Epilogue
Awaitress brings over a tray of two half-full whisky glasses and one filled with water. She places it down in the middle of the green, baize-lined table. Silence stretches between Jac and me and the two men sitting opposite us.
I incline my head towards the alcohol-filled glasses, offering them up to the two Russians. One with a shaved head, tattoos stretching over his head and down his forehead. The other one is older—grey moustache and thinning, slicked-back hair.
Jac taps his finger on the poker table, rings glinting in the single dim light shining above us.
“Fair,” Jac starts in response to the Russians, grabbing his glass of water and sipping on it.
“A little disrespectful, don’t you think?” I muse, leaning back in my seat.
“We don’t have a lot of time. Please, what do you want from us?” The older man waves his hand in our direction, his thick Russian accent echoing through the empty casino room at DL.
Jac slams his glass down on the table, making the clean-shaved guy flinch. “You’re here on behalf of the Mozorovs, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Care to explain why your supplies travelled through the Bianchi channel and then ended up at our docks?” I press, leaning my folded hands on the table.
The older man averts his gaze, and the tattooed one clears his throat.
“It was an accident. The supplies were supposed to be delivered to Scotland.” His accent is just as thick as his companion’s.
Jac barks out a laugh. “We’re supposed to believe that?”
Tattoo Guy’s jaw ticks, his hazel eyes filling with anger. Old Guy scrambles for an answer, muttering to Tattoo Guy in Russian.
“The Mozorovs want an agreement.” They finally settle on that answer.
“And you thought running through our domain was the way to do it?”
“Your routes are safe. Untraceable. It’s what we need,” Tattoo Guy presses.
“For what? So you can poach our buyers? Not happening,” I state.
“If you don’t agree, Nikolay will use them anyway. Your supply will drop; people will start buying from us.”
“What makes you think your supply is worth more than ours?”
“Connections.” Old Guy shrugs.
“Not happening. Tell Nikolay to stay out of our city or we’ll have problems,” Jac threatens, standing from his seat.
“That’s your choice, but if—”
Old Guy doesn’t get to finish his sentence before my bullet pierces his skull. Tattoo Guy pushes out of his seat, causing the chair to fall backwards, and holds his hands up in surrender. I straighten, pointing my gun at him.
Jac pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the scene. “Tell Nikolay he has two days to clear his supply out of our grounds. I don’t wanna hear your name uttered around here. Are we clear?”
Tattoo Guy’s head jerks up and down, his wide eyes fixed on his buddy.
I stuff my gun back into the waistband of my slacks, pushing through the exit door to find Ezra and Daniel standing guard.
“Clear the body and drive the other one back to the docks. He has a message to deliver,” I say, both of our men on immediate duty.
Jacques and I make our way back down the stairs to the main club of DL and out of the back exit to our cars.
“I’m going to help Camila at the studio. Opening week is in two days, and she’s running behind,” I say as I unlock my car.
“Do you need an extra hand?” Jac asks, following me to my car and leaning his arm on the hood of it as I climb into the driver's seat.
“No. You make sure the Mozorov sidekick leaves the country.”
He salutes me before jogging to his car parked in front of mine and driving out of the alleyway.
It was Nova’s idea to build an illegal casino on the top floor of DL where only the elite are allowed to enter.
Since our supplies and chains are growing, we need more ways of laundering.
Word got around pretty quickly that England has new bosses in town.
Jenny wasn’t running London anymore, so someone had to step up.
No one knows what really happened to her and her men, and it’s best it stays that way.
Now, more than ever, everyone wants an alliance with us and the Bianchis, but not everyone can get it. We’ve grown stronger, and so has Nova. Which brings men like the Mozorovs to our door.
Jac’s postcard is sure to keep them away.
The drive from DL to Wilder Studio is only twenty minutes down the road.
I roll the car to a stop outside the studio.
The green, neon sign reading ‘Wilder Studio’ is currently being installed by a team of builders.
I slide past them and up the black, marble stairs into the main room.
It’s a small studio with only one room, but Camila is looking to run this herself, so she doesn’t want a huge building.
I quietly lean against the doorframe as her form flits about the large space.
