Epilogue
CORA
When my husband and I get married for the second time, we keep things a little simpler. The official ceremony takes place on the lower level of City Hall. It’s not glamorous, but we don’t need it to be.
I just need it to be real.
Jennifer, Lucy, and Finn will join us at the small reception, but for now it’s just Liam and Brioni as witnesses for the paperwork, all perfectly legal this time.
My husband is drop-dead sexy in his tailored charcoal suit, and I’m in my thigh-length red dress.
It has a small soot stain near its new hem, but I like the reminder of how deeply Brady and I are bound together, through this life and all of its risks.
We emerge from the gloom of City Hall into the crisp blue of the October afternoon.
I shiver, but when I reach in my bag for my sweater, Brady preempts me by draping his suit jacket around my shoulders.
I pull a lapel to my nose and take a deep inhale.
It smells rich and masculine and indisputably like my husband.
Brioni, amazing maid of honor that she is, surreptitiously takes my bag from me so I can pull my arms through my husband’s jacket. The dark gray wool is absurdly large on me, but I don’t care.
In this moment, everything is perfect.
Pete picks us up in a town car, and Brady opens the rear door for Brioni and me to slide in.
She bumps her knee playfully against mine, and we can’t help but giggle.
Over the course of our growing friendship, I’ve learned a lot more about Brioni, including the details of her friend “H,” her now ex-boyfriend Harrison, who sounded like the fucking worst. Since their breakup, Brioni’s been lighter, happier. Gigglier and free.
Liam sits up front, glancing back at Brioni every once in a while, as if to reassure himself she’s there. When she catches him, her smile is radiant. Liam flushes and quickly turns back to the windshield, while Brady and I share a knowing look.
My husband slides his hand into mine, and I make myself comfortable against his shoulder.
“How is Connor settling in?” I ask Pete.
With my permission, my brother approached Liam for a job. Liam deferred to Brady, who agreed to hire Connor as a trial run. For now, Connor’s shadowing Pete.
Pete’s ex has primary custody of their daughter, so he’s been living by himself in an O’Sullivan-owned house on the South Side.
The place has five extra bedrooms. Three, now that Connor and another trainee are living there.
The plan is to fill the remaining bedrooms with new recruits, with Pete as a mentor to them all.
My husband consulted me every step of the way, weighing my input on each decision. Not just about Connor, but all aspects of the family business, even the darker sides. Brady promised me he’d treat me as his better, but I told him I’m more than happy as his equal.
When we discuss business just the two of us, sometimes we go with his idea, and sometimes we go with mine. Like bugging all of the new confessionals—my idea. And greasing more contacts at the border to clear our shipments—Brady’s.
I’m thrilled by my new line of work. It’s much more satisfying than dealing with patients like Serena Perkins.
After a long discussion with Jennifer and Lucy, I bought out the clinic’s lease and paid off all of our business loans, then sold the practice to Jen and Lucy for one dollar each.
It’s best this way. Samantha Greene was a talented ophthalmologist, but I’m not her anymore.
I promised myself I wasn’t going to give up who I am for this marriage, and I didn’t.
I rediscovered who I’ve really been all along.
And my ten years of hard work to become a doctor aren’t going to waste. Stitching up Brady turned out to be a refresher course in trauma wounds. The other night I sutured a through-and-through in an O’Sullivan man’s upper arm, a ricochet accident.
My hands were steady the whole time.
Off-the-record bullet wounds bring me all the excitement of the operating room, with none of the paperwork. This is where I’m meant to be. Like Connor, I’ve realized the job I’m best at isn’t legal.
At the mention of my brother, Pete looks at me in the rearview mirror.
“He’s doing alright. The other recruit’s giving him a run for his money.”
Both Liam and Brady chuckle at this.
“Good,” I say. “He could use the challenge.”
We don’t say anything more about it in front of Brioni.
When we pull up in front of my husband’s Michelin-starred restaurant, he holds the car door open for me and Brioni again.
As soon as he’s on the sidewalk, I see him reach to button his suit jacket.
It’s a very sexy rich guy habit. But he falters when he realizes he’s only in his fitted white shirt.
