Epilogue #3
He turns me in his arms and kisses me. It is wet, hot, and fiercely claiming.
His tongue sweeps deeply into my mouth, demanding total, unconditional surrender.
I give it to him instantly. My hands tangle desperately in his wet hair.
My wet breasts press flush against his inked chest. The spark of desire ignites, hot and fast, chasing away the last lingering, bone-deep chill of the wilderness.
He lifts me by my thighs. My legs wrap tightly around his waist. He presses my back flat against the wet slate wall of the shower.
He does not push for sex. He just holds me pinned there, letting the scalding water sluice over our joined bodies. He lets the certainty of our profound connection sink deep into my marrow.
"You do not need to fight the world anymore, Reese," he says, his lips dragging hotly against my wet neck. "You do not need to survive alone."
"I know exactly how to survive."
"I know," he says. He kisses the sensitive skin beneath my jaw. "But now, you finally get to live. With me."
We eventually turn off the water and dry off.
He wraps me in a plush white towel. He pulls on a pair of soft gray sweatpants, leaving his scarred chest bare.
I dig into his organized closet and pull out a soft, dark cashmere sweater.
It hangs loosely off my shoulders, the sleeves swallowing my hands, but it smells like him.
We walk barefoot back into the bedroom.
The sun is beginning to set over Chicago, casting long, fiery orange light through the reinforced glass windows.
I sit cross-legged on the edge of the perfectly made bed. I look at the man standing by the window. He is looking out over the sprawling training yard, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He looks like the perfect, lethal shadow forever watching the perimeter.
I think about my father's grave. I think about the empty, drafty apartment I left behind near the airfield. The stack of unpaid bills. The endless, lonely nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if struggling to survive was all there was to life.
Choosing Santi Costa is unequivocally the most dangerous thing I have ever done.
But sitting here, inside this stark, echoing room, I realize I am the only source of light in his dark world. He needs my pragmatic grounding just as much as I need his lethal protection.
"Santi."
He turns instantly, his focus snapping to me like a magnet. "Yes."
"Tomorrow, we go shopping," I declare, pointing a finger at him. "I desperately need real clothes. And we are buying rugs. Lots of them. This room echoes like a mausoleum."
A slow, devastating smile breaks across his face. It completely changes his entire demeanor. The coldness vanishes.
"Whatever you want," he says.
He crosses the room in three long strides. He drops to his knees on the dark wood floor directly in front of me. The terrifying mafia shadow, kneeling in silence before the pilot.
He reaches out and takes my hands in his.
"You are staying," he states. It is phrased as a command, but I hear the faint, underlying tremor of raw, desperate hope buried beneath the steel.
"I am staying," I confirm softly. I squeeze his rough fingers. "Try and get rid of me now. I dare you."
"Never." He presses his mouth firmly against my knuckles. "You are my compass, Reese. You brought me back to myself."
I lean forward, the cashmere slipping off my shoulder. I press my lips to his forehead, then slide down to capture his mouth in a slow, deep kiss.
We tumble backward onto the plush mattress. The heavy, expensive blankets absorb our combined weight. The city of Chicago roars outside the reinforced glass, but inside these thick stone walls, inside this heavily fortified room, there is only unshakeable peace.
The bloody war with the Bellanti family is far from over. The Bellanti ledger is still unfinished. The compound's deeper secrets are still buried within these walls.
But all of that is a problem for tomorrow.
Tonight, the cold is finally broken. We are both breathing.
The End