BONUS EPILOGUE
Raina
I stare at the empty sheets a week after our official wedding at a place called The Orchid in Astoria.
Waking up alone is something I’m used to from years of sleeping all by myself. And being alone for hours. Falling asleep in Connor’s arms and being roused in the middle of the night with his face between my legs is growing on me.
It’s still hard to recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror every morning. Sharp suits, high heels, hair pulled back. The only thing familiar about my daytime look is my loaded Glock and the sheathed knives in my suit jacket.
We are mafia. But I’m no longer breaking shit. I’m helping restore the legacy that Valdrin lost so many years ago. Along with Mom and me.
I stand as his second-in-command of the Albanian Brotherhood.
Together, we’re rebuilding what Levin Berisha and Noel Tahiri nearly destroyed.
The biggest challenge is the internal strife.
By day, we sit in business meetings. At night, we unify splintered factions under one name, one code, one bloodline. Ours. The original Sokolov bloodline.
That’s where the true me comes out. Leather jacket, cargo pants full of weapons, and my hair in a braid, which is now a universal symbol: She’s here to hurt someone. Watch out.
My signature deadly weapon when ending someone? White Venom.
A blended poison I helped develop using my old DEA drug knowledge .
Quinlan Empire backs us without question. Shane calls it an investment. Connor calls it unquestionable loyalty. I call it leverage. With Griffin’s recognition, we’ve secured shaky truces with the Italians and even the Bratva.
For now. Nothing ever remains stable in the underground world of organized crime.
Truth? I’m itching for the next fight. And so is my husband.
My passion project in the brotherhood is making progress. I’ve commissioned a safehouse for women, girls, and even some men who were trafficked by Berisha and Tahiri.
Ava is on the board, and Isabella O’Rourke, queen to the Irish king of Astoria, opened her women’s center to our victims for therapy, health care, and self-defense training.
I thought I had slick hand-to-hand skills until I started sparring with Ava. It’s a challenge our husbands enjoy watching from time to time.
“Did you ever think when we were beating the hell out of each other as kids, that one day, our wives would do the same?” Connor joked with Griffin at our last match-up.
Curious about the time, I roll over to check my phone, startled to see it’s 8:32 am.
Connor didn’t come home at all? No text message worries me more.
He comes and goes as he needs. Men who get punished by Quinlan Empire don’t operate on any particular schedule. If Connor’s men grab eejits, as they’re called, in the middle of the night, he’s leaving our bed while I’m asleep.
My mind drifts off. Maybe he’s in the tunnel. It could be the reason I didn’t get a text. Technically, he’s home since it’s attached to our apartment .
Yes, I consider this our apartment. We were offered a six-bedroom palace in The Lancaster. The condo that Ma Norah keeps turning down. We turned it down, too. Connor needs a place close to the torture chamber.
Not just for proximity. He needs a place to quickly decompress. Plus, this is the first place we made love. Okay, fucked. However, he brought up the sentiment sweetly when we discussed it.
A lot of other interesting things happened here, too. How I tried to kill him a few times and how he stripped me of everything. Not just my clothes. My defenses and that wall around my heart.
I wonder if he has a victim on his slab right now. Would he still be going at 8 a.m.? What a doozy that would be to watch.
He’s been letting me observe and help. Most of my time right now is spent with my father at his new office as he rebuilds his brotherhood into something strong, legitimate, and profitable.
Still, an ache stirs inside me to watch Connor with a victim. To see that primal side of him. That’s the man who will come out to protect me. I would never tame him.
Wearing only a threadbare tank top and my comfy granny panties, I push out of bed to see if I hear anything in the passageway that leads to the tunnel. But just a few steps into the hallway, I notice a soft rustling in the living room.
Everything is different.
The masculine and cold room, which once felt like a fortress of dark woods, rich leather, and steel, has now become softer and warmer. One corner has a new cream armchair. It looks plush and inviting with a few throw blankets tossed over the arm.
But that’s not what makes my breath catch.
It’s the far wall. That entire side of the room is lined with winter-white bookshelves.
And they’re filled.
With books. Shaking, I move closer and immediately know they’re mine. Or rather, they were my mother’s romance novels. I recognize every title. The weathered spines. The sun-bleached covers. The rare collector’s copies Mom worked extra shifts to buy.
All surrounded by the damn fairy lights!
My knees go a little weak.
These shelves are not IKEA-grade, though. The delicious smell of new wood and fresh paint means they’re custom built. Shelves without books are decorated with little clear jars, some filled with dried flowers. Some with sea-glass. And in one cubby are brass figurines.
Aunt Iliana’s million-dollar collection. When did they get here? I reach out and touch a tiny brass tiger with emerald eyes.
“Morning, Venom.” Connor’s voice spins me around.
“How did these get here?” I pull out a comfort read and hold it against my chest. “You were the buyer, weren’t you?”
“The new buyer, yeah?”
I don’t bother asking how he found the listing. Shane is a hacker and a mastermind. “You overpaid, Quinlan.”
“No, you undercut yourself. I had our lawyer research what these were worth. And I paid you the fair value.”
“So, they’re yours.”
He nods. “No. We’re married. They’re ours .”
I glance back and want to cry. With the extra money he paid, I can add to the collection with books that I’ve been salivating to buy. Pitch Black romances that will give me ideas of how Connor and I can take our relationship to the next level.
“When did you build this bookshelf system?” I ask.
“While you slept.” Connor pads out of the tunnel entrance, shirtless, a toolbelt slung low around his hips.
His hair is a mess, and there’s a streak of something across his cheek. The winter-white paint.
I calculate that I’d been asleep for about seven hours.
“You didn’t sleep?”
He shrugs, but there’s a shy pride in his eyes. “Nah. I needed to make this place feel more like yours.”
My throat tightens. “Connor, you’ve done enough.”
“No,” he says quietly, advancing on me. “It’s not even close to being enough. Never mind too much.”
I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“You’ve played hard to get every second, Venom.
Your eyes told me you loved me before you said the words.
I held my tongue watching you fight it. You told me these stories are the reason you believed in love.
” He lifts a book from the shelf and opens it.
“If you ever have doubts, dive back in and trust yourself. Trust we will have one of these happy-ever-after endings.”
“Connor, that is beautiful.” I cover my mouth with my hand.
“Not this book.” He frowns and puts that one back. “Too many boyfriends.”
I laugh through a sob. “And some of the boyfriends are boyfriends.”
“No shit.” He clears his throat.
“Love is love. And love is safe, right?”
“Aye.” Connor meets my eyes. “You’re safe here, Raina. Your past. Your heart. All of it. It’s yours. I’m yours.”
I fly into his arms, and it feels like forever since he’s held me. It’s only been about eight hours. He crushes me against his bare chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady under my ear.
“I love you, Connor,” I whisper .
“I love you more, Mrs. Quinlan,” he says, grinning into my hair. “And I’ve built you a bookshelf of psychopaths with ten-inch dicks to prove it.”