I need to look my best. I need to charm and get us the alliances. We need to go after Misha and get Igor back. I do my best charming when I look like the snack I am.”
I get down to my haunches and growl into her ear, the sound possessive and goosebumps erupt across her bare arms. “They can look, but only I get to taste.”
She smiles viciously. The little smirk will cost her a good spanking later tonight, but I let her kiss me and sass me all she wants. I’m too happy to see her joy to put any sort of damper on her mood.
When we get to the jet, Nico follows and settles on the sofa in front of us, his face more relaxed than usual despite the few subtle grimaces he makes when his wounds hurt. He tries to hide his reactions, always one to keep his cards close to his heart but I notice and my heart clenches. I focus on the crinkling at the edges of his eyes.
“It’s good to see you happy, fratellino. Any particular reason you’re smiling at the prospect of going to Kalliste again?”
If he thinks I didn’t see how he looked at one of the Moretti twins last time, he’s sorely mistaken. Nothing escapes me when it comes to my brother. Getting infatuated with a Moretti isn’t something I think would be good for him, but I can’t blame him.
“No. I just like the sun.”
Giulia frowns and looks up at me, the question clear in her eyes. She picked it up too. That’s the first time my brother lied to me.
I’m conflicted about it but decide not to pry. I was always protective of my brother and since he’s been shot, I check on him multiple times a day, frantically looking at the blue dot on the tracker app we share. But he’s a grown man and we’ll be gone before the week is over again, anyway. If he wants to have some fun, it might be better to keep it in the family.
The week passes in a blur of feasts, meetings, laughter and love.
On our last evening on Kalliste, I look for my wife and find her at the cliff overlooking the sea on the property we’re renting. The sun sets and bathes the sky in hues of purple and pink. Giulia’s legs are left on display for my eyes under her mini leather black skirt, the mint green sweater staving off the chilled spring night air.
I come up behind her and band my arms around her, pressing her body to mine. This will never get old. I inhale her scent of sweet vanilla into my lungs, any lingering tension from this intense week immediately melting away. She’s the best medicine for any ailment I have.
“I never asked you how you found me,” she says, looking out to the sea.
I roll my lips into my mouth to restrain from smiling like a maniac.
“You’re not gonna like it, guerrieritta.”
Her head turns and green eyes that sparkle with the low sun ensnare me. I study the little flecks of gold strewn inside the deep forest green that reminds me of home.
The question is clear on her face as she waits for my answer.
“There’s a tracker in your wedding band.”
Her face slackens and her jaw drops. I can’t resist biting her lower lip.
I wait for the fight that will surely ensue but she smiles, then laughs. It starts slow before it deepens, coming from deep inside her chest and released to the world like the last thread of relief.
“Do you also have a tracker on yours?”
“In my medallion. Nico and my mother also have one.”
“Aww. Is there an app? Can I get it?” she asks with enthusiasm, like it’s the next candy crush or something.
“Marry me,” I blurt out.
I’m too in love with this woman. That she doesn’t shy away or fight me anymore when I do something others would consider immoral just brings to my knees.
She turns and kisses me with the force of the hurricane that she is. I never want to get out of the eye of it.
“We’re already married, O baullo.”
“Marry me in truth. My heart is yours, my life is yours. I want the world to know.”
Her hands tangle in my hair that I left down tonight, threading the strands in a soothing motion.
“Amore. We are married in truth. I’ve loved you since you offered me yellow roses and bled for me. Why are you asking me this?”
“Don’t you want a big wedding?”
“Actually, no,” she laughs. “With all the posturing, and the guests that aren’t guests, I’m happy we didn’t have to go through all that shit. I’m yours and you’re mine. Everyone that matters already knows that. I know that.”
I lower my forehead to hers and breathe her in before kissing her lips softly.
“Let’s go home, little wife.”
THE END.