Epilogue Rosalind
FIVE YEARS LATER
I hovered over the canvas, watching as tiny hands swirled crimson and cerulean into violent waves. The boy's eyes, pools of past trauma, now danced with a spark that was damn near extinct when he first walked through my doors. " That's it, Jimmy ," I murmured my voice a soft hum in the chaos of concentration. " Let the colors scream when your words can't."
My fingers itched to guide him, but this wasn't about me. It was about them, these fractured souls fighting their demons with paintbrushes and charcoal.
" Miss Rosalind ?" A timid voice pulled me from the trance. Sarah , her ponytail crooked as her smile, held up a drawing—the image raw, a story told in pencil strokes. Her world was on paper, yet she stood tall, no longer a hostage to her fears. I nodded, proud. " It's powerful, love. You've got fire in you."
The room was alive, buzzing with the energy of healing—art therapy doing its goddamn magic. These kids, they'd seen hell, but here they were, shaping nightmares into masterpieces. And then there were the others, outside, thumping soccer balls into goals, each kick another fuck-you to the shit life had dealt them. Laughter bubbled from the field like some sweet melody, a sound I'd bleed for to keep safe. This had been a dream, and Hunter and Marco worked tirelessly to make it a reality. A safe haven for kids whose fathers or mothers had died in the streets. We gave them a home. Food . A future. As much as I’d grown accustomed to life in the mafia, it wasn’t what I wanted for these kids. They deserved a chance.
I leaned back, arms crossed, a slow grin curling my lips. Hunter's world was all shadows and blood oaths, but this, my slice of the empire, was where light fought the darkness—where I ruled with compassion rather than iron fists.
" Good job, guys!" I didn't need to shout; they were always looking for my approval. They looked up, faces flushed with the high of simply living, and I soaked it in—their resilience, their fucking defiance .
I watched him, Miguel , his little hands clutching the paintbrush, like it was a lifeline. Months ago, he'd been a shadow in the corner of my classroom, eyes hollow, voice a ghost. Now ? The kid was Picasso in pint-size, slapping color on canvas with a grin that could outshine the damn sun.
" Miss Rosalind ," he called, his voice a shy murmur against the chaos of creation around us. " Look ."
I sidled up, peering over his shoulder at the burst of blues and yellows swirling together. " Miguel , it's beautiful. You're making miracles here, kiddo."
His cheeks flamed pride, and he ducked his head, hair flopping over his brow. " You helped me find the colors again," he said, so low I almost missed it.
My heart thrummed as I ran my fingers through his hair. He’d been a nervous wreck when he got here. Half his hair is missing, a nervous tick we’d worked on. It made me proud to know that he was using other outlets to express himself, my fingers massaging the slow-growing hair.
" Keep painting, Miggy . One day, you’ll be in an art show.”
He smiled, sticking his tongue out in concentration and furrowing his brow as he kept going, one stroke at a time.
D inner clattered around us, silverware and laughter mingling in a symphony of domestic bliss—if you could call anything Cinder Crew 'domestic.' Pasta steamed, rich with garlic and tomatoes, the scent wrapping around us. My stomach growled loudly. I’d forgotten to eat with all the excitement of the third-grader's graduation today.
" Pass the damn cheese, will ya?" Hunter's voice growled across the table, pulling a snort from Marco .
" Say please, asshole," Marco shot back but tossed the Parmesan his way.
" Please ," Hunter muttered, almost lost beneath his caveman's beard, but his smirk betrayed amusement.
" Remember when all you ate was takeout and stale beer?" I teased, twirling spaghetti around my fork, watching them both. For about six months after The Black Hands fiasco, all they did was stake out the high-profile spots, watching and waiting for someone to make a move. They’d both gained a few pounds from all the junk they ate.
" Those were the days," Marco said, his baby blues sparkling with mischief. " Now look at us, fancy fucks with our homemade pasta."
" Speak for yourself," Hunter grunted, but there was warmth there. " I'm still the same bastard I've always been."
" Sure , babe," I cooed, laying it thick, batting lashes over devilish eyes. " That's why you haven't killed anyone for a while."
They laughed, the sound rich and dark, mingling with the clink of dishes. “ That can be changed. Would it please my bride to have someone brought as a sacrificial lamb?”
I giggled and rolled my eyes, “ Yes , darling husband.” Scraping the last bit off my plate, I leaned back with a sigh. We’d come a long way in the last five years. Hunter had softened, not enough to become compliant, but enough that his rough hands also gave me pleasure. He’d even started holding my hand in public, allowing Marco to as well. The first person who say something lost their tongue. The second was tortured with poison for a while before he was released, effectively brain-dead on his feet. No one said jack-shit after that. They all just got used to the fact that I was shared between the two.
