This Thing of Ours

Epilogue

Layne

M atteo whispers in my ear. “Jesus, Layne, your ass in those pants is fucking criminal. I want you to come on your?—”

I have to use the stolen invitation as a fan to calm myself. Matteo is still dirty talking. His voice sounds weird in the small earpiece, but like he always does, he gets me wound up and desperate for him so easily. That’s not the problem. The issue is, I’m trying not to draw any attention to myself as I stand in line. The wig and colored contact lenses I wear help me blend in. I hate it, but my pack was insistent I wear a disguise.

Security at the reception my brother is hosting is good, which makes sense, given the media storm that has been following the tumultuous times the Rothchild family have been navigating. But there’s no security enough to keep Harrison Ronald Jr. from paying for his sins.

Checking over my shoulder, I see Legos is in position. My eyes flit through the doors, and I see Leon is also exactly where he’s meant to be. I can hear Dante via the earpiece, too, and Valentine, their steady breathing keeping the monsters at bay.

The line moves again, too slowly for my liking. And it’s not nerves making me anxious to get this over with. I rub my chest like I always do these days, then laugh under my breath when I realize it's the rising bloodlust from my husbands making me jittery.

“Baby, are you good?” Dante asks.

I hum under my breath, barely making a noise, and get a whisper of praise from Valentine.

The line moves again.

By the time I’ve been let through by security, a light rain starts, and instead of walking inside the ballroom, I step back through the door, watching the raindrops make the streetlights hazy. It’s so pretty.

I’m instantly in a memory of Dante holding me in the shower, comforting me with stories about Nonna and how rain is good luck on your wedding day. In the strangest sense, it feels as though this is her blessing, too, and I hope our run of good luck continues.

Valentine, Dante, and Matteo constantly talk of their parents and Nonna. Our home is a shrine to their memory in the most beautiful ways. Gardens have been redone, full of plants and flowers that remind them of when they were growing up. And inside De Luca Estate, there is light and color everywhere you look, including paintings by Matteo’s mother and photos from happier times, when Dante and Valentine were boys and they had a solid, loving family.

Though every little bit of life they’ve brought back to their family home seems to heal my husbands, bit by bit, it’s how they act—their honor and loyalty, the devotion and passionate love they shower me with—that proves how much they’ve changed.

So have I, as evidenced by my taking the time to enjoy the simplest things, like falling rain, even on the day my brother is about to die a most torturous death.

Slipping back inside the function, I move through the crowd. Everywhere I look, there are tributes to my father. Silky banners hang around the room, heralding his philanthropic achievements as something more important than the truth of how corrupt he was. And I am most certainly not here to change their minds, because this den of vipers will always remain as poisonously toxic as they always were.

I’m here to witness the confusion and the concern of my brother’s nearest and dearest when he doesn’t show up for his own event. There’s no chance of him surprising me and actually showing up. I buried my knife in him myself, and Dante cracked the butt of his gun over my brother's thick head after Junior called me a slut. But that was a few hours ago now.

Dipping my toe back into the Rothchild world might be gratuitous and baseless as a way to put an end to my bad memories, but being here tonight makes me feel powerful. Walking amongst a roomful of men who haunted me by simply being associated with my family, I feel like I am severing myself from my past once and for all. Junior’s death will also help.

I waste time looking at the items on offer at the silent auction. Some of the artwork is exactly what you’d expect—paintings of Nantucket and Montauk at sunset, the slopes of Aspen, and the eighteenth hole at Augusta. There are vases, jewelry, weekends away. It’s as bland as it is ostentatious, but it’s a good way to circle the crowd and eavesdrop on conversations. The champagne they serve to get the benefactors ready to loosen their purse strings is also helping the gossip flow, but it’s disappointing how passionate these people are about supporting Junior and my younger brother in the fight to clear my father’s name.

