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I don’t even punch him because I’m too fucking happy. “Hannah just agreed to marry me.”
Marco’s face stretches into a grin. “That right? Congratulations!”
I hear Leo growl something like, “If you fucking run, I will hunt you down and eat your goddamn liver,” to Emilio before he comes over and holds his hand out. “Did I just hear that right?”
“Yes,” Hannah says with a watery laugh.
“She’s now my fiancée,” I fill in. “And she’s having my baby.”
“Whoa!” Marco grins.
Leo’s brows wing up. “Way to lock it in, Mando.”
There are smiles all around. Hell, I may even be smiling—that would be new.
“Mando.” Hannah looks up at me under her curled lashes. “That’s what they call you?”
I nod. “Yeah. Childhood nickname.”
“I like it.”
“I like you.” I pull her against me and kiss the bridge of her nose.
Emilio stands and watches us, shoulders slouched, misery and fear lining his face. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t made a run for it, but he probably knows Leo told the truth. We would hunt him to the ends of the earth if he ran. Besides, he has a fiancée waiting at home for him.
Maybe he thinks he’ll still make it out of this alive.
Arturo yells to Lorenzo in Italian to watch him, and I feel somewhat vindicated. It’s not just Marco and Leo on my side. It’s everyone.
I don’t know what the don will do, but that current of loyalty, the strength of family that’s been missing since I got out, turns back on. All but one of these men have my back.
It takes most of the sting away from knowing one of our own tried to buy my death.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hannah
“This is my place,” Armando murmurs, opening the door to his apartment and flipping on the lights. His cousins, Marco and Leo both have apartments in the same building. I know because we all took the same elevator up.
After Armando called some friends in to clean the glass up at my place, he left someone in charge of staying all night to watch over the place until we can get the windows and door replaced tomorrow.
“It’s nice,” I say. It’s way nicer than mine in terms of size and location although devoid of any personality.
“We could live here, if you want, because it’s bigger. You can do whatever you want with it—make it colorful, like you.”
I peer up at him. “You think I’m colorful?”
He turns to fully face me and wraps both arms around me. “Yeah.” He brushes his lips over my nose. “Beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life.” He glances at my belly, and his lips turn up. “Literally.”
I love seeing the smile on his face. There are signs of fatigue around his eyes, but he looks more relaxed and happy than I’ve ever seen him. He told me on the way home that everything had been solved—there was no longer a hit out on him, and that it had been Emilio who put the contract out and hired the gang to execute it after Armando killed the first hitman. I told him about the phone call I overheard—how he must’ve canceled it after he learned we were a couple. I’m not saying that makes it all right—and I won’t forgive Emilio for what he did—but it counts for something, I guess.
He leads me to the bedroom and gently pulls his shirt over my head. “I love seeing you in my clothes, Flowers,” he rumbles, working the button on my shorts. He drops to a crouch, sliding his hands down my thighs as he pulls them down and off my legs. Then he stands and walks around me, trailing his fingertips lightly over my skin. It’s so different from the rough way he usually takes me. He kisses across my shoulder, along the lines of my tattoo. “So beautiful,” he murmurs.
Warmth floods my chest, making my breasts grow heavy, my nipples taut. I don’t know if I’m sensing his emotions or my own—they’re so intertwined. All the hard edges, the walls between us are gone now.
He moves behind me and unhooks my bra then cups my breasts, strumming my nipples with his thumbs. His teeth graze my neck. “That goomba shit with Lorenzo?” he says. “That’s not me. I won’t ever do that to you. I make a vow to you, Flowers, I’ll keep it.”
My heart picks up speed. This man is going to be my husband. Daddy to our child. I hadn’t doubted him, but it’s nice to hear him swear to be faithful. I lean my head back against his shoulder and cover his hands with my fingers. He catches my wrists and pulls them above my head caged in one of his hands, lifting and spreading my breasts. With his other hand, he pinches my nipples, which are already hard as diamonds.
I moan softly. “They’re tender,” I complain.
