Epilogue Tomas
My wife is laughing at a bulletproof vest like it’s the punchline to the world’s darkest joke.
"Military grade," Natalie says, running her fingers over the Kevlar with the same appreciation she uses when examining evidence. "Your homicidal cousin sent me body armor for Christmas."
She holds it up against herself, modeling it like lingerie, and the sight of her in nothing but my blood-red silk robe treating tactical gear as fashion makes my cock stir.
One year. Fifty-two weeks since she chose to stay, since I called her my wife with a gun pressed to Leonardo's temple.
Three-hundred sixty-five days of transformation from prosecutor to something far more dangerous.
Now she's mine completely, the most formidable addition to our family, finding Leonardo's aggressive protection amusing rather than terrifying.
"Last year he wanted me dead," she continues, that dark humor threading through her voice like smoke. "This year he wants me bulletproof. Progress."
The package arrived ten minutes ago, interrupting what was shaping up to be an excellent Christmas morning.
She'd emerged from our marble shower singing "White Christmas," her trained voice making the crystal water glasses vibrate, steam billowing around her like she was walking out of a dream.
Or a nightmare, depending on which side of the law you're on.
Through floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan spreads below us, twenty stories down, covered in fresh Christmas snow.
This penthouse was Domenico's gift after accepting her into the family, after she shook his hand and became our legal counsel.
After our wedding. The family finally claiming her completely.
Sirens wail in the distance, reminding us that while we celebrate, the city bleeds.
I watch her examine Leonardo's note again, his harsh script practically carved into the paper: "For the family lawyer. Try not to die before you finish destroying our enemies. -L"
The tension in my shoulders should ease, but it doesn't. We haven't spoken since that day at the cabin, when I held a gun to his head for her.
He sends reports through the family, fulfills his obligations, but the brotherhood we had is dead.
This gift is his way, aggressive, practical, carrying an insult wrapped in acceptance.
"It bothers you," she says, setting down the vest to move toward me with that predatory grace she's developed. The prosecutor's softness has been carved away by a year of gun training under my instruction, of learning to think like us. What's left is lethal.
"He's acknowledging you're family. But also reminding us that family means being a target."
"Only in this family would violence become a love language.
" She straddles my lap on the leather couch, silk robe riding up her thighs, revealing she's wearing nothing underneath.
Her body settles against mine, ownership in every movement.
"You know what's funny? A year ago, this would have been evidence in a case I was building.
Now it's just Tuesday. Well, Christmas, but you get it. "
Her hips roll against me, making my breath catch. Even after a full year, every touch feels like conquest and surrender wrapped together. "That woman you found freezing to death? She was weak. She believed the system would save people like her father."
She cups my face in hands that have pulled triggers now, that have signed documents condemning our enemies to legal oblivion. "This version? This version saves herself. Saves you."
"You even saved even Leonardo's ungrateful ass when the FBI came sniffing," I say, gripping her hips to hold her still before this conversation becomes something else entirely.
Sometimes I wonder if I saved her or damned her. Then she smiles like a shark, and I know we damned each other perfectly.
"I'm the family lawyer now," she continues, deliberately grinding against my hardening cock through my pajama pants.
"I've already identified weaknesses in two rival families' operations.
I know exactly how to dismantle the Santos RICO case before it reaches indictment.
I've learned to shoot, to fight, to think like you think. "
She leans down, her mouth brushing my ear. "Oh, and Domenico kept his promise. The Carluccis? The ones who framed my father? I've already found the leverage we need. Turns out they have sloppy accountants."
Seneca wrote that what stands in the way becomes the way. Natalie was my obstacle. Now she's my path.
"Your cousin sends me armor because he finally understands what you saw from the beginning." She pulls back to look at me, darkened eyes bright with arousal and power.
"My perfect wife," I say, hands sliding up her thighs, gripping possessively.
She reaches between us, frees my cock from the pajamas with movements made smooth by a year of constant fucking.
"Equal? I'm the one who keeps you out of prison, Mr. Rosetti."
"And I'm the one who keeps you alive, Mrs. Rosetti."
"Merry Christmas, husband," she purrs, positioning herself above me. "Ready for your present? Fair warning, it involves you screaming my name."
She sinks down onto me in one fluid motion that has us both gasping.
A year of constant need, of learning each other's bodies, and it still feels like the first time.
Like coming home and conquering new territory at once.
The Christmas tree lights blur as she moves above me, taking her pleasure, taking what's hers.
"Yes," she gasps as she rides me, the silk robe falling off her shoulders.
I pull the robe completely off, needing to see all of her, needing to worship what we've become.
My mouth finds her throat, where I can feel her pulse racing, can taste the salt of her skin mixed with a perfume I had made just for her.
Egyptian cotton sheets on our bed upstairs still hold her warmth from earlier, but I need her here, now, claiming her in the living room where Leonardo's gift sits like a witness to our darkness.
Every movement claims her again, marks her as mine even though she already owns me completely. Her trained voice breaks on my name as she comes, and I follow her over, filling her with my release and my promise to keep her forever.
Later, after she's properly thanked me for her Christmas presents and I've returned the favor with my mouth until she screamed loud enough to echo off the marble, we stand together at the windows.
She's wearing the silk robe again, and I've got my arms around her from behind, holding her against my chest. The city below is quiet, Christmas morning keeping most people inside with their families.
We are with ours, in our own way.
"The family wants us at dinner tonight," I tell her, pressing a kiss to her temple where her dark hair is still damp from our exertions. "Official family Christmas."
"With Leonardo?"
"With everyone."
"He needs someone," she says, gazing north toward the Rosetti manor, where Leonardo lives with his siblings.
I scoff.
She turns in my arms, looks up at me with those eyes that have seen every dark piece of me and still look at me like I'm something worth saving. "Maybe every monster deserves a chance at redemption. We got ours."
"Leonardo won't get redemption. He'll get sold off to the highest bidder. He's too close to the center of the family to marry for love. His wedding will be for power, not to somebody he chooses."
She sighs, looking sad. "And not to somebody who chooses him."
I tilt her chin up, staring into those eyes. "Not everybody gets a love like ours." I kiss her softly, brimming with gratitude.
"Speaking of redemption," she says against my lips, "your mother invited us to Rome for New Year's."
I pull back slightly. "How do you—"
"You left your phone open after you called her yesterday. First conversation in twenty years, and you didn't think I'd notice you were different after?" She traces my jaw with one finger. "She sounds lovely. Eager to meet the woman who got her son to finally break his silence."
She turns back to look outside, leaning her back against my chest. The snow continues falling, covering the city in white, hiding all the blood and sins beneath frozen water.
In the glass, I can see our reflection, the killer and his corrupted lawyer, wrapped together like we're the only solid thing in a world of shadows.
She starts humming another Christmas carol. The melody vibrates through her chest into mine, sacred and profane at once. The prosecutor is dead. And what's risen in her place makes my blood sing with dark promises that will echo through every Christmas to come.
Thanks so much for reading Unholy Night!