Lifting my glass, I hide my smirk as I speak to the small microphone hidden in a necklace I’m wearing. “I think now might be a good time to leak a couple of those files to The Wall Street Journal .”

Dante chuckles, and his enthusiasm makes me smile. We sorted through the files he took from the hangar, and the journalist I spoke to on the phone at The Journal wept when I offered him proof, if he wanted to write the story of his lifetime and kill what’s left of the Rothchild legacy. I hope that will put the final nail in the coffin, but one thing I know for sure? These people are like cockroaches. I’ll wait to see how things play out before deciding what to do next.

My younger brother’s life currently hangs in the balance. I’m hoping he wasn’t irrevocably corrupted by them, but only time will tell. I’ll be watching him closely, as he will me, since I’ll be defending cases against him as soon as I have my license to practice in hand. Just as my pack suggested, once I started studying again, and working with one of their most loyal lawyers, everything I learned came back. I even managed to sit the bar exam, and freaking ace it.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the emcee interrupts.

I pass my half-empty flute to a passing waiter on my way to the exit, listening to the apologies start. Walking out of the function, I drop the wig I wore in a trash near the doors as a wave of distress sweeps through the room when word of my brother's fatal car accident is shared. The fireball will make identification difficult but not impossible. Not that I’m concerned. The truth of the DNA report will never see the light of day because my husbands already have the coroner in their pocket.

Skipping down the stairs, I dance up to my husband. Matteo looks as dangerous as ever, in his black Tom Ford suit, the neck of his shirt open and his sleeves rolled up. And he’s leaning against the Escalade.

“Clit tease,” I whisper as I lean in for one of his sweet and slow kisses.

He smirks against my mouth, his eyes shimmering and sparkling with lust and pure, effortless love. “How do you own me so completely?”

Dante

I can feel Layne’s anxiety like I feel every one of her emotions. And much the same as always, it doesn’t matter that I can feel her inside my soul; I still need the confirmation of looking deep into her eyes to know she is okay.

Cupping the back of her neck, I drag her closer, searching for any sign she’s not coping. Yes, she’s right in front of me. I can inhale her caramel sweetness to fill my lungs, and I can still feel the magic of her mouth wrapped around my cock. But looking in her eyes and seeing her incredible strength is something I need every day.

“I’m good.” She closes her eyes and sinks into the intimacy we share. My baby girl floods all her love through our bond because she knows how desperate I am for her.

And, yeah, it fucking stuns me how deeply Layne loves. I know I’m one of the lucky few to experience the real Layne De Luca, and I’ll treasure her forever.

“You are good, but being here is not something you need to do.” I push against her cheek, letting her scent mark me wherever we touch. Her scent is an anchor and an incentive to be better.

“I’ll see how I go. I promise,” she whispers back, not even trying to hide her vulnerability from me.

“You’re so fucking brave, il mio tutto .”

She drops her head, a quietness settling through our bond. Life with Layne brings me immeasurable peace. I finally feel like a whole person again, because the love I lost when my parents were murdered paved the way for her. I never knew it was her I was waiting for. I thought it was revenge and retribution, but it was her.

“I trust you,” she whispers, her lips barely moving.

A single tear tracks down her cheek, and I catch it with a kiss. “I know you do. When I ask you to leave, you will go with Matty, and Valentine and I will finish here.”

“But you won’t rush it,” she says, confirming back to me what we’ve already agreed on.

My wife shared with me one morning how she wanted her brother punished. I didn’t push her to share the illicit details; she did that on her own. All I did was provide her a safe place to do it, in my fucking arms.

“I love you for the rest of this lifetime and the next one. Probably the next one too.”

“Actually, never leave me. I wouldn’t cope.” And then I get to witness how her caramel-colored eyes glitter and warm, like always happens when I go butter soft for my wife. “Have you got your headphones?”

