45. Michael #3
“Because they’ll be brothers,” I said. “We’ll raise them like twins. Together. Protected. Loved. And when this ends—because it will end—those boys will never live this life. Not mine. Not Roman’s. Not the council’s.”
Her breath hitched.
“Our sons, Kate,” I whispered. “Do you hear me? Our sons.”
She lifted her face slowly, wet lashes clumped together.
Then she nodded.
A small nod.
Broken, but brave.
“I’ll be the best mother to them both,” she said softly. “I swear it, Michael. I swear it. If the only way this ends is with two births instead of bullets—so be it.”
And when I kissed her—it wasn’t passion.
It was a vow.
A war cry.
A promise sealed in salt and breath and love.
We needed time.
So for three days, I didn’t answer Roman’s calls. I ghosted the council. I turned my burner off and shoved it in a drawer. For the first time in months, I let myself be selfish.
I stayed with my wife.
The first morning, we walked the woods behind Brett’s cabin. The air was warm, clean, pine-scented. Kate’s hand fit in mine like it had always been made for it, her fingers tracing circles over my knuckles.
Every time I glanced at her belly — small, barely a curve — my chest tightened.
My child.
Our future.
She smiled at me like she could feel the thought from the inside.
By afternoon, we’d found the trail that led to the river. The place was untouched, hidden by tall reeds and rocks, sunlight glittering across the water like a secret universe.
Kate was the one who dipped her toes in first.
“Come on,” she teased over her shoulder, already hiking up her dress.
“Babe—”
But she was already wading in, laughing, beautiful, alive in a way that made my heart hurt.
So I went after her.
We didn’t need words. We didn’t need anything except the cold shock of the water, the quiet rush of the current, the way she floated on her back and closed her eyes, sunlight catching her hair like a halo.
I watched her.
My wife.
My real wife.
My miracle.
“What are you thinking?” she murmured without opening her eyes.
“That I don’t deserve this,” I said honestly.
She reached out blindly, searching for my hand. I met her halfway.
“Maybe you don’t,” she whispered. “But we do. This baby does.”
Her voice softened. “These babies do.”
Yeah.
That hit me like a blade and a blessing combined.
That night, under the moon, the air warm and sweet, she slipped into the water again. I followed. We floated close, arms brushing, hearts steadying.
“What do you want, Kate?” I asked her quietly. “For our family.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Not the casinos,” she said, turning her head toward me. “Not that world. My condo’s too small. Too cold. Too high up in the sky.” She took a deep breath. “But this land… here… I feel it.”
She placed her hand over her heart.
“I feel it in my bones. It’s sacred, Michael. You feel it too. Your people feel it. The council feels it. This land—it’s alive. It wants us. It wants our children.”
Her voice shook just a little, with hope or fear or maybe a mix of both.
“We can raise them here,” she whispered. “Together. Maybe buy Brett’s place and the cabin I hid in. Combine the land. Build something new. A real home. A log cabin under the tall pines with a wide porch and a dock for the river.”
She smiled faintly.
“You can jet ski to work if you want. Keep spare suits at the casino.”
I laughed —really laughed—for the first time in what felt like a year.
“You want me showing up to board meetings soaking wet?”
“Yes,” she said, nudging my chest. “I want the world to know you have a real life. A real family. A real home.”
She drifted closer, her belly brushing against me, the contact sending a shock through my system.
She was building our future with her words.
She was building me into it without hesitation.
“Say something,” she whispered.
I cupped her face in both hands.
“Yes,” I said. “Everything. The cabin, the land, the dock — all of it. But we’re keeping the yacht too, baby. And we’re still throwing parties.”
She laughed, the sound rippling across the river.
“I figured,” she murmured, kissing me softly. “My little mobster.”
“My wife,” I breathed against her lips. “My whole damn world.”
For three days, we lived like ghosts in the trees.
We cooked simple meals.
We slept tangled together.
We let the world disappear.
But I knew—soon, I’d have to leave.
Soon, we’d have to fight.
Soon, the storm would find us again.
But for now?
I held her under the stars, the river whispering around us, and I let myself dream.
Because for the first time in my life?—
I had something worth dreaming for.
I felt him before I saw him.
A presence.
A shift in the air.
A predator entering territory that wasn’t his.
Kate and I were walking back toward the cabin after collecting wildflowers she insisted on bringing inside. My hand rested on the small of her back, protective without even realizing I was doing it.
Then a shadow stepped out from behind the pines.
Drew.
Jaw tight. Shoulders locked. Eyes burning into Kate with a mixture of relief, fury, and something else I didn’t like.
He looked at her stomach.
Really looked.
His expression cracked wide open.
“You’re showing,” Drew said, voice low, disbelieving. “Kate… you didn’t tell me you were that far?—”
“Step back,” I growled before he could finish.
Kate froze between us.
Drew’s eyes cut to me. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“Too bad.” I moved in front of her instinctively. “Stay away from my wife.”
His jaw clenched. “Funny. She sure didn’t seem like she belonged to you when she showed up on my turf terrified and alone.”
“Drew—” Kate tried, but I didn’t let him finish.
I stepped forward, chest to chest with him. “You finish that sentence, I swear, I’ll put a bullet in you.”
“Oh, do it,” he shot back. “I dare you. Because the only reason she survived these last months is because I kept her alive.”
“You kept her hostage in your territory,” I snapped.
“I kept her breathing,” he snarled.
We’re both tall, but Drew had the anger of a man who’d been holding his emotions hostage for months. His fists were balled so tight the tendons stood out. His pulse hammered in his neck.
Kate stepped between us—bad move.
Both of us surged forward at the same moment, instinct kicking in, and she nearly stumbled.
I caught her arms. Drew caught her waist.
We froze, horror ripping through all three of us.
“DON’T MOVE HER LIKE THAT!” Drew barked.
“DON’T TOUCH HER,” I roared.
And then—I swung first.
My fist cracked against Drew’s jaw so hard the birds flew out of the trees. He staggered back, spit blood, then came at me like a freight train.
His shoulder slammed into my ribs.
I threw him off.