Epilogue Talin
Three Months Later
“I want to say for the record that I fucking hate this.” Sam dumps a massive black bag onto his desk and brushes his hands on his pants like he’s cleaning off filth.
“There’s no record.” I peer inside. It’s packed with money. “If I check your books, is this going to be the right amount?”
“Yes, sir.” He looks aggrieved.
“And if I check the other books, the ones you have hidden—“
“No such thing.”
“—in that loose board behind your desk, the numbers will still be right.”
Now he looks angry. “How do you know about that?”
“I’m married to the best thief in Baltimore, remember?”
“Tell Brenden to stay out of my stuff. It’s his fault I’m in this mess.”
“No, it’s your fault. He saves your life. Don’t forget it. Now, are the numbers right?”
“They’re right.” Sam slumps back into his chair with a deep, emotional sigh. “Despite my best intentions.”
“I’m not even going to think too hard about that.” I sling the bag over my shoulder. It’s surprisingly heavy. “Arsen wants you to double your games, by the way.”
Sam flinches back. “Seriously?”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“No, it’s good, it’s just unexpected. Isn’t he mad at me?”
“Probably, but you’re earning.” I pat the thick, money-packed bag. “That’s more important than anything else.”
“Guess you’re right.” Sam strokes his chin thoughtfully. “I think I know a few more people who would be happy to lose their substantial life savings.”
“We’ll discuss it first.”
“You don’t have to be involved in every single decision I make, you know.”
“Actually, I do, and if you recall, I’m the reason you’ve been thriving lately.”
He throws up his hands. “I built this operation!”
“And I’ve been making it profitable and sustainable, so quit your whining.” I beam at him. “Pleasure seeing you as always, brother of mine.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hold on a sec, are we still on for Wednesday? Davit bugged me to ask.”
“Absolutely. See you then.” I stride out of his office, the bag thumping against my side.
For the past few weeks I’ve been having Annie, Davit, and Sam over for dinner and it’s been shockingly nice.
They still drive me crazy, but now that I’m out of the house and on my own, I find it doesn’t get to me that much.
The front room is filled with card players.
I get a few looks but most hurry to glance away.
Despite walking past some big, strong, greedy men carrying what’s clearly a bag stuffed with cash, not a single one of them bothers me.
Mostly because they know who my backers are and what would happen if their worst impulses got the best of them.
Brenden’s waiting out front. He nods and helps me into the car.
We drive together, chatting comfortably about family and business, not in any particular hurry.
The drop happens at a nondescript dry cleaner’s several blocks away.
A very nice Armenian woman thanks me in Russian as her grandson carries the bag into the back.
“How’s Sam feel about you muscling into his operation?”
“Resentful,” I admit once we’re on the way back home. “But I think he’s getting used to it.”
“He’ll be okay once he figures out his boundaries.”
“Did that ever happen for you?”
Brenden makes a face. “Eventually.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” I lean across the car and kiss him. “But I like that about you.”
We walk inside together. Brenden straightens the living room while I get started on dinner.
He plays music, I sing along, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
If anything, he puts on songs he knows I like and will belt out the loudest. When the food’s ready, we sit together at the table, and we talk about the day, about business, about shows we’re watching, about not much of anything, and I realize I haven’t been paraded around in forever.
There haven’t been weddings, charity events, public appearances, or anything like that.
Not that we haven’t been invited, but Brenden always asks if I’m interested, I always tell him I’m not, and that’s the end of it.
Our life is quiet, especially compared to the way it started, and that’s perfect.
There are wrinkles. Brenden’s still getting used to being a permanent member of the family.
He’s trying to find his way and maybe it’s not perfect yet, but he’s working on it.
Meanwhile, I’m getting used to the quiet, and in that silence, I get to fill it with all the new ways I want to try to be myself.
“You know, your dad keeps bugging me about grandkids.” Brenden sits beside me on the couch and refills my wine glass.
“Are you trying to have a conversation about kids?”
“Testing the waters. Do you want them?”
“That’s probably something we should’ve discussed before getting married.”
“Fair point. Guess it’s too late for that.”
I lean into him and move the glass in circles between my two hands. It’s very cold, exactly the way I like it. “I think I want kids.”
“That’s not very emphatic.”
“Do I need to be? I mean, we have time, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Think as much as you want.”
I kiss his neck. “Do you want them?”
“Yes.”
His directness surprises me. Normally, about something like this, Brenden will hedge. It’s like he can’t help himself, like his thieving instincts make him slip around the truth before forcing himself to it eventually.
Except for right now.
“You really mean that?”
“Absolutely. I want kids. Never did before, until I met you and saw your big family.”
“Oh god, don’t think I’m going to pump out nine kids.”
“Three would be acceptable.”
“I don’t even know if I want one. Let’s start small, okay?”
“Just telling you what I’d like. No matter what, you’re enough for me.”
I curl into him and take a long drink. “That was exactly what I wanted you to say.”
“I know. Helps that I mean it.”