It was the one thing I’ve been insistent upon. Layne is already scarred by her brother, and hearing all the different noises a man makes when they get broken isn’t something you can ever unhear. But I’ll listen on her behalf, and then when she asks, I’ll tell her honestly each fucking pain, plea, and cry for mercy the sick fuck made.

Her hand shakes as she reaches down and opens the bag. I take out the headphones, switch them on, and pair them with my phone so I can impress my girl with the playlist I have prepared for today. Lots of songs about kicking assholes to the curb, but more about endless devotion.

“You look like Minnie Mouse. I want to flip you over and fuck you right this second,” I yell, and then I laugh when she lifts the headphones off and asks me what I said.

“Nothing, baby.”

At least I know the headphones work. Switching the volume up a little louder, just in case, I take a step away from where I was blocking her view just as Valentine and Matteo drag Harrison Rothchild, commonly known as Junior, into the room.

“What the fuck is going on?” he snarls, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the bag over his head. Valentine’s hand clamps on his shoulder and holds him down as Matteo ties Junior's feet into place. Then both Matty and Val work to secure his wrists in the leather cuffs attached to the slab of marble we use as a bench.

I set up everything we need while Junior fights the restraints. The lack of explanation is undoubtedly fucking with his head, which is the goal.

Valentine walks over to Layne and absolutely destroys her with a hard kiss before he takes the seat in front of our prisoner, straightens his tie, and adjusts his wedding band before he, Matty, and I look at our wife.

She looks fucking edible, in a pair of dark jeans and one of my white button-down shirts, knotted at the front to showcase her sumptuous body, open to highlight our bites on her throat. There’s no doubt about how fucking attractive she is; I’m pretty sure she could wear a garbage bag, and I’d think the same. Layne doesn’t rush, and only when she’s ready does she wave a hand, signaling for Junior’s bag to be ripped off his head.

Valentine

“Do you know who I am?” I ask as the bag drops from Dante’s hands in front of our prisoner.

He’s still testing the restraints, looking around, assessing the situation.

My brave wife moves in her seat. Not in nerves. She makes an intentional statement, drawing his focus from me to her. He goes to open his mouth, and I flick my head at Dante, and my brother uses Layne’s blade to cut Junior's finger off.

He screams, the noise bouncing around the cell.

“I asked you a question.”

The whites of Junior’s eyes are showing. “Whatever she offered you, I’ll quadruple. More. Whatever you want.”

I laugh. It’s mirthless and hollow, and I twist my wedding ring again before answering him.

“Perhaps we can negotiate something. Do you know her?”

“My sister,” he spits. Literally and figuratively.

Rage explodes. Not just mine. It echoes through our bond as Matteo and Dante are equally offended on behalf of our wife. Matteo is quickest, his gun in his hand, pressing the nozzle against Junior’s knee before Junior can even twist in his seat to see who is behind him. Matteo’s eyes are vacant as he shoots out Junior’s kneecap.

The man cries out in agony and starts fighting to escape the restraints, his panic and rising fear helping us all quell the rage he unleashed.

“Now we’ve established you do know her, I’ll ask again—do you know who I am?”

“No!” he gasps.

“I don’t believe you.” I sit back, picking dust off my suit pants. “I find it hard to believe that a man who has spent his entire life prosecuting some of the biggest cases against organized crime in our country, and in our generation, could have no idea who I am. So, I’ll ask you one more time—do you know who I am? And please don’t lie.”

Instead of rushing to answer, he takes his time. “Yes.”

“Thank you for being honest. Do you know why you’re here? And don’t look at her when you answer. Stay focused on me, or this will take way too long, and you’ll end up with way too many injuries.” I flick my hand toward his knee and the table; the proof of how I will react is in front of him.

He shakes his head, but the wheels are turning in his mind, and they’re moving faster and faster the longer he sits here.

“I won’t waste time, nor will I make promises I can’t deliver, so I have a deal for you. You like making deals, don’t you?”

