Epilogue
A dreary funeral wasn’t good enough for one of the men who had served and protected me most of my life.
The man who gave his in an attempt to save mine.
I wouldn’t let them bury him on a cold, rainy winter morning.
Gizmo agreed and on a bright, cool Saturday morning under a golden sun, we laid Banjo to rest.
Gizmo threw dirt on the lowered casket, silently saying his goodbye to his partner in work and life. After twenty years under their protection, I finally learned his real name and reverently traced my fingers over the letters etched on his gravestone.
Sawyer (Banjo) Bennet
Loyal. Faithful. Devoted.
Gizmo didn’t talk. He and Banjo rarely had to anyone but each other.
At the end of the brief service with only a handful of mourners, Gizmo swiped the single tear off my cheek and nodded.
For the first time in my life, he opened his arms and welcomed a hug.
It was warm and comforting and familiar in a distant sort of way.
Like hugging the favorite uncle you hadn’t seen in years.
Drake remained at my side through it all.
Even Brooke showed up for the intimate service.
She had also known my personal guards since the start of our friendship.
If we were together, my friend benefited from the extended protection of my security.
Naturally, she wanted to be there to pay her respects.
I appreciated having my two favorite people with me that day.
Gizmo said nothing as I promised him he could keep his position if he wanted it, but I wouldn’t blame him if he retired. The selfish, childish part of me hoped he remained. I couldn’t bear to lose them both entirely.
Hours later, we parted ways with Gizmo, with Drake and Brooke taking me to dinner in the city.
Julian met us at the high-class restaurant, indulging in drinks and sharing childhood stories about Drake.
Brooke joined in with stories about me, almost competing with Julian to see who could tell the funniest tale.
The food tasted like ash, but the drinks were potent and flowing freely.
Drake kept his arm on the back of the booth, draped over my shoulders to keep me close.
His fingers trailed mindless circles over my shoulder, and I leaned into his touch.
Brooke encouraged me to share stories about my guards; all the places they followed us and the trouble they got us out of.
By the time dessert arrived, my smiles turned genuine.
I didn’t miss the lingering looks Julian cast Brooke’s way.
Though we’d all gone to school together, we had existed in separate groups.
The two were seeing each other in a new way, and it was delightful to watch.
Drake and I pretended not to notice our best friends getting in the same care when we walked outside.
Anything was possible under the anonymity of twinkling stars and the endless expanse of a dark sky. Tragic endings turning into new beginnings.
Drake and I spent a week in the suite until security cleared my home.
Though my husband and parents insisted I move, I wouldn’t hear of it.
I had bought that house as my first private space I could call my own and spent years turning into my home.
They reinforced the gate and security measures, cleaned up the mess on the lawn, fixed the garden, and cleaned the inside of the house.
Stepping inside the front door felt like coming home after a grueling work trip.
Showering in my bathroom, walking through my hallways, sinking into my bed that night all felt like a soothing balm on my heart.
It was a relief to shed the layers of my grief and wrap myself up in the familiar.
Having Drake by my side, orbiting me like I was the sun and him my moon, made it easier to deal with the bruises of our ordeal.
Nuzzled in his arms, enveloped by the safety of the night where secrets came to life, he whispered about how he felt ashamed of his grief. He didn’t want to miss Douglas after everything he had done, especially his actions toward me.
“Sometimes grief is ugly and brutal, but you have to feel it,” I told him. “You can’t move on until you’ve processed it.”
Drake sighed, silently accepting my statement. He needed to know it was alright to hate the man who betrayed him while mourning the loss of a friend. Just because we existed in a world of chaos and violence didn’t mean that we didn’t have emotions and wounds from our experiences.
“I love you,” he said, pulling me tighter.
“I love you, too.” I met his kiss in the darkness and sighed when he sank into me. Through pleasure and intimacy, Drake and I bonded. Offering pleasure and love in the form of touch and the ultimate connection. Night after night we loved, and we healed.
Drake and Julian shared in the pain of that betrayal.
With the master manipulator behind the masked men uncovered, it was strangely delightful to see them working together.
Of course, I’d heard rumors over the years of the smooth equilibrium they had on their missions, but seeing it was another thing entirely.
Determined to wipe out the last of the threats to the crime families, Drake and Julian made it their purpose to track down everyone who had a connection to Douglas’ underground group and take them off the playing field.
Another two weeks passed before I asked Drake to move his belongings into my house.
We were married, but my home had always been my sole sanctuary.
It had been a bigger leap than I thought it would be to bridge the gap and bring him into my house completely.
Astute as he was, Drake didn’t miss the importance of the occasion.
While he had all the money in the world to hire a moving company to empty his (quite ridiculous) penthouse, instead, he recruited Julian to help him pack and move the boxes over.
The simple, mundane task felt more momentous that way.
As if we were any other couple or normal newlyweds bridging the gap between separate lives to form a new one.
Brooke and Julian stayed to help us unpack.
Finding space among my books proved difficult, but everyone was up to the challenge.
Drake teased me about my book collection the entire time while also sneaking kisses when we passed each other.
When we almost barged in on Brooke and Julian furiously kissing in the library, we quickly rushed down the hall to hide our laughter.
Neither of us mentioned it when our friends joined us in the kitchen with faces flushed and lips swollen.
We ended the weekend with pizza and wine, laughing and smiling. That night left such a wonderful impression it turned into another the next weekend and the one after that. Before I realized it, months had passed with a new weekend routine of friends, games, drinks, and belly-aching laughter.
Winter turned into spring by the time the last of the damage done by Douglas and his group was resolved.
Another meeting of the five families came and went.
Drake barely spared his dad a second glance, preferring to refer to my mother and me throughout the proceedings.
At long last, things had finally settled.
Well, as much as they could be for mafia members and crime families.
Drake rarely spoke of his dad anymore, avoiding him entirely, if possible.
He took a position working with my family, taking an office right next to mine.
My husband dutifully made my favorite hazelnut coffee every morning and packed our lunches.
Nights when he wasn’t enforcing, which were rarer and rarer occasions, he was home with me, cooking, dancing, laughing, loving.
Despite the rift between Drake and his dad, he still visited his mother every other Sunday.
Sometimes I joined him. The times she was lucid, we had a lovely afternoon with her.
Maybe one day Drake could convince her to leave his father and put down the pills, but that would be a monumental undertaking.
Once a month, we had family dinners with my parents. It utterly astounded me how well he blended into my family life. Though my brother remained out of the picture for the most part, my parents were thrilled with how my marriage to Darke had turned out.
“He loves you,” my mother said one night.
We were on the back patio of my parents’ country house, watching Drake and my father shoot flying targets on their expansive back lawn.
Father yelled expletives in French each time he missed a shot, and Drake laughed alongside him.
It was a sight I never would have dreamed up in a million years.
“He does,” I agreed with a dreamy smile playing on my lips.
Mother crossed her long, graceful legs, reclining in her patio chair as if she were a queen on a throne. I clinked my wine glass into hers, sighing contentedly. She watched me for several moments before joining me in enjoying the show of posh idiots playing with rifles.
“I must admit I’m surprised. You seemed so against the union,” she said.
“And there was a good reason for it at the time.” So, after ten years, I told my mother a glossed over version of our story.
She gasped and sighed at the appropriate times, even shooting Drake a glare when I carefully admitted to his childish cruelty.
It didn’t compare to the daggers she shot him when I told her how we parted at the end of school.
“That explains your mood when you started university. I thought it was ordinary nerves. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how badly you were hurting,” Mother said.
I waved it off. “Childhood heartbreak from my first love. You were busy with the family business, and I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Still—”
“But look how it turned out.”