As I get out of the car, I swish his jacket at him like a flirty dress, flaunting the fact that it’s mine now.
“Shameless,” he says, shaking his head.
“Unrepentant,” I agree.
Jennifer, Lucy, and Finn meet us at the restaurant. Jen brought Dave, but Lucy’s dateless for the night, as is Finn. This evening, Brady’s occasionally volatile younger brother is a complete gentleman. He’s attentive to my quasi-single friend, without overstepping into flirty territory.
The restaurant’s private back room feels a little large for just the eight of us, but we fill the extra space with laughter. Liam, as the best man, gives a rousing toast that includes oblique references to my husband’s stubbornness and all the trouble it earned him in their younger years.
“Our Brady has always been a bit of a hardhead,” Liam concludes. “Which is why I’m so damn glad to see that he’s finally met his match.” He lifts his champagne glass to his brother and me. “To Brady and Cora,” he says, and the room echoes him.
My heart is so full as we all sip from our flutes.
I feel the red splotches on my cheeks get even warmer as the evening progresses.
The champagne flows throughout every course, and classical music backgrounds most of the night.
When “I Only Have Eyes for You” comes quietly through the speakers, Brady and I look at each other. We both know we’ll dance to it later.
In private. And preferably naked.
I know we’d both like to dance to it right now, any excuse to have our hands all over each other. But I don’t want the non-couples at our table to feel any pressure to dance, including Brioni and Liam.
This morning, when she was styling my hair, Brioni requested that the four of us at City Hall not be treated like a double date. According to Brady, Liam wheedled the same promise out of him.
Neither the eldest O’Sullivan son nor their next-door neighbor wants to ruin their lifelong friendship by doing something so foolish as date. And so, Brady and I refrain from dancing so the two childhood friends feel no obligation to dance with each other.
But several drinks later, it’s Brioni who stands up, pulling me out of my chair to dance with her.
We hold each other’s hands and waists and sway exaggeratedly back and forth.
We’re not at all in time with the soft piano music, but it’s ridiculously fun.
Lucy jumps up to join us, surprising everyone with a high-energy jitterbug, a talent I didn’t know she had.
Jennifer laughs so hard that she snorts.
She covers her mouth in embarrassment, but by then we’re all laughing.
I collapse back into my chair, breathless with joy.
As my husband leans over to kiss me, I realize this is the happiest I’ve ever felt in my life.
Cora Muloney grew up mafia, but it was under the shadow of female subservience.
Samantha Greene achieved the independence she wanted, but at the cost of real human connection.
Cora Muloney O’Sullivan flouts the very idea of being a subservient mafia wife. She sacrificed the lonely part of independence in favor of belonging to a world filled with love, as well as to an underworld filled with danger.
The best part is, I’m great at both.
* * *
My husband carries me across the threshold of our honeymoon suite. It’s the same luxurious set of rooms we stayed in for our first wedding night. After he kicks the door closed behind us, he sets me on my feet and whisks his suit jacket off of me, draping it over a chair.
Just like before, he kicks off his shoes and pops the champagne cork clear across the room.
Just like before, he whistles “I Only Have Eyes for You” cheerfully to himself.
But this time, I accept his offer of champagne.
This time, I slide myself into his arms as we dance to our song, slowly removing each other’s clothing until we’re dancing naked, my husband’s cock stiffening against my belly and my pussy getting wet in response.
This time, I spend the night with him in our plush honeymoon bed.
There’s another bottle of Dom chilling in a silver stand in the bedroom. But more interestingly, there’s also a silver tray of strawberries in the middle of the bed. Brady lays me down gently beside it, and I raise a silent eyebrow in question.
“I like watching you eat strawberries,” he says, with an unashamed shrug.
Languidly he settles himself next to my legs, lying on his side with his head propped on his fist. He runs his fingertips along my knee as he waits. I can see how hard his cock is, and yet he’s stroking my skin absently, in no hurry at all.
I draw out his wait just a little bit longer, then reach for a strawberry.
Lying upright on thick pillows, I bring the deep red fruit up my body, brushing its tip on my peaked nipple.
