Epilogue
Angela
Eight months later
Brady is unusually quiet in the taxi, enough to make me nervous. We’re on a quick trip to New York to celebrate my birthday. He wanted to stay in Dos Torres for the occasion, but I know he misses his family.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Huh?” He startles and looks at me with wide eyes. “Yeah! Everything’s great. You ready to party?” He seems to have recovered, but now I’m the one with wide eyes.
“What do you mean ‘party’? I thought you said we were having drinks with your family at O’Mara’s.” I’m starting to feel alarmed, especially by the innocent look on Brady’s face that I know is anything but.
“Well, yeah, Pines,” he says. “That is what I said. I have a big family, remember? McDanielses, O’Maras, Quinns…”
“You didn’t!”
“You’re right,” he says. “I didn’t.” I exhale heavily and press my hand to my heart in relief. “My mom did.”
“Brady!”
He winks at me.
“I’m going to kill you,” I fume, but that just makes him grin.
“You can take your aggression out on me later,” he says.
Fortunately, I’ve met most of Brady’s extended family several times, most recently a few weeks ago, after Brady and I attended the 9/11 memorial ceremony with his family.
He has aunts, uncles, grandparents, and a ton of cousins of all ages.
They’re warm and welcoming and genuine, entirely different from my own extended family, who are mostly products of a world where money and power mean more than anything.
When we get to O’Mara’s, it sounds like Finnegan’s on a Saturday night—loud music and packed with people. Brady silences my protest with a kiss. “Chill out, Pines. Have you ever not had fun with me?”
He has me there.
Once I’m over the initial shock of having such a big and boisterous birthday party, I do indeed find myself having fun. Even when Brady isn’t by my side, his family and friends surround me. And I’m not just a guest. I’m one of them. They treat me like Brady and I are a package deal.
“You look like you need a birthday shot,” says one of his cousins, a girl around my age. Siobhan and I are sitting in a booth with her, taking a break from dancing.
“No!” shouts Siobhan before I can answer.
“What?” her cousin and I say at the same time.
“I mean, um, I’ll get you both one in a minute.”
“Cool,” says the cousin. “So when are you and Brady getting married?”
Siobhan spits out her soda all over the table.
“What’d I say?”
“Nothing,” says Siobhan, coughing and mopping up the table.
I feel a stab of hurt at Siobhan’s reaction that I quickly try to tamp down.
I don’t blame her for not wanting her brother to be married to the mob.
(I talk to my mom once in a while and, even though I can never see myself speaking to my father again, it’s just a matter of time before he pays off or threatens enough people to get out of jail.) But even though Brady gives me no reason to doubt it, I still sometimes struggle to believe that one day I’ll officially be part of this family that I love so much.
“Where is that idiot, anyway?” Siobhan asks, looking around for Brady.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. Someone puts a shot of something down in front of me with a “Happy birthday” and a kiss on the cheek. I knock it back without thinking, then cough when the tequila burns my throat.
“Okay, that’s enough for you,” says Siobhan, looking panicked. “I know Brady doesn’t want you wasted.”
“What?” I say, my eyes wide with indignation.
“I mean… I just mean… Jesus Christ, where the hell is he?”
“Well, since he’s got you monitoring my alcohol intake, I guess it doesn’t matter where he is,” I huff.
“Oh crap.” Now she looks distressed.
I’m just about to go look for said idiot and ask him why the hell he has his eighteen-year-old sister making sure I don’t get drunk at my own birthday party—at a bar!—when the music suddenly cuts off and the DJ speaks into his microphone.
“I’m going to ask everyone to clear the dance floor for a minute or two,” he says. “I’ve had a special request.” The crowded floor clears quickly, people shrugging and mumbling.
“And I’m going to need Angela Pines to come on over here.”
I freeze and gape at Siobhan. “Did he just say my name?”
“Yes! Go up there, Angela!” she says, practically shoving me out of the booth.
“What? What for?” But I go, looking over my shoulder and trying to get a clue from someone what this is about.
Siobhan, Deirdre, Mikey, and Connor wear big, knowing smiles.
Oh my God, this is some stupid birthday thing, isn’t it?
I have to stand here while Brady sings “Happy Birthday” to me or something?
Or have an embarrassing spotlight dance with him? I’m seriously going to kill him.
Now I’ve had the time of my life…
All of a sudden, Bill Medley’s voice is coming through the speakers. I cover my face. Yep, embarrassing spotlight dance.
“Hey, princess.” I move my hands to find Brady in front of me, a big, gummy-bear-stealing grin on his face. But he isn’t pulling me into his arms to dance with me.
“Brady,” I say slowly. “What the hell is going on?”
He takes a deep breath and presses his forehead to mine. “There’re two kinds of families, Ange. The family you’re born into, and the family you choose.”
“What are you talking about?” I whisper, barely able to find my voice.
He puts his hands on my face, and suddenly there are just his gentle eyes, his freckles, his voice. “I want you to be my family, Angela.”
I stare at him, not fully comprehending, not entirely believing that he’s doing this. “You would choose Angelina Pini, mafia princess, to be your family? What kind of a shitshow of a life do you want, Brady McDaniels?”
“One where you’re Angie McDaniels.”
His words suck the air right out of my lungs and make my mouth go dry.
“You’re serious?” I choke out.
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Who the hell would joke about something like this, Pines?”
I arch an eyebrow at him, recovering myself briefly. “You, Brady. All the time.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he admits with a grin.
“Maybe this will convince you.” Then he’s on one knee before me, holding open a blue Tiffany box with a platinum-set diamond ring glittering inside it.
Gasps and hoots and scattered cheers erupt from the bar, but all I can hear is his voice, and all I can see are his green eyes looking up at me. “Will you marry me, Angela Pines?”
I stare at him, stunned and speechless and smile-crying like a pageant winner, my hand over my mouth.
I nod, swallow, nod some more. “Time and place, McDaniels,” I finally manage to say, and Brady slides the ring on my finger.
The bar erupts into whistles and applause.
Then I’m on my knees, too, laughing and crying, my arms wrapping around his neck as his come around my waist.
“I can’t believe you did this,” I manage to choke out.
“I can’t believe I waited this long.”
He hoists us up off the floor and spins me around.
“No more favors between us, Angie Pines,” he says in my ear as champagne bottles pop and the theme song to my favorite movie plays on. “No more debts.”
“Just love,” I say.
“Just love.”
The love doesn’t end here…