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"She's your pet," Angelo reminded him. "She needs to be trained."
"I'm pretty sure she's housebroken," Bobby smiled.
"I mean, we need to ensure that she never, ever gets one over on us again."
"You mean she might still be a spy," Bobby murmured. "She might not have left that Organization at all. Or she might still be loyal to the Spencers, or there might be some other dark secret lurking waiting to destroy us all."
Angelo's lips quirked at Bobby's rather effusive laying out of all the potential options. "Yes."
Bobby leaned his head against Angelo's shoulder. "Is it wrong that I don't care?"
"Yes."
"Oh well. I think we both know this isn't over yet."
It was never over. But Angelo was content to let things be for the moment. Much had been lost, and there was still so much to be done. He had plans for a new home. He had plans for a whole new way of being. He could not say it to Bobby, but he had plans to start construction on the home he had vowed to make for them all, the true, final, ultimate location for all things Vitali. When that was constructed, he was going to reunite everybody. Mark. Tilly. The baby. They were all coming home. It started with keeping Gemma close and ensuring that there were no more dark surprises waiting in the wings.
"It might not be over, boy," Angelo said. "But for now, this is the end."
* * *
Epilogue
It wasn't the end. Because endings were trite attempts to pretend that stories wrapped themselves up in tight little bows when the good guys had won and the baddies had been vanquished - but that was not how life really worked. Nothing ever really ended, especially not when it involved Lady Willow Spencer.
Who was also not dead.
Willow woke up swathed in bandages, every bit of her body aching. Her memory was an empty dark vibration. At first, she did not know who she was. It took several long, twitching moments for any shred of recollection to make it through her shattered mind.
"You're safe. We have you." Refined words in a proper British accent set her confusion at ease and stilled the whimper which had almost appeared on her lips.
"Arthur…"
He reached for her, his hand wrapping around hers in a gentle but firm squeeze. He would have answered to anything she chose to call him. This was one man whose devotion was unquestioned. He blended into the background, barely noticed by most, but he was perhaps the most important person in Willow's universe. Seeing his calm, refined, and above all, composed features above her made some of the pain and confusion slip away.
"Where am I?"
"You are in your private hospital, Lady Spencer. You were shot several times, but you've survived. Your constitution is heartier than lead."
"Digby…"
"Your brother is dead. I'm sorry to tell you so bluntly, but your previous instructions indicated you wished to be informed immediately on regaining consciousness. I have a briefing if you are ready."
Willow looked down her wrapped, cast, and bandaged body. She could not move much more than her eyes, but she was ready to hear the truth. Much had been taken from her. She could only hope that even more had been taken from her mortal enemy.
"Angelo Vitali? Was he captured?"
"He was not. His current location is unknown."
"Has Tilly Braybrooke been found?"
"She has not."
"So it was a failure in every way. The entire mission."
Her aide's jaw tightened with righteous angst. "By traditional measures of success, no, it was not successful. But you will recover. Your power grows, Lady Willow. Do not lose hope yet."
Willow found herself broken but still alive. Her bones would knit back together. Her wounds would heal, leaving scars, no doubt. She would be weaker, yet stronger, lit with a desire for a level of revenge which made her initial impulse for revenge seem like a soggy afternoon's craft project by comparison. When she was well, Angelo would suffer a fate so spectacularly cruel that her own current predicament would seem like a walk through spring daffodils.
"I hope you are happy, Angelo," she whispered. "Be happy for now. Your time is coming. Your enemies are gathering, and I shall be at the head of them, wielding the sword of my ancestors to cut you down."
"Rest, Willow," her aide said, his tone smooth and calming. "Your revenge may have been delayed, but it will not be denied."
"I want them to see me. When I am well. I want to appear before them, a vision of justice. I want Angelo and his boy groveling before me, choking on their blood and begging for mercy which will surely not come."
She rasped the words out, her mind full of the most potent poison. Her vendetta against Angelo had begun with the desire for revenge, and it had ended in the deaths of her loved ones. Digby was gone. Gemma was gone. She had not expected to miss Gemma, but there was a certain loss in not having her gasping breathlessly over everything. She would be missed, but she had served her purpose.