Brady’s fingers tighten on my knee as I place the strawberry between my lips and gently suck.
When I bite into it, the burst of sweet juice in my mouth is so good that I moan.
Brady’s grip on me tightens further. The man knows how to source delicious fresh fruit.
I finish the strawberry in slow, sensuous bites, then place the top delicately on the edge of the silver tray. When I reach for another, my husband preempts me, brushing aside my fingers to select the largest strawberry on the plate.
He holds it up. A two-inch dark red cone with flawlessly symmetrical seeds.
Then he lowers its tip to graze the inside of my knee, and I shiver.
I let my thighs fall open as my husband traces the strawberry up my skin.
It leaves the faintest trail of pink along my inner thigh, and I love the sight of him marking his way up my body.
When he reaches my pussy, he presses the fruit gently against my clit.
I moan again as he starts moving the tip in small circles.
My pussy begins to clench. But Brady pulls away from my clit, chuckling darkly when I whimper in disappointment. He glides the strawberry down my folds and places the tip at my entrance, then nudges it gently inside me.
I gasp at the sensation of it, colder than I expected.
My muscles tense in response. Brady murmurs for me to relax, and I do, allowing him to slide the fruit deeper into my pussy.
His eyes gleam with delight as he watches.
Then my husband lowers his mouth to my clit as he fucks me with a strawberry.
He’s an expert with his tongue, building me back to orgasm, and I moan with pleasure and relief as he lets me come this time.
He guides me down slowly, then slides the strawberry out of my pussy and gives my clit one more kiss. As he climbs up my body, his movements are panther-like. The muscles of his arms tense and relax, his strength mesmerizing.
He skims the fruit up my neck and rests it against my parted lips before pushing it into my mouth. I close my eyes as I suck my juices clean. I love the taste of how hot he makes me.
Before I bite down, Brady tosses the fruit aside, replacing the strawberry with his tongue as he crushes his mouth to mine. I feel him position himself between my legs, then he’s pushing into me, my back arching off the bed in pleasure.
He starts slow, which is unusual for us lately, desperate as we’ve been for each other since our reunion. As he moves inside me, he smooths my hair away from my face. I look up into his gray-green eyes to see all my love for us reflected in them.
He kisses me again, softly this time, then he buries his face in my neck and I wrap my arms and legs around him.
As he builds his momentum, he reaches down between us to rub my clit, his fingers as expert as his tongue.
My pussy walls clench hard around his cock, and he murmurs for me to let go.
I let the wave burst over me, all my muscles spasming with overwhelming ecstasy.
As I regain my breath, Brady slows his movements. With his cock buried deep inside me, he trails kisses down to my breasts. He takes my stiff nipple in his mouth and bites, which makes my pussy clench with pleasure. I feel his cock twitch in response, hitting my G-spot in just the right way.
He laughs softly as I gasp, then raises his face to mine. I start to squirm on his cock, desperate for him to start thrusting again, but he grips my hip to hold me still.
“Remind me…” he says, drawing out his words. “Mafia wife. Where do you belong in this dark world of ours?”
I purse my lips in a smile, denying him immediate gratification. He shifts my hips beneath him so I’m at the perfect angle for us both. Then he pulls himself halfway out of my pussy, and I feel more than half empty without him. He waits.
“At your side.” I’m quivering for the full length of him, but Brady just tilts his head at me, his brow pinched in mock confusion.
“Whose?” he asks.
“Yours,” I say, and he plunges into me, shoving his thick cock deeper than I thought possible. I scream it again and again as he thrusts, harder each time, until we’re both sweaty and breathless and deliriously on the brink.
He reaches down between us again, and I come as soon as he touches my clit. My pussy spasms as he climaxes with me, our bodies sharing overwhelming pleasure as the world shatters over us.
When we’re both limp and spent, I lie in my husband’s arms. We are blissful in our honeymoon bed as we murmur our love for each other.
Maybe I was a fool not to sleep with him here that first night, given I know now exactly what I was missing. But ours was just a marriage on not-quite legal paper back then.
This time, it’s real.