Chapter 24 For Keeps #2
"Dating or not, little sis, you guys are together, and I doubt Anton will let go. These men, when they choose someone, it's for keeps. You need to set your boundaries and demands with him."
I check my phone one more time when there's a knock and the door opens. Lorenzo walks in, suit perfectly pressed, hair slicked back. No hint of blood, no smell of violence—clearly, he's been somewhere to clean up.
Moira visibly brightens, her whole body lighting up at the sight of him. Eden immediately stands from her perch on the bed, stepping back to give them space.
Lorenzo moves through the room, greeting each of us with a respectful nod before reaching Moira's side. He kisses her softly, then bends to press his lips against her rounded belly, whispering something tender in Italian to his unborn son.
The way he looks at her, like she's the center of his universe, unleashes thousands of butterflies, making my chest ache with hope.
"Look at you three, plotting together," Lorenzo says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Should I be concerned?"
Moira reaches for his hand. "Just girl talk."
Lorenzo takes Moira's hand and kisses it softly. A monster turned into the perfect gentleman. Just like my Anton.
"Did you take care of it?" Moira asks, her voice dropping to that quiet tone our families use when discussing business that shouldn't leave the room.
Lorenzo's face hardens for just an instant before he controls his expression.
"Kirill and everyone connected to the Volgograd brotherhood are dead.
Every single one." He straightens his already perfect cuffs.
"Anton deployed his international teams to handle the ones abroad simultaneously. No loose ends, no survivors."
"It's over then," I say.
Lorenzo nods once, decisively. "It's done."
The finality in his voice makes something in me unclench. They can't hurt me anymore. Can't hurt Moira or the baby. Can't come for Anton.
Moira relaxes against her pillows, her hand protectively curved over her belly.
"Good to see you looking better, Fee." Lorenzo studies me with assessing eyes. "I was about to mention that—"
A shadow appears in the doorway, and my heart stutters.
Anton stands there, tall and devastating in a charcoal suit that hugs his broad shoulders as if it were made for him.
Well, it was made for him. Gone is the tactical gear, the weapons, the blood.
In their place is a man who could walk a runway in Milan.
He's holding an armful of white lilies, their fragrance drifting across the room.
Clean-shaven, hair perfectly styled, like he just stepped out of a Manhattan boardroom instead of whatever hell he's been through.
Almost perfect. But I see the signs. A fresh cut on his right eyebrow, the skin around it still slightly swollen and red.
His knuckles are raw, the skin scraped and bruised like he punched something, or someone, over and over without stopping.
He's holding the flowers carefully, but I notice the slight stiffness in his movements.
The violence he's done is written on his body in small, brutal details. And he's trying so hard to hide it. For me.
Lorenzo smiles knowingly. "—that Anton would show up here in no time once he figured out you weren't in your room."
My eyes lock with Anton's storm-gray ones across the room. There's a lightness I haven't seen before. A weight has been lifted.
Anton crosses to me, then sinks to one knee in front of my chair. He places the lilies on the side table and takes my hands in his. His thumbs trace gentle circles on my skin.
"How are you feeling, Solnishko?" His voice is a low rumble that I feel in my bones.
"Better." I reach out, needing to touch him, to confirm he's real. My fingers brush his clean-shaven jaw. "Still foggy, but better now that you're here. That I can see you."
His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone in that way that's becoming familiar, necessary.
For me, there's just Anton, kneeling before me like some ancient warrior pledging fealty.
"You look good in a suit," I whisper. "Like something I'd want to unwrap slowly."
His lips twitch. "That can be arranged. When you're recovered."
I gasp, heat flooding my cheeks when I realize I've said that thought out loud. This drug fog is worse than I thought.
"Did I just—? Oh God. I didn't mean to say that part out loud. The drugs must have fried my filter, too."
Anton's eyes crinkle with amusement, his hand still cupping my face with that impossible gentleness that melts me from the inside out.
His thumb traces the curve of my bottom lip, making my breath catch. "I want every thought in that brilliant mind of yours, Solnishko. Filtered or unfiltered."
I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of judgment but find only warmth.
"I'm pretty sure you don't want everything that goes through my head," I whisper. "Sometimes it's a lot."
Anton's lips curve into a genuine smile, transforming his entire face.
