Epilogue
AIDEN
One Year Later
Wife: Don’t work late tonight. I’ll reward you with kisses and
Raven’s message had been on my mind all day, and by the time I got home, night had fallen.
The city was alive with sirens and car horns, but up here, it was another world.
The noise was blocked out and the world seemed somewhat distant, letting me live in a bubble where only my wife and kids existed.
I stepped through the front door of our New York City penthouse, ready to ravish my wife.
I took off my shoes near the entryway.
The lights were dimmed and the hush of the evening settled in. It was only seven o’clock, but we liked to keep Ronan and Logan on a strict nighttime routine.
I moved through the penthouse, the scent of baby formula, milk, and sugar clinging to the air. It smelled and felt like a happy home.
I checked on the boys first, Ronan about to turn one and Logan three months old. Ronan was curled into himself, his breathing slow and even, and his small hand pushed between the bars of the crib, resting on Logan’s chest.
Leaning in, I fixed Ronan’s blanket, then kissed his forehead before turning to Logan and fixing his swaddling blanket. Then I pressed a kiss on his forehead.
For a moment, I stood there and watched them sleep.
I still couldn’t believe I got lucky enough to have two beautiful sons.
Maybe I didn’t deserve them or the happiness they and my wife brought me, but I wouldn’t let anyone cast a shadow over it.
This was my family, and I would stop at nothing to shield them from anyone who meant them harm.
With one last look at them, I stepped out of their room and closed the door gently behind me. It was only then that I spotted a note taped on the hallway mirror with Raven’s messy handwriting.
Studio. Now. Bring nothing.
Wear less. - R
I smiled, and the tension that had clung to my shoulders all day slowly evaporated.
The hallway to the studio was dark as I worked on the buttons of my shirt. I made a quick stop in my office, taking the holster and gun off and putting it into my safe that was programmed to Raven’s and my fingerprints only.
I resumed my path to the studio, my shirt halfway off, just as I opened the studio door.
Raven was standing with her back to me, one hip cocked, a paintbrush balanced loosely in her fingers. She wore a silky navy robe while she swayed to the music, humming from an old-fashioned record player that she insisted she needed.
“Hello, wife.”
She turned, her eyes flicking down my chest, then back up. “Hello, husband. I’ve been waiting for you a long, long time.”
Her tone was playful and she watched me like I was her next project.
“I had to check on the kids.”
“And now you’re here.”
“I am.” She stepped forward, every movement slow and deliberate, her bare feet silent against the splattered floor. “I’m going to need you to lose all your clothes, Aiden.”
I undressed as instructed and laid my clothing on the chair near the easel. When I was down to nothing but skin, I turned to her.
“Now what?”
She smiled. “Now, I’m going to paint you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Naked?”
“Yes. It’s something I’ve wanted to do since the very first time I ever saw you naked.”
“Half naked,” I corrected her.
She waved her brush theatrically.
“Don’t upset the artist,” she warned.
“I thought it was, don’t upset the wife?” I challenged, biting the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing.
“Well, sir. In your case, it’s one and the same.”
Fuck, I always got hard when she called me sir.
“I want you just like this,” she added, not missing my erection. “At the end of your day. Before you turn it all off. When you’re still carrying the weight and are ready to receive your reward.”
“Oh, I’m ready for my reward.”
“I promise it’s coming.” She stepped closer, dragging the backs of her fingers down my chest. “Now sit,” she said, pointing to the chair by the window, where the lights glimmered like fireflies in the distance.
I sat. One leg bent, one stretched out. It made me feel vulnerable, a position I rarely allowed myself to be in. But with her? Vulnerability didn’t feel like weakness.
She picked up her brush.
Her eyes locked on mine. “Don’t look away.”
“I won’t.”
She began to paint.
Each stroke was like a kiss from her lips. And I sat there, still as I could, letting her carve my soul into canvas. Letting her see the parts of me no one else ever had.
And in that studio, with the city but a distant noise, I wasn’t a mobster. I wasn’t a protector. I wasn’t a fighter, nor a father.
I was just… hers.
THE END