Epilogue 1 - Verity
My skin crawled as I stood outside the heavily fortified prison entrance. Not even a bird dared chirrup in this miserable place. Miles of razor wire, concrete, and armed guards stretched as far as the eye could see.
Thea’s words echoed on repeat while I waited for the guard to check my paperwork.
“You don’t need to see him again, Ver. He’ll only get inside your head and fuck it up.”
I understood her concern but disagreed. I wanted to see him one last time. Not because I expected an apology. I wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d say sorry. No, what I needed was closure. A chance to tell him he’d lost and that despite his best efforts, I’d built a happy life for myself.
My therapist thought it might help with my healing process now that we’d worked through a lot of my childhood trauma. The guys were not at all convinced me visiting my father was a good idea, but as part of my ‘personal growth journey’, I’d told them all to go fuck themselves.
It hadn’t stopped Ronan from insisting on accompanying me. He sat in the car a few rows back, watching my every move with hawk eyes.
He had nothing to worry about, though. Papa couldn’t hurt me anymore.
He couldn’t hurt anyone. In fact, I doubted he’d still be alive by the end of the year.
Marku’s associates blamed him for the demise of their trafficking operation, so from what I’d heard he wasn’t having much fun each time he left his cell for a shower.
But I didn’t have it in me to care anymore. Not after he’d so casually tried to sell me off to further his own business dealings.
An armed guard escorted me inside the concrete building, through dozens more locked doors, and then deposited me in a small room with a table and two chairs.
“Knock on the door when you’re ready to leave, Signora Kelly.”
I still had to pinch myself when I heard that name. Mrs. Kelly. A small smile escaped as I looked down to admire the three interlinked platinum and diamond bands on the fourth finger of my left hand. Then I sat down on the chair and waited for my sperm donor to arrive.
A few minutes later, the second door across the room opened and two armed guards walked in, my father shuffling between them, his ankles and wrists shackled with chains. He’d aged significantly in the last year.
I took in his stooped frame, sallow skin, and many bruises, but felt nothing. This man didn’t deserve my pity. Hell, he barely deserved my time, but here I was anyway.
“Verity?” For a moment, he seemed confused, and I wondered if his mind had deteriorated - the authorities spent very little on nutritious brain food in this place. After a few beats, a light switched on and he smiled. “You came!”
A guard shoved him onto a plastic chair before locking his ankle chains to iron rings attached to the floor. He nodded respectfully at me and then both guards stepped out of the room.
“I wanted to see you one last time,” I told my sperm donor.
His eyes slithered over me, taking in my shiny hair, diamond earrings, and expensive clothes.
“You look well, figlia. So much like your mother.” A bitter note crept into his voice, an echo of past grievances against the woman who’d birthed me. “She was a whore, too.”
Old me would have internalized his insult and believed it to be true, but the new me understood her self-worth.
How dare he insult the woman who’d given her life for me. I leaned forward and glared at him.
“My mother deserved so much better than a monster like you.” His face registered surprise at the vitriol in my voice. “You fully deserve to rot in this place for the rest of your miserable life.”
“Why you little bi--”
“Guard! I’m ready to leave now!” I knew the guards were listening to our conversation, and sure enough, the minute I called for them, the door behind me swung open.
Francesco’s gaze snagged on my pregnant belly when I stood, and then my ring finger. He sneered in disgust.
“Who’s the bastard’s father?”
I grinned. “Fathers, plural.” Any remaining color leeched from his face.
“Whore!” he screamed as the guard escorted me out of the room, a careful hand supporting my elbow. Nobody wanted to upset the Irish or Russian mafias, after all.
I turned at the very last second just as a second guard hit Francesco in the face, splitting his lip open.
“Have a nice life, stronzo!”
Damn, it felt good to say that. The monster from my nightmares had finally been vanquished. The boogeyman who’d cast such a long shadow over my childhood was now nothing more than a pathetic piece of shit. One who might not live much longer, judging by the state of him.
“Ciao, Signora Kelly.” My friendly guard smiled as he unlocked the last gate. He raised a hand in greeting at Ronan, who stood waiting for me, looking as edible as always.
“You OK, Pixie?” My husband scanned my face, searching for signs of trauma, before resting a hand on my belly. “And is my baby pixie alright?”
I rolled my eyes. “Our baby is fine!”
“Good.” I let him pull me into his arms, soaking up his strength and reassurance. Having paid Francesco one last visit, I felt lighter. Freer. Ready to move forward with my life.
“Are we flying back home now?”
“Not yet, no. Dec has a side-trip planned.”
“Oh?”
He brushed his lips across my forehead. “It’s a surprise, Pixie girl, so buckle up and let’s get going.”
I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes next, the ocean twinkled beyond the window.
“Where are we?” I yawned, wincing at the ache in my lower back. Firm fingers reached behind me and massaged the sore spot, and I groaned in relief.