The glimmering laughter died down, and I stretched, my chair groaning under the shift of weight. Hunter's hand found its way to his glass, downing the drink in one go. Marco tossed his napkin onto the table, the white cloth crumpling.
" Never thought I'd be sitting here," Marco started, jaw clenching as he threw a glance towards Hunter . " Not after everything that's gone down. We survived. We thrived."
" Life's a bitch, then you die," Hunter said quietly.
" Or , in our case, life's a bitch, and then you find something worth not dying for." I caught their gazes and felt the weight of worlds unspoken between us.
" Damn straight," Hunter agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smirk that didn't quite reach his nearly black eyes. " Got me a school teacher and a brother to keep me on my toes."
" School teacher?" I quirked an eyebrow, feigning offense. " Watch it, or I'll make you write ' I will not kill at the dinner table' a hundred times on the chalkboard."
“ Babe , that was ONE TIME .” Hunter groaned. It’s true. It was one time. Some new hire had the hots for me, and he tried to make a move. He didn’t get far.
" Promise to spank him if he doesn't?" Marco chimed in, wickedness dancing in those baby blues.
" Only if he’s good," I shot back, warmth spreading through my chest .
" Good's boring," Hunter grunted, leaning back, his chair creaking in warning. " But this..." He waved a hand, encompassing the three of us, "...ain't half bad."
" Half bad? We dragged your muscled ass outta the pits and slapped a crown on it," Marco said, pride swelling in his voice like a song unsung. After his mother died, Hunter spiraled. Damn , near drank himself to death. But we pulled him back.
" Got ourselves a queen, too," Hunter added, gaze flickering over to me, his eyes filled with lust.
" More like a warrior," I corrected, the words slipping past my lips before I could stop them. " One who found her armor in the place she least expected."
" Fuckin ' poetry," Hunter muttered, but his eyes softened just a fraction before he winked.
" Thank you," Marco murmured, almost too quiet to catch, "for sticking around when you could've run for the hills."
" Where would the fun be in that?" I replied.
" Where indeed," Hunter echoed, his beard catching the light as he inclined his head towards me.
" Here's to the twisted path that brought us together," I raised my glass, the clink echoing off the walls.
" May we continue to walk it together," Marco continued, raising his own .
" Until the end," Hunter finished, sealing the vow as we drank to the night, the darkness that held us close, and the strange love that thrived in the chaos we called home.
The laughter from our toast hung in the air, thick as the tension that started winding its way around the table. As I scanned Hunter and Marco , I leaned back, eyelids heavy with a promise. Once upon a time, they said they’d never ravage me as one, but tonight… that was going to change.
" Upstairs ," I murmured, lips curling into a dare, " I've got a surprise. Both of you."
Hunter's grin was a slash of white in the dim room, his eyes glinting. Marco's gaze burned blue, hot enough to sear flesh. They were statues of sin, and I was the siren calling them to the rocks.
" Give us a taste," Hunter growled.
" Patience ," I whispered, standing slow, deliberate. My fingers slipped to the hem of my black dress, teasing it up an inch, then another. The fabric clung to curves and shadows alike, whispering secrets only skin could keep.
" Fuck patience," Marco muttered, but his body was tense, his eyes never leaving my body.
" Good things come to those who wait," I said, stepping back, letting the darkness hug me close. One by one, the buttons on my dress gave way, slipping free, baring my skin .
" Jesus Christ ," Hunter breathed out a curse, a prayer, his hand slamming down on the table, making the glasses dance.
" Watch me," I called over my shoulder. I let the dress slide, a lover's caress, down my arms, pooling at my feet like spilled ink. My bare shoulders caught the flicker of candlelight as I walked away, each step a heartbeat echoing through the silence.
The air was alive, charged with electricity, and every exhale was a storm brewing. I left a trail—a scrap of lace here, a ribbon there—breadcrumbs for the wolves at my heels. Intentionally swaying my hips, I could feel their eyes boring into my back. I held back a snicker. Men .
" Rosalind ," Hunter's voice was a dark melody, a thread pulling taut.
" Coming , Hunter ?" I tossed the words over the banister, each syllable heavy with the weight of what awaited.
" Fuck , yes," he snarled, and I knew then, in the space between breaths, the hunt had begun.
Marco was silent, but his shadow stretched long, a predator's silhouette stalking prey. His hunger was a palpable thing, a wave crashing against the shore of my intentions.
" Marco ?" I called, feigning innocence, knowing full well the beast I taunted .
" Oh , sunshine, you have no idea what you’re in for," came his rough reply, the smoothness of his words belying the raw edge of his need.
At the top, I turned, a final glance thrown to my monsters of men below. Their eyes were on me, twin infernos set to consume. I stepped back into the darkness of the corridor, my heart a drumbeat against the rise and fall of my chest.
" Come and get me," I breathed into the shadows. The queen had made her move, and her kings were closing in.