She painted the walls a baby pink, with black, marble flooring and mirrors all around, except the wall with the floor-to-ceiling windows.
A privacy screen has been added to the windows so that students can see outside but people can't see inside.
“Alexa, play Stand By Me by Ben E King,” Camila sing-songs.
“Now playing Stand By Me by Ben E King,” the robotic voice replies, filling the empty, echoey space.
Camila starts singing along to the song, dancing around as she collects bolts and screws for the new poles she had delivered. The afternoon sun shines through the open windows, airing out the fresh paint smell.
She’s happy.
We shopped for the perfect building together, and she even let me pay for it. She wanted to donate all the money she saved at DL to New Horizons as her one condition. My heart nearly burst out of my ribcage.
The night at the gala last year replays in my head. How she allowed me to lead the dance. That first bit of control she gave me. How her face lit up at the simple opening of the song.
A small smirk plays on my lips at the memory.
She hasn’t noticed me yet. Her hips sway to the beat, and she looks irresistible with her tiny shorts and sports bra.
Obsidian emerges from an empty box, heading straight for a plant in the corner, hitting it with his paw.
He spots me, immediately running over and rubbing himself on my legs, purring.
Her bright green eyes catch mine, and a wide smile graces her face.
She stretches her arm out towards me, and I walk up to her, taking her hand in mine.
I pull her in, spinning and matching her steps to the song as she softly hums the tune that once brought back all sombre memories.
Her once sad eyes are now always filled with joy.
And as I gaze at her, all I feel is safe.
Loved.
Finally at peace.
My head is quiet. It has been since Camila showed up in my life. When she told me she wanted forever with me when I was waking up from my operation, and she didn’t think I heard her.
Her eyes skim my shirt, and she tuts when she spots a single drop of blood but smirks all the same. “I hope that’s not yours.”
She follows my steps as I spin her around the room, her long, honey hair fanning out behind her with every twirl.
“Never again, Angel.”
We dance until the song finishes, and she runs over to one of the poles, spinning herself on it.
“Pretty stable, huh?” she asks, craning her neck upwards to admire her handy work.
“You really should’ve waited for me, sweetheart. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“It’s not that high,” she dismisses, grabbing another pole from the floor and heaving it up. I jump in immediately, holding it steady for her.
She smiles. “Okay, maybe it is a little difficult.”
She rolls the stepladder to me, and I climb up, screwing a few bolts into the ceiling, securing the pole in place.
“Where’s Opal?”
Camila points to a box. I walk up to it, squatting down to see a small white kitten curled up inside the box with a plushy toy, sleeping.
My heart squeezes with cuteness.
“Adorable, isn’t she?” Camila whispers.
“Not as adorable as you.” I tackle her to the ground, lying on top of her as she chuckles, her hands gripping my shirt.
She smooths her hands over it, fiddling with my top button as her eyes rove over my exposed chest where the buttons are undone. She hums and continues undoing the rest of my buttons.
“There are people downstairs,” I murmur.
“When has that ever stopped you?” she taunts, reaching the bottom button.
I groan as her eyes darken, and she bites her lip.
At this moment, I realise that this is for life.
I vow to burn down anything and everything that tries to get in her way.
I once swore to protect her from me, but she showed me that she doesn’t need protection from me.
She accepts the love I give her with an open heart, and she loves me just as fiercely back.
She grinds up into me, and my cock hardens instantly.
I grip her face, my lips connecting with hers in a hungry kiss. Her teeth graze my bottom lip, her hands sliding my shirt off my shoulders.
“You will be the death of me, Angel.”
She laughs darkly, her hands fumbling with the belt of my slacks. “So long as it’s me, and nothing else.”
“Nothing could ever take me away from you again,” I vow, my hands roaming up the sides of her thighs.
“I love you, Xander Warren.” She smiles, lowering her head to my neck and sucking on the sensitive spot in the crook of it.
“I love you, Angel,” I moan as she licks up the column of my neck. “Now sit on my cock and let them know who you belong to,” I growl in her ear, fisting her hair around my hand.
Camila will always be the drug that courses through my veins. The only obsession I will ever need.