“I’ll massage your back more thoroughly later,” Conal promised with a wink.
“Is that a euphemism for something dirty?” I asked somewhat hopefully. Since falling unexpectedly pregnant, just like my sister (Thea was currently expecting twins, much to her annoyance and her husbands’ delight), my libido was off the charts.
Ronan leaned in and brushed his lips over my neck. “Damn right it is.”
“When you two have quite finished molesting our wife in a public place, can we please get a fucking move on?”
“Fuck off, Declan,” Ronan scoffed. “There’s nobody out there and besides, the car has privacy glass between us, Ash, and anyone nosy trying to look in.”
I snorted in amusement. It wouldn’t be the first time we’d had fun in the back of a car. Declan was clearly less than amused, however. He threw Ronan a glacial look.
“Have you forgotten already why we drove out here?”
They still hadn’t told me anything, and now that we’d stopped, I realized my bladder might burst if I waited much longer to use the facilities.
“I need to pee. Like, right now.”
“OK, Pixie, let’s get you out of here.” Ronan opened the door and held my hand as I awkwardly shuffled my ass across the leather seat. Pregnancy had not made me more graceful, and I sighed, wondering if Declan ever missed the supermodel he’d once dated.
Bridget had been grace personified. And also a Grade-A bitch. But since he’d chosen me over her, I wasn’t petty enough to gloat about it.
Much.
Ronan and Conal held my hands as we walked up a stone pathway bordered by bougainvillea bushes laden with pink flowers.
The flowers smelled divine, like expensive French perfume.
A small whitewashed villa topped with faded terracotta tiles appeared through the stubby trees.
Not a cloud dared sully the azure sky high above, and as the sun beat down on my skin, I sighed with pleasure.
As much as I’d grown to love Ireland with its lush green landscapes and wild coastline, this was my birthplace, and I missed the sultry heat and dazzling golden light.
Maybe when this baby arrived, we could spend our summers here. The contractors had completed the Sicily house the previous year. The guys had taken me there for our honeymoon; three glorious weeks of making fresh memories to thoroughly obliterate the tainted ones of the past.
By the time we left Sicily, I’d thoroughly vanquished my demons and made plans to landscape the gardens with the help of a local contractor, a woman chosen by me and thoroughly vetted by Declan.
I longed to return to see how the gardens were progressing, but problems with the few remaining O’Rourkes still rumbled on, and so far, my grumpy husband had not found the time for another extended break.
Still, he was here with me now, so I couldn’t complain. Although, I wasn’t dumb. I knew he’d insisted on tagging along for this final visit to see Francesco - I refused to call him my father anymore - because he feared my mental health might suffer a setback.
I loved him for it, but my therapist had been adamant I was ready to close the door on my past.
And she was right. With our baby due soon, it was time to move on. Francesco’s toxicity had cast a long shadow over my life, but what had happened to me as a child did not have to define me as an adult.
Yes, I’d made some poor decisions and chosen the wrong people to trust, but with the help of my therapist, I was slowly unpicking my trauma and re-framing how I viewed myself.
I was a survivor, not a victim.
I was strong, not weak.
One day, I planned to help other kids and teens who’d been through similar experiences.
Therapy had helped me, and I wanted to give something back.
But that was something for future me to explore.
My only priority right now was the baby I carried.
Once she arrived, safe and well, then I would broach the idea of going back to college and studying for a counseling qualification.
“Hang on, I need a minute,” I huffed. This path was way steeper than I was comfortable with. At seven months pregnant, walking anywhere had become a chore. My bladder situation had also reached critical mass. If we didn’t reach a bathroom imminently, there was a risk I’d embarrass myself.
Conal and Ronan exchanged a glance and then Conal scooped me up in his arms like I weighed nothing. I squeaked in alarm.
“Put me down before you hurt your back!”
“Oh behave, sweetheart,” he scoffed. “I can bench twice your weight without breaking a sweat.”
OK, so perhaps he had a point, but still. I was no petite little pixie, despite Ronan’s nickname that refused to die.
“Put our wife down!” Declan grumbled as he strode up behind us, still wearing a black suit and aviator shades, even though the twins wore tees and shorts. My grumpy husband looked like a mafia boss. Oh wait. He was.
I giggled to myself.
“Why? So you can carry her instead?” Conal rolled his eyes. “No. You had her last night. We haven’t forgiven you for locking us out of the suite, dickhead.”
Declan smirked. “Served you both right for lingering in the bar. Our wife wanted an early night.”
“They had Rothmore single-malt whiskey. I like that shit.”
“Keeping my wife happy is more important.”
“She’s our wife, too!” Ronan’s jaw clenched in annoyance, and from the gleam in his eye, this would spiral into a full-on argument if I didn’t de-escalate things. But before I could open my mouth and utter something soothing, a woman’s voice spoke from behind us.
“Verity, my dear sweet ragazza, you found me at last.”