Epilogue
DAX
Preparations for today start early this morning.
It was almost our first anniversary, and I am determined to make it an unforgettable one.
The idea came to me a while back, however her best friend insisted I wait.
She can be quite persuasive, especially when she threatens to put my kidneys on ice if I don’t listen.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’s made one of Cindel’s boyfriends disappear, I guess we have a lot more in common than I thought.
I wasn't the only one who had a hand in today’s arrangements.
Mairead kept Cindel occupied most of the day with lunch, nails, and thrift shopping.
Meanwhile, I wrapped up a few loose ends at work before taking off to prepare for the surprise.
The next Mur-Lo's was opening in a mere two weeks and there was still so much to do. These wine bars were a hybrid business, run by both the Murray and Lombardi families. The choice in name also pays homage to Mary Murray, whose hair resembled the color of merlot, in her later years. I wonder what she would have thought of the place… or me for that matter. I never suspected she was my mother, when I agreed to spy on the Murrays. I hurt people. People I care about. All because of my blind devotion to a man who only used me as a piece in his fucked-up game… a pawn. Even his death doesn’t erase the deep seeded feeling of regret. I don’t deserve forgiveness.
The wine bars have occupied a lot of my time lately.
They were the ideal front; a members-only establishment which served top-shelf wine to an upscale clientele.
A sort of ‘middle-ground’ where sit-downs could be held, including the occasional family meal.
It was a fresh start to a relationship that was formerly irreparable.
The second floor of Mur-Lo’s was a compromise between father and son.
Patrick relinquished command, giving his blessing for Eamon to keep operations in-person.
Like newer movies be digitally rendered, the art of the process is lost. Eamon offers gambling of every kind from roulette, crabs, and even classic poker.
Each week brought in a bigger crowd. Not three months after the first Mur-Lo's opened, we started construction on the next. Eamon practically had me overseeing all the recruitment and equipment installation. He was too busy between the first wine bar, the Bay Boxing club, and The Black Sheep. It was important I didn’t fuck this up.
I also swore to Cindel that I would keep my nose out of anything having to do with her future in fashion, but I can’t say the same for my siblings.
Not only did they insist she accept payment for designing their staff’s uniform, but they may have had a role in securing Cindel a position with a company known as Gemini.
She’s now the lead textile designer, as well as, a renowned fashion blogger.
From what I coaxed out of Mairead, the person who held the position prior is now living a modest life, somewhere in Anchorage, Alaska.
I kept my promise. My sister… not so much.
Cindel is incredibly talented, excelling despite everything life has thrown her way.
She truly earned all this on her own. No need to focus on the fact that anyone who wrongs her would disappear without a trace, in less than 48 hours.
She’s confident in herself along with her choices.
Cindel’s folks may have wanted to keep her far from this life, but they’ve learned not to make choices for her.
After interviewing multiple applicants and rejecting two dented wine coolers, I manage to slip out of Mur-Lo's with enough time to get across town. Cindel will be meeting me soon.
Right at six p.m., the bell above the door jingles as my girl enters the darkened shop.
I’m pressed within a darkened corner, where I’m able to see her form, moving around obstacles with greater ease than I expected.
This place has recently been remodeled. I’m curious how she’s so familiar with the layout.
I opted to change from my everyday business attire to the balaclava and dark tactical gear from the first time I made myself known to her.
My heart picks up, thundering against my ribs as I watch her body slowly advance toward me.
I rented out the whole place for this occasion.
Leaning slightly from the shadows, I realize that not only has she not called out to me, but she’s stopped progressing all together.
Two reflective orbs scan the area. What the… ?
Through the maze of tables and bins of sweets I see her rooted in place, simply waiting for me to reveal myself. Is she wearing night vision goggles? I can just make out the smile as it blooms across her face.
“My, my… Has the wolf become fair game?” she taunts ahead of spotting me.
Red glowing eyes lock onto me and she takes off in my direction; similar to a predator who’s locked onto their target.
Too focused on me, she doesn’t pay attention to where she’s going.
The environment betrays her; body lunging forward, she screams. “Oh, fuck!” Arms flail attempting to steady herself as I witness her tiny frame go down.
A series of cracks and crunches along with the pitter patter of spilt candy, gradually dissipate.
Straight away, I race over to Cindel, finding her in a heap of contorted limbs among smashed baskets.
Skin-tight clothing hugs her body with some kind of fishing vest on her torso, topped with military grade headgear.
What in the hell is she wearing? Kneeling at her side, I notice her boot caught within one of the baskets, most likely the culprit for my little lioness being brought down in the first place.
Colorful candy litters the surrounding floor; I aid with untangling, before pulling her upward.
“What’s all this?” I mutter, studying her as she pulls off the pair of night vision goggles.
“I can be mysterious too…” she grumbles, surveying the damage around us.
I chuckle to myself. “Yeah… in the, how did that Skittle get in my bra? Kind of way.” She grimaces and I try my hardest to fight back a smile.
She turns away from me, hastily removing the ridiculous vest. A cute frustrated noise fills the space.
I can’t help but feel revered; how sweet of my Cindel, attempting to swap roles with me.
Using my voice isn’t easy. It took a great deal of hours and painful practice with a speech pathologist to speak this well.
Although I’ll never be the same as before the accident, I’m grateful to have come this far.
I did it for her. Sometimes, I open my big mouth before thinking.
In moments like those, I wish I could return to having no voice at all.
Cindel’s a spit fire. I know whatever dumbass thing I manage to say, she can give it back tenfold.
I just can’t get enough of it. She’s brazen and stubborn, even at the best of times.
On the contrary, she’s also a good listener.
Staying present and attentive when I recall my shit childhood.
Even though I can now vocalize thoughts, it will never be above a roaring whisper.
Our favorite times are the still ones; spent intertwined during the early morning hours. Just her and I. Helping Cindel to her feet, I can’t help but appreciate the way her choice in outfit clings to her subtle curves.
“When I saw the address for Sugar Drop, I figured you wanted to play… I dressed accordingly.”
Fuuuuck… the ideas that ran through her mind. I plan to worship this woman for the rest of my life. I’m always in the mood to play with her.
There was no question that this would be the venue for today’s special occasion.
From the first time we went to Sugar Drop ‘Candy Shop,’ I bore witness to her transformation; from an overworked woman to the state of a carefree child, among the blanket of multicolored sweets.
Despite everything that’s happened, Cindel still manages to shine brightly…
no matter how bleak things may appear. She keeps me grounded.
I’m thankful she came back to Boston of her own accord, because I had no plans of ever letting her go.
I pull her into my arms, my concealed face resting atop her head. “As you wish, Princess.” Just the idea of pursuing her makes my cock grow. “You have until the count of twenty,” I share. “You hide. If I find you in under a minute, you do as I say. No objections. No argument.”
She raises a little higher off the floor. Still substantially shorter than me, her challenging glare makes me that much more worked up to find her. “What about if I win?” She insists. Not a fucking chance I’ll let that happen, but I entertain the notion.
“I’ll buy you this entire diabetic retreat,” I whisper into her ear.
Her eyes double in size. “Promise?”
No more stalling. Holding up my fist, I display one finger at a time, indicating that her timer has begun.
She beelines for the other side of the massive candy store, trying desperately to find a spot she can squeeze into.
I like to play fair, so I turn around and even close my eyes.
I didn’t need an advantage. I will always find her.