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“Always you, Em,” Jack whispered, sweat beading along his brow. He looked manic and absolutely beautiful. “You’re it for me, baby. You’re everything.”
I stared, slack-jawed, as he found solace within me. His gaze stayed locked on mine, and I could see the doubt disappear—replaced by euphoria and pure, unconditional love. The lines of his face hardened and my name ripped from his throat. I wanted to recommit every step of his orgasm to memory, but I couldn’t hold mine off any longer—not when I had the devil coming apart inside me. He held me as my body trembled with the release of energy. Like a rubber band that’d been pulled too tight, I snapped in two. But this time, I had Jack to stitch me back together—and he had me.
“Was that everything?” he panted, collapsing on my chest.
“And more.”
We lay like that for a while, entangled in every possible way. His familiar weight was a comfort. He was right—I loved when he pinned me down, hard surface or not. My muscles twitched with exertion and the pain in my head was returning. I would need to take something before my headache got too terrible. But it was nice just being for a while—shutting the impending shit storm out and focusing on us.
“What made you choose the Roman numerals on your hand?” I asked, disturbing the silence. We’d spent far too much of our relationship choosing to make love instead of talking. It was important we had time for both now.
Jack was silent for a minute. I thought he’d fallen asleep, despite his semi-hard cock inside me. “It’s the day I killed for the first time.”
I didn’t need to glance down to know the numbers inked into his skin, but it still caught my breath. “That was—”
“Eighteen years ago. I was ten. My brothers were in detention. Miraculously, I wasn’t. When I got home, my father handed me a gun. He ordered me to shoot the man tied up in the kitchen. I asked him why and he backhanded me. Told me never to question an order. So, I did it. Shot him right between the eyes with no excuse other than Frank told me to do it.”
“Then what happened?” I whispered.
“He took the gun and hit me over the head with it. Said I must never close my eyes when I kill, to always look at them until they take their last breath.” Jack hesitated, then took a deep inhale and continued. “With every hit, every drug deal, every intimidation tactic, I hoped I was making my father’s life easier. That, maybe, if I killed the men who were causing him trouble, he wouldn’t be so angry. He wouldn’t need to drink. He wouldn’t hit us. But it never stopped. It only got worse until, one day, I realized I was stronger than him, and Frank knew it, too. He couldn’t control me anymore.”
Jack’s voice was monotone, but I knew the retelling had an effect on him. His jaw was tense against my breasts, his head still burrowed between them. I reached for his face and pulled him up to me, forcing his erection to slide out. I kissed him, masking my agony at the picture he painted—a young, naïve boy who just wanted to make his psychotic father happy.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Fuck.” He groaned, grinding himself into me. “I can go again.”
“You’re a fiend,” I joked. His grin took my breath away. That Jack could still smile after surviving hell, after convincing himself he was the devil, was a miracle. He was my miracle. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom. I have to take some Advil.”
His gaze flitted to the stitches on my forehead. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I insisted, rising from the sofa alongside him. “I just have a bit of a headache. I’ll be fine.”
“We can stop.”
“I don’t want to,” I argued, making my way into the kitchen. “Besides, you owe me five days of orgasms. And we’re seeing Shannon and Charlotte off at the hangar tomorrow morning, so go to our bedroom and get clocked in.”
Jack burst into laughter. “I’ll show you clocking in, lass.”
He grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles. I pushed him toward the master suite before he could distract me. As the sound of his feet meeting the marble faded away, I grabbed the Advil from the cupboard and poured myself a large glass of water.
While I padded down the hallway to join Jack, I gave myself a little pep talk. It was important for us to enjoy tonight. Like Kieran said, it was likely our last day of peace. I hadn’t heard from Don Luca, but that didn’t mean much. The man was diabolical—he’d make his play soon.
And me? Well, I would stay ten moves ahead of him. Killing the Babau was just the first step in my plan. Everything was happening as I’d predicted. I’d be ready for tomorrow, and the day after that. I had nothing to worry about.
Not with everything and more at my fingertips.
Epilogue
Luca Nicoletti was an impatient man. He didn’t like to put things off, but the web of lies he’d spun for law enforcement and reporters alike had to be pristine. It helped that he controlled a large portion of the local media. Still, one wrong word—one insubstantial fact—and the story would come tumbling down.
Amara Marino was my niece, yes, but we were not close. You see, my sister was having financial troubles and I offered my assistance by taking her daughter in. Upon Amara’s arrival in America, I checked her work visa and everything appeared to be in order. She was odd and distant, but I chalked it up to a difficult childhood. I hoped she would open herself to a new culture, new friends, new environment. I was just as concerned about this serial killer as the rest of the city. Until this morning’s story, I had no idea what she was doing. This has come as a massive shock to me and my family.
That evening, Luca was at last able to sit down in his study, away from the prying eyes of his men. Away from the turmoil of police and FBI that had swarmed his building in Little Italy, pestering him for information. Don Luca had spent decades building relationships with influential parties, law enforcement being one of them. As a result, they took him at his word.
The flash drive had sat in his suit pocket all day, burning a hole through it. He was antsy to see his grandson’s suicide note for himself. It was the one thing he had to remember him by, apart from Emma Marshall. That young woman had grown a lot since Christmas. Her eyes were sharper, her threats more lethal now that she’d proved she could follow through.
When the shot had rung out from her gun, the pride that had surged through Luca had surprised him. He’d come to think of little Emma as more of a protégée than an enemy. She was flourishing, adapting quicker than most people did in their entire lives. He only wished she was on his side, under his careful, guiding hand. She was a prodigy in the Mafia world—a twisted scene filled with underhanded deals, quick wit and blood. So much blood. He’d known her potential when he’d first laid eyes on her.
