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My brows draw together a little. “Look at what?”
A smile curves the corners of his lips, and he glances at the bed where I was lying with the men just a moment ago. “At my family.”
The simple happiness in his voice almost knocks me off my feet. I stand there frozen for a moment, absorbing his words. Then I step forward, moving carefully as I crawl onto his lap.
He welcomes me, helping me settle into place with my knees on either side of his hips. He catches my face in his hands and smiles at me, and I rest my own hands over his, leaning in to kiss him.
His family.
Our family.
That’s what this is—what this is the beginning of. Something bigger than I could’ve ever imagined.
I kiss him with everything I have, pouring my emotions into the connection between our lips. And when I feel his cock stiffen beneath me, I roll my hips against him a little, feeding that connection between our souls and our bodies until it burns hotter and hotter.
He lets out a quiet noise, and I draw back, locking gazes with him. Then I reach between us and stroke his length lightly, loving the way his eyelids droop in response. I fist him at the base, angling his shaft to meet my pussy as I rise up and sink back down, impaling myself on his cock.
As I take him inside me, we both watch each other like we’re seeing each other for the first time, and when he’s fully rooted in my warmth, he wraps his arms around me, holding me close.
We move like that in the early morning light, our bodies rocking gently against each other, our soft sighs and moans filling the quiet room until we finally fall apart in each other’s arms.
And it’s everything I could
’ve ever hoped for.
No.
It’s more.
25
Grace
Six Months Later
I take my normal seat at Hale’s right-hand side—a position that speaks for itself.
Hale never made any kind of official announcement about my role in the syndicate, and no one ever bothered to ask, question, or challenge him. It happened as naturally as anything after the shit that went down in the warehouse months ago.
Seated beside Hale, my position speaks power. Influence. All of the things that my mother murdered in cold blood to get, all the things she craved and fought for. The things she betrayed my father for.
But in the end, she got nothing. Her precious kingdom came burning down around her.
Because of me.
From the time they rescued me from my wedding, nearly a year ago now, I’ve been a valuable asset to the mafia in more ways than one. Once, I was a bargaining piece, the daughter of a man who’d held power in the syndicate, a man falsely accused of being a traitor. Then I was a pawn, a piece to be played in my mother’s sick game.
Now, I have a voice. I’m respected. I’m even feared—in the same way Hale is respected by his captains and soldiers and feared by those who would threaten his family.
Hale slides his hand down my thigh beneath the table. It’s not a suggestive gesture, but a comfortable one. Possessive and affectionate. It’s a gesture he does without thinking these days, as if always needing to remind himself that I’m close by his side and safe.
I give him a reassuring smile as the rest of the captains come filtering in one by one, taking their usual seats around the heavy oak table. When Lucas and Zaid come in, they each give me a playful wink, making me fight down a smile. Ciro gives me a nod, his gray eyes warming the instant he sees me.
He’s been healing.
Slowly. Sometimes painfully. But with an unceasing march toward something better.
Ever since the night that each of the men professed their love for me, something has changed in Ciro. Like flowers growing in a graveyard, making darkness and death beautiful somehow, Ciro has become more open, more at peace with himself.
