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Epilogue
Jo
~ 6 months later ~
I finish the presentation and turn to the table of silent men, forcing myself not to cradle the barely showing bump beneath my suit. With the cut of the gorgeous black and red jacket, no one would have any idea that I’m pregnant with the newest member of the O’Reilly dynasty—not even Quinn. But from the way he’s been eyeing me throughout my speech to the Alliance, I can’t help thinking he knows.
Finally, the Greek family head speaks, Sicarrio. “How confident are you in your data?” he asks, and I steadfastly ignore Quinn’s quiet snort beside me.
“Completely,” I say. “In the wake of recovering from the betrayal of one of my closest retainers, I realized that I was likely not the only one guilty of being unable to maintain complete control over my personnel. With your gracious permission, I installed monitors in each of your operations, and the results are irrefutable. We’re bleeding money, gentlemen. Some of it benignly, some of it less so, but the bottom line remains. We’ve created our own black market between the first and second-tier families. We’ve got to take a more personal interest in our own operations and clean things up, or the second-tier families will continue to take advantage of our lapses…and our other competitors besides.”
“I notice your data doesn’t include the O’Reilly household,” Grimm points out, well, grimly.
“If y’think I didn’t have Jo hit me first, you’re dead wrong,” Quinn drawls. “You’ve got a test case in front of you that lays it all out. We found a half dozen sharps skimming money off the top of our export business, had been doing it for years. Like Jo’s situation, they were holdovers from my father’s generation, and I’d never thought to pay any attention to them. They’ve been given options to pay back their debts, and they’re considerin’ those. Deeply.”
“Most of the cases aren’t anywhere as damaging as Geno Markson’s case, but they still bear addressing,” I continue, fully taking the blame for my mistakes. It’s gotten easier with time, and with the entirely new life I’ve embarked upon. We sold every stick of furniture out of the brownstone, then sold the brownstone itself after I moved in with Quinn, and put my limited staff through a rigorous re-onboarding. Now, for the first time in my life, I feel like I know my people beyond their data sheets—mine, and Quinn’s as well. And Mo’s still with me too, of course. Which makes all of this so much sweeter.
“Agreed,” Hernandez says, his dark eyes watching me closely. “And something else bears addressing as well, si? We’ve dwelled on negative business too long, Mrs. O’Reilly. Is there something you’d like to share with us?”
“I—” I blink at him, but it’s Ivanov who claps his hands together.
“Yes!” the Russian barks. “I thought I was the only one. Vodka! We need vodka. You can’t expect me to drink that Irish swill at such an important moment.”
I turn to Quinn, but he’s grinning at me ear to ear as the doors open at the far end of the conference room and a fleet of servers come in, each bearing the drink of choice of the family heads. “Quinn?” I ask helplessly.
He stands and walks to me. “Am I right? Are you pregnant and just waiting to share the good news?”
“Quinn!” I stare at him, my cheeks flushing red. The family heads burst into applause at my obvious reaction, but I only have eyes for my devil-may-care Zorro, grinning down at me as he gathers me into his arms. “How did you know?”
“What can I say? I always trust my instincts,” he murmurs, hugging me close. “And when it comes to my instincts about one Jo Prescott O’Reilly, they’ve never let me down yet.”
* * *
THE END!