"I'll take it all, Fee. Your brilliance, your calculations, your random musings.
" He takes my hands in his, his voice dropping lower.
"I'll cherish every word. Support every ambition.
Stand beside you through everything life brings us. "
"Those sound like wedding vows," I blurt out, then immediately widen my eyes in horror. "See? No filter. None at all."
Anton doesn't flinch. Instead, his expression turns serious, his gray eyes holding mine with unwavering certainty.
"They might as well be," he says quietly, his voice steady and sure. "Because I'm not going anywhere, Fee. I'm back to stay. You are the woman for me, until the day I die."
"You two are disgustingly sweet," Moira interrupts, though her tone is affectionate. "Anton, did Fee mention she's planning to come to Providence with me? To be my personal servant while I'm on bed rest?"
He turns to Lorenzo and Moira. "I hope you two aren't tired of seeing me, because I'll need to visit. That is—" he glances back at me, "—if you're okay with that, Fee."
"More than okay," I whisper.
Lorenzo steps forward, placing a hand on Anton's shoulder. "You're like family, Anton. Tonight and every day. You helped keep my family safe. I will forever be in your debt."
Anton shakes his head. "No debts between us. Not anymore."
Loyalty like this, in our world, lasts a lifetime.
Anton turns back to me, his expression softening again. "So, Providence?"
"Providence," I confirm. "You promise to visit often? And maybe bring more lilies?"
"Every day," he promises, eyes holding mine. "As many flowers as you want."
I reach up to touch his face, marveling at how this deadly man looks at me with such tenderness.
"Thank you," I whisper, my throat suddenly tight. "For keeping me safe. From that first moment we met, you've been there."
Anton's jaw tightens. He shifts closer, both knees now on the floor as he leans in, forehead touching mine.
"I'm so sorry my past came to hunt you. But they're all dead now. Every single one. No one will ever threaten you like that again."
I trace the outline of his teardrop tattoo with my fingertip. "I know."
He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm.
"You deserve so much, Solnishko." His voice wraps around me like velvet. "A proper courtship. That date I promised you. Flowers that aren't apologies." A smile touches his lips. "I'm ready to give you all of it. Everything you deserve."
This man, who carries the weight of death on his shoulders, has delivered to me what the saints on my bracelet promise.
I twist the delicate silver bracelet around my wrist. I see Anton looking at it too. The silver charms of the saints I often pray to dangle from the delicate chain.
"This one's Saint Michael the Archangel," I say, touching the winged figure with his sword raised.
"Protector against evil. Grandma Quinn said he'd guard me against the darkness that comes with our world.
" I smile faintly. "I prayed to Saint Michael as soon as I woke up and found out you had left.
He's a warrior, like you; he protects against evil.
I prayed to him to give you the strength to face the monsters without becoming one. "
Anton's expression softens. "And this one?" He points to a heart-shaped charm.
"Saint Valentine, guardian of lovers." My cheeks warm. "I never thought I'd need his intercession, not really, until Sage met Maks and I met you. And lately, I've been asking him to bless what we have. To protect this unexpected gift."
Anton's thumb brushes over the last charm. "And this one?"
"Saint Jude, patron of impossible causes.
" My voice drops to a whisper. "I've prayed to him the most. When Dad talks about arranged marriages, when I hear about territory wars, when I wonder if I'll ever have a choice in my own life.
.. When I met you, you intrigued me every time we talked, so I prayed you would make a move. "
Anton's hand covers mine, warm and steady. "Not so impossible after all."
"No," I whisper. "Though loving an assassin while being a mafia daughter definitely qualified as a lost cause."
He brings my wrist to his lips, kissing each charm in turn. "I'm grateful to them all," he murmurs against my skin. "Especially Saint Jude."
I curl my fingers into his. "For the first time, I think the saints were listening all along. The impossible has become possible. I found love in our dangerous world. I survived an attack meant to destroy me. I traveled through darkness and came out whole on the other side."
"I'm grateful they watched over you when I couldn't."
The tenderness in his gesture makes my chest ache. This man, who's killed without hesitation, treats and respects my childhood talisman with reverence.
"But now you're here," I say.
"Always," he promises. "Though I don't mind sharing the job with a few saints."