He nods in an instant, licking his lips nervously. But there’s an edge of confidence in his mannerisms, too, like he believes he’ll be able to walk out of here if he does and says what I want.

“The woman sitting there is my wife.” I smile because I can feel her penetrating focus as easily as I can see the moment Junior realizes how fucking screwed he is.

“I’m glad you understand you’re not walking out of here alive. If you answer my questions, I’ll make your death relatively pain free. If you don’t, I’ll torture you until the end of time. It really is up to you. Nod if you understand.”

It takes him a minute, but eventually, he does what I told him to.

“Before I ask you the question, I also know how deeply you were involved in the”—I use my fingers to emphasize my words—“‘family business.’ So, don’t come at me with the excuse you didn’t know, because if your family works like mine does, you might not have been involved, but you were aware. Without question. We both know, ignorance does not excuse. Nod again if we’re still on the same page, Junior.”

I turn slightly to double-check on Layne. Her eyes are locked on mine, and Jesus, fuck, her gaze is like a physical touch. When I nod, Dante drops his hand on Junior’s head, making it impossible for him to turn around, but I need to be with my wife. I need to feel her pulse under my hand.

Squatting in front of her, I cup her throat, and the steady beat of her heart reverberates from my touch into my chest. We don’t need to speak. I know how to read my wife, and she’s okay. I press my lips to her forehead, needing her calming influence, and I get it in spades before returning to my seat. I am calmer, but seeing her, then him, I’m fucking done playing nice.

Since I’m standing, I stop in front of him and twist back two of his fingers until they break. Snatching up Layne’s blade, I slam the point through the wrist joint and leave it there before sitting down.

“Who in the Bratva did your father sell my wife to?”

He can’t answer, because he’s in a world of pain. Well, I’m sure he thinks he is, but he hasn’t even learned how far pain can push a man until they break. Junior’s breathing is ragged as he keeps whimpering in pain, instinctively fighting to free himself while searching for the right answer.

He takes too long.

Dante responds. He pulls her blade free before slamming it into the other wrist. Both of us are careful not to hit any major arteries, and we most certainly have years of experience in techniques that we can employ to ensure maximum pain and minimum likelihood of death.

“Please! Please! Don’t do this. I don’t know.”

I drop my head, swiping a hand over my face, so I don’t kill the fucking stupid cunt.

Matteo helps me out and slices one of Junior’s ears off, dropping it in front of him so he can see the cost of not answering properly. And feel it. He screams in agony again.

“Junior, we can do this until you have no body parts left. Tell Valentine what he wants to know.” Dante talks into Junior's good ear. “Who did your father sell my wife to?”

We all take a step away and give Junior a small reprieve. It’s no good for anyone if he passes out. And, honestly, I expected him to have already, because any man who rapes his own sister is clearly fucking weak.

“Muzzle him.”

Matteo and Dante burst into action, shoving wads of wet newspaper down the back of his throat, cramming it down so hard, Junior keeps gagging and fighting not to asphyxiate. But I don’t want him to be able to make a fucking sound without my permission. His face is puce by the time Dante has tied a thick gag around his head.

I stand up, needing to test how good he is muzzled, and I slice off one of his broken fingers. The noise is pretty well contained, so I lift Layne’s earphones off her ears.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to go home, Mrs. De Luca,” I say quietly. Every cell in my body is focused on how she’s coping. But I’m also managing a rising bloodlust, and no matter how many goddamn times my wife says she loves every inch of me, I don’t enjoy sharing the darker side of me with her. Layne is light and hope, and I cling to that like a life raft. I would be ruined if anything I did dimmed her ability to shine as brightly as she does. “Please, let Matteo take you away from here.”

There are lots of shadows in her eyes, and while they’ve always been there, and the reality is, they always will be a part of her, I don’t like how they hide her strength.

She’s up on her feet and in my arms in the next breath, and I feel her fighting a storm of bad memories. “You are so brave, Layne. I admire your courage as much as I love your heart and soul.”

