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“Yes,” Danny said and kissed me. “I should also probably tell you that I am deeply—deeply in love with you.”
“About time you ‘fessed up, