Epilogue One
TRISTAN
A Few Months Later
Ivy climbs up the narrow red-brick building. The bottom floor of the four-story building is for office space.
My clients want a place to sit down and talk. I need somewhere I can take phone calls and process invoices. There is a garage next door where the fleet vehicles will be parked.
The top floor will be my home. Our home.
Isolde’s big blue eyes take in every inch of the building. Noticing the green ivy against the red brick. The thick black outlines of the square windows. A potted plant already sits in one of them. A moving in present from Luis.
“Okay?” I ask Isolde.
She has yet to say anything. That is neither a good nor a bad sign. My girl simply needs to see and think about everything at first.
I take her hand, crossing the leafy, tree-lined street.
She scans the offices as I pull her through the building, pulling her up the stairs. We head to the very top, and I unlock a black door.
We’ve been living the past few months out of the safe house in Queens. Isolde never went back to her old place. I’ve taken my time searching for properties, wanting to find the perfect home for us. This is the perfect time to move.
A new chapter, after killing the Spider family once and for all.
“Okay,” I say again.
The door opens to a short hallway. I flip the lights on. Ren, Lennie, and Harry Hallow worked together, moving all her stuff from her old place over.
She creeps from the hallway into the kitchen. The apartment is narrower than her last place, but it’s similar in setup, with the difference that there are two bathrooms instead of one.
I expect her friends over all the time, and that way if we ever have family stay over, there will be enough privacy.
The kitchen opens up into the living room. Isolde stares at the wall of windows.
The glass is slightly different, the windowpanes smaller. She glances over her shoulder at me. I smile.
She ducks her head back, taking in the exposed brick wall in the living room. Her hand trails along the green velvet couch.
I point. “Bedrooms through there.”
I’m trying to give her time to process, but it’s killing me. I wouldn’t have moved us here if I didn’t think it would work, but I want confirmation.
Isolde comes over, hugging me.
I wrap my arms around her, squeezing.
“Do you like it?” she asks.
“No, tell me your opinion.”
“I like it,” she admits, and I let out a breath.
“You sure?”
She nods, her hair rustling against my shirt. “Yeah, you did good.”
I press my lips to the top of her head. What I’d really like to do is slam her down on the kitchen table and spread her legs.
But that will have to wait since my dad decides to let himself in.
“Hello.” He fixes his glasses, shuffling down the hall.
He took the apartment on the third floor, right below us. He tried to be stubborn and kept telling me he didn’t mind living with Aunt Rosalie.
But when I found this building and saw the configuration, I knew it was too good to pass up. It’s all the parts of my life converging into one. Most would want space. To keep their work and private life separate.
I’ve always been an all in type of guy, though.
Isolde agreed with me and was happy to have my dad living in the same building.
“Did all of your stuff get moved in all right?” Isolde asks him.
“Right as rain.”
It was a family affair, helping my dad move. Every aunt, uncle, and cousin did everything they could to get him situated.
“Here.” Dad holds out a ring box.
“Dad!”
He ignores me, holding it out to Isolde.
“What is that?” she asks.
He forces it into her hand. “It belongs to you.”
Isolde stills when she flips the box open and a tiny diamond ring winks up at her.
“Do you like it?” Dad asks.
“It’s beautiful.”
“If it’s not your style,” Dad says, wiping his brow, “you don’t have to wear it. It’s yours regardless, though.”
“But why?” Isolde asks. “You don’t want it?”
“It was my wife’s. She would be incredibly proud to see you wear it. And my son wishes to marry you.”
I can’t fucking believe this. “Seriously?” I whisper furiously. “I had a plan.”
“Oh, so you were going to propose?” Dad challenges me.
“I had a plan!” One where my dad didn’t propose on my behalf.
“He already did.”
Both our heads whip toward Isolde.
Dad lights up. “Really?”
I frown. “No.”
This makes Isolde frown too. Holding the ring box, she glances up, confused. “But you said months ago we were going to get married.”
“But that wasn’t a proposal.” I told her that while we were naked in bed as she recovered from her gunshot wound.
Isolde tilts her head. “But you said we were going to get married.”
“I would have given you a ring if that was a proposal.” Plus there’d be flowers and butterflies and all kinds of other shit that normally drives me nuts. I am not the type of man to half-ass a proposal.
“Try it on,” Dad advises, motioning to the ring.
“It might not fit,” I caution. “We can get it resized.”
There’s nothing but the honk of a horn out on the street below as we stare at Mom’s ring on Isolde’s finger.
“It’s so pretty,” Isolde murmurs.
I meet Dad’s eyes. He smiles.
And then turns on his heels. “My work here is done. Congratulations, Isolde.”
“Dad, that’s not how we get engaged!”
“So we’re not engaged?” Isolde asks.
My chest feels like it’s been kicked. Her blue eyes are so serious.
“Of course we’re fucking engaged.” The door shuts behind my dad. “I just—I was going to do something better.”
“I don’t care.” Isolde stands on her tiptoes, fisting my shirt in her hand.
Suddenly, I don’t care either.
Her ass lands on the table. I knock her knees apart, getting closer. I need her. The taste of her, the feel of her. The rush of her.
I’m rightfully pissed when my phone vibrates.
“No.” I pull her back to me when she tries to move away.
“Just answer it.”
“I refuse.” I kiss her harder.
She laughs, making me frown.
“We just got engaged, Isolde. I want to fuck you.”
She pats my shoulder and hops off the table. “I’ll be in the bedroom.”
I dig my phone out, growling when I see the caller ID. “What?”
“Nice to hear your voice too.” Ciaran’s Irish accent is not as charming as normal. “Hey, despite asking you several times over the past few months, I don’t suppose you know where the fuck my brother is?”
Fuck me.
Ian Hayes has not quit New York City.
“You know he’s an adult.”
Noise crackles on the other end of the line.
“Why’s it sound like you’re about to get on a plane?” I ask.
“You should have fucking told me about Ian.”
“Man, he’s fine.”
Driving Tyler absolutely nuts, but better him than the Bratva.
“The O’Connells don’t have many friends here,” I remind.
“I’ll see you soon, Trevino.” The phone call ends.
I’d be lying if I didn’t think this would happen. But between making sure Isolde is okay, keeping my business running, and moving, I’d pushed it to the back of my mind.
“Fuck me,” I whisper to myself. Best case scenario, Ciaran O’Connell comes by himself. Worst case—he brings his uncle.
“Tris?”
I drop my phone on the table, no longer caring about Ciaran and his brother.
The love of my life is waiting for me.