“Always so smooth,” she whispers. Her lips flutter against her bite on my throat. She uses her hands around my face to pull me down, so we’re nose to nose. “Thank you.”

Of course, my wife leaves her eyes wide open while she licks her way into my mouth and steals more pieces of my heart in the process. I honestly don’t think love is a large enough word to properly articulate what I feel for this woman.

I growl against her lips and drop a hand to rub over my cunt, not at all concerned where we are. She’s safe, she’s with us, and Layne is ours and there’s not enough time left in this lifetime, or the next hundred, for me to be with her, so I’ll use every moment as if it was our last.

Her eyes blaze like molten lava, her scent sweetens, and Dante makes a groan, more full of pain than any of the noises our prisoner has made.

“Go home, spend time with Matty, then I’m tying you to bed for a week.” I bite her lip and push her away at the same time.

“Only a week? Wow, honestly, Valentine…”

I silence her with a slap on her ass, and before she can twist around, Matteo sweeps her off her feet and carries her out of the cell.

The second the door closes, I pull off the gag and use my fingers more aggressively than necessary to pull out the balls of newspaper. He sucks in air, and I pull his hair back, so he can see how fucking serious I am.

“Make as much noise as you need, because I’m about to ruin your fucking life,” I spit. My anger is unleashed now, with my wife safely gone. With my other hand, I accept the modified baseball bat we made just for Junior.

Dante, after he had Layne’s permission, shared what she wanted to happen, and I have no issue being the person to deliver the suffering she wanted her brother to experience. I twist the bat to show it and all its brutal embellishments—embedded glass, rusted nails, and small metal spikes.

Junior’s fear explodes as he realizes what’s about to happen, but our torment is just getting started. My brother kicks the chair out from under Junior before the both of us topple the table, so Junior is ass up. I use the blowtorch to melt his pants open.

“This whole fucking bat is going inside your asshole. Tell me who you sold my wife to,” Dante barks while I unbutton my shirt in preparation.

Junior takes half an inch up his ass before he confesses what we’ve already figured out after reading through the files Dante took from the hangar. The man who my wife was sold to was Petrov, the Pakhan of the Russian Bratva.

Dialing one handed, while I wash off Junior’s blood from the other, the call connects quickly.

“ Kto eto ?”

“How’s business? I mean, you must be struggling now. We’ve destroyed how many—? Wait, do you want me to talk slower, so you understand in English?” I patronize, as I do alter the speed at which I speak.

The head of the Russian Mafia roars in my ear. “ Davay poprobuy, pizdu .”

I look to Dante, waiting for Google translate to catch up. “Come try, cunt.” Both my brother and I start laughing. Before I think of my wife and sober up completely, “ Morirai soffocato dalla merda di cane .”

“English,” he spits, which only makes Dante laugh again, but it is pretty amusing. The Russian hangs up on us.

I call him back, and surprisingly, he doesn’t take my call. I leave a message in Russian, using the mechanical voice on Google Translate, because I’m nice like that, since clearly, Petrov is a dumb fuck. “You will die choking on dog shit.”

Before going back to Junior, because we’re nowhere near finished with him, I log onto the Trinity app and share with Santiago and Ronin the latest. Let’s talk dates. We’re going to Moscow. Petrov needs to die. If he comes for me, he comes for us. Talk soon—I’m going to see how much baseball bat an asshole can take.

Matteo

The faster I drive through the rain, and the farther from De Luca tower we go, the more Layne thaws.

Though she’s not talking much, I can hear her thoughts beating like a drum.

Triple-checking the road is empty, I slam the brakes, and our Blackwing locks up, sliding like it’s aquaplaning. It’s not. This car is as responsive as Layne is.

Instead of screaming, Layne starts laughing. I steer out of the slide before using the turbo button on the steering wheel and fucking jetting us forward.

