Epilogue 2 #2
Something possessive and uncomfortable twists in my gut at the thought of her diving back into work, back into a world where I can’t always be there to watch over her. I know it’s fucking irrational—Salvador Greco is dead, his vendetta buried with him—but the fear lingers.
“That’s good,” I force myself to say, meaning it despite my reservations. “You deserve it.”
She studies my face, reading me better than I’d like. “But?”
“But nothing. I’m happy for you.”
“Bullshit.” She pokes me in the ribs. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I want to lock Raven in my tower and never let her interact with the outside world again’ look.”
I can’t help but laugh at the accuracy of her assessment. “Would that be so terrible? I’d fuck you at least three times a day, keep you well-fed…”
“And I’d go completely insane and probably stab you in your sleep by week three.” She softens the words with a kiss to my jaw. “I need to work, Matteo. I need normal. Or at least, what passes for normal in my life now.”
Sighing, I run a hand through her tangled pink hair. “I know. I just…”
“Worry,” she finishes for me. “I get it. But I’m not going to live in fear. And neither are you.”
She’s right, of course. My Little Thief has never been one to cower, even when she should. It’s one of the things I love most about her—that stubborn, reckless courage.
“Fine,” I concede. “But I’m still having a car take you to and from work every day.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. “Okay, compromise. I’ll take your car service, but only because parking is a nightmare and I’m lazy.”
I snort, knowing full well she’s just giving me this one to avoid a bigger fight. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Speaking of things that help me sleep,” she says, a wicked glint in her eye as her hand slides down my chest. “That was quite the workout. I deserve some of Alina’s cupcakes from the Brewer Family Bakery.
Which totally works since we need to check on the birthday cake anyway.
And plenty of sleep and as many orgasms as humanly possible before we face the big, dangerous thing on Saturday. ”
I catch her wandering hand, bringing it to my lips. “We should probably discuss strategy first.”
“Strategy?” She raises an eyebrow. “You make it sound like we’re planning a hit.”
“Aren’t we?” I deadpan. “Going into enemy territory, surrounded and outnumbered, with only our wits and your ass to protect us.”
She laughs, the sound echoing in the empty club. “My parents are not enemy territory, you dramatic asshole.”
“Your words, not mine,” I grin.
Raven groans, dropping her head into her hands. “The point is, we need a game plan for Saturday. Rules of engagement.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” She chews her bottom lip, thinking. “No mentioning what you actually do for a living. As far as my parents know, you’re in nightclub management.”
I roll my eye. “That is what I do for a living.”
“Sure, if you leave out the part where you’re a psychotic Mafia enforcer who collects favors and occasionally sets people on fire.”
“Only bad people,” I protest, mock-offended. “I have standards.”
“Right, and let’s keep those standards away from my father’s birthday party.” She starts counting off rules on her fingers. “No weapons. No threatening my brother when he inevitably gives you shit. No Mafia talk. No fire.”
I stare at her, incredulous. “You’re basically asking me to be a different person entirely.”
“I’m asking you to be the version of you that doesn’t terrify suburban Philadelphia for exactly one weekend.” She softens the request with another kiss, this one landing at the corner of my mouth. “Please? For me?”
How can I possibly refuse when she looks at me like that? “Fine,” I sigh dramatically. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I won’t even kill your brother, not even a little bit.”
“How generous,” she laughs. “Now, about the gift situation—”
“Already handled,” I interrupt, feeling smug. “A Macallan 18 Sherry Oak scotch.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “That’s… actually perfect. How did you know?”
I shrug, not wanting to admit I have that file on her family, which also includes that her parents spent their honeymoon in Scotland. “Lucky guess.”
“You’re nervous about this,” she realizes suddenly, voice filled with wonder. “You, Matteo Russo, terror of Cleveland, are nervous about meeting my parents.”
“I’m not nervous,” I protest, but even I can hear the lie in my voice.
“Oh my God, you totally are.” She’s grinning now, clearly delighted by this revelation. “You’ve faced down rival families, survived explosions, killed men with your bare hands, and you’re afraid of my dad, who wears socks with sandals.”
“I’m not afraid,” I growl, but there’s no heat behind it. “I’m… strategically concerned.”
She laughs so hard she snorts, which only makes her laugh harder. It’s infectious, and despite my best efforts, I chuckle along with her.
“If it helps,” she says once she catches her breath, “I’m pretty sure my dad will love you. You both have the same intense, scary-but-secretly-soft vibe going on.”
“I am not secretly soft,” I protest.
She gives me a pointed look, gesturing to the elaborate setup I created just to fulfill her fantasy. “Right. You’re a terrifying monster who just spent hours painting me with wax and making me come over and over because you remembered something I mentioned wanting to try.”
I can’t argue with that, so I don’t try. Instead, I try to kiss her. But Raven turns her head.
“I just want them to see what I see in you,” she admits quietly, suddenly serious. “The way you take care of me. The way you love me.”
Something in my chest tightens at her words. “They will,” I promise. “And when we get back, I’m keeping you forever.”
She smiles against my neck. “Sounds like a plan.”
I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the scent of her—sweat and sex and something uniquely Raven. “For always, Little Thief.”