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I laughed at her comment. “Technically, they are his uncles.”
“Yeah, sure. But that’s not how we’re raising them. You are just as much the father of Eve as Marcello. These kids are so lucky to have four dads. Most people don’t get one decent dad.”
I kissed the cherry tattoo she’d gotten behind her right ear, sucking the lobe into my mouth.
After the kids were born, she got a tattoo to represent each of us. We each took turns kissing her in the places we marked. Showing her how much we loved and worshiped her.
Even after nearly fifteen years, we still fucked her together every week. None of us were too busy to find time to be together.
Alex moved between each of our beds every night. We preferred it that way and had no plans to change our routine. But on Saturdays, the kids spent time with our relatives, so we could claim every inch of our wife’s body. Over and over for twenty-four hours straight.
“I love you, Cherry.” I dragged my tongue across her ear, and she whimpered. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to us.”
“Duh.” Alex chuckled. “But you guys were a godsend. And to think I wanted to run when you made me come back to Devil’s Creek.”
“I’m glad you didn’t run.” I turned her head to the side to kiss her pretty pink lips. “Even if you did, we would have chased you to the ends of the earth.”
ChapterTwenty-Three
MARCELLO
Two years later…
At least two hundred people gathered at the Franco-Salvatore Gallery, a converted warehouse in Devil’s Creek. Alex opened the gallery with Luca’s help five years ago. The surprise anniversary gift would have been from all of us if the bastard had told us about it.
Luca still liked to play games.
Anything to make us look bad.
Alex was his wife on paper, and he ensured we remembered that.
But she was ours.
So, it surprised me when he asked for our help with this event to celebrate the next generation.
Years ago, Alex had turned the art world upside down with her modern Art Deco underworld-inspired paintings. She was still the Franco Foundation director, the gallery curator, and a solo artist. And the mother of six beautiful children, with the seventh on the way.
Lucky number seven.
This time, Alex didn’t want to know the sex or the paternity. So it would be a surprise to discover in the birthing room.
Luca and Bastian each had two boys.
Damian stood in front of one of Alex’s paintings beside Sofia. She was fifteen and a sophomore in high school.
Sofia looked exactly like Damian, with long black hair and her mother’s big blue eyes. She was beautiful, drawing way too much attention from the boys at Astor Prep.
Thankfully, Leo and Angelo were as intimidating as Luca in their first year. According to Sofia, they terrorized everyone at school and kept the boys away from her. I could only imagine the mini versions of Luca running around that school like my brother did during his reign of terror.
Eve was thirteen and had been painting since she was seven. Back then, it was just for fun—a splash of color on a canvas, a few lines, and swirls. But my little girl was becoming a real artist.
I held her trembling hand and steered her over to the paintings displayed on the wall. Canvases both of us painted for the show. “It’s okay to be nervous,” I told her. “But you don’t have to be. You’re so talented, Eve.”
She peeked up at me and smiled. “What if people think I suck? I’m not as good as Ma or Nonna.”
Even though she’d never met my mom, she still called her Nonna. We talked about her as if she were still here. And after Eve started painting, she wanted to study my mother’s work. She said her art spoke to her, just like Alex had said years ago.
They were so much alike.