Her exhilaration is infectious, and the both of us are laughing like idiots.

“Really?” She laughs when I drop back through the gears, bringing us back from illegal racing to only fast driving.

“Of course.” I nab her hand and put it on my thigh as we wait for the lights to change.

The rain is falling harder now, but it’s not torrential.

She looks out the window, her loud thinking is fading, and when she turns to look at me, I already fucking know. I fucking know.

I twist the steering wheel and slam on the brakes again, and our car comes to a stop in the emergency lane. It’s wide and safe, with a barrier on one side and lanes on the other side of the car.

“You’re looking at me with trouble in your eyes,” I say quietly.

And she is. I don’t need to turn around. I can scent how turned on she is.

“I mean, if you’re not interested…” she answers, and that’s when I twist and see the challenge in her stunning eyes.

I’m out of the car before she even speaks, slamming the door so hard, the car rocks. And I go complete fucking desperado for her, reaching in, undoing the seat belt, and dragging her through the window, to stand next to me on the road.

Not a noise of complaint from her, just a rush of desire coating her skin and heating her sweet scent. My mouth is on her in the very next heartbeat we share, and yeah, we do share heartbeats. Feeling our chests pressed together only confirms what I know.

Layne whimpers and fumbles with my belt, so I let her take whatever she needs. I trust her with everything I am. If this is what she needs, then this is what she gets.

There’s so much trouble in her eyes, my brow raises in question.

“Just a taste, Matteo,” she says, her hands dipping inside my suit pants, cupping and lightly squeezing my balls.

“You feel how full they are. It won’t be a taste,” I mumble against her lips, rocking my hips.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page, because I want every last drop.” She strokes me hard, watching me closely before she sinks down in front of me.

The rain is getting heavier, the wind picking up, but when she frees my cock and wraps her mouth around the crown, the whole world stops turning.

“Fuck, Layne,” I grunt as she swipes her tongue down my length before she twists it all around, returning to flick over the beading pre-come. “I’ll be coming down your throat in no time.”

“Stop telling me what I need!” she growls, but there’s joy and laughter in her voice, and her eyes are sparkling with happiness.

She keeps watching me, her caramel-colored eyes holding me hostage as she opens her mouth wide and deep throats me in a single gulp. Layne grabs one of my hands and puts it on her head before she does the same with the other.

“You want to me fuck your mouth? Out here, where everyone can see you gagging on my cock?”

Layne fights against my hold until she can speak. She takes a huge gulp before she remembers what she wanted to say. “Perfect cock, Matteo. Say it again properly.”

And then she inhales me again. I hit the back of her throat, she gags, and I nearly lose my fucking mind. My fingers tangle in her wet hair, and I tilt her face upward. The rain falls harder, and I start to fuck my wife’s beautiful mouth.

“Swallow me all down. Every inch of my perfect cock. And then, once I’ve filled your throat and you’ve swallowed every last drop, you’re going to get back in our car, and your lips are going to stay wrapped around my cock until we’re home.”

She fucking sucks so hard, I swear she’s trying to rip my soul from my body. Maybe she should, because then I’d find the right words to describe how I love this woman with every inch of me.

Cars pass, and the rain makes it impossible for them to see, but if they did, I’d have no issue. Layne needs this, and what she needs, she gets.

“Sit back, mouth open,” I bark, doing a great impersonation of an Alpha.

And she responds before I finish, doing exactly what I said. “Every last drop,” I say, milking myself into her mouth.

I lick out what’s left in her mouth before I’ve got my lips next to her ear, my thumb caressing over my bite on her throat. “I love you so much.”

A small smile sits on her lips, and she simply looks deep into my eyes before she pushes my hair off my face. “Matteo, never leave me. I wouldn’t survive without you.”

“Yeah, you would, because you are the strongest person I know. But here’s the truth—this thing of ours, Layne, it’s a forever, and ever, and fucking ever, ever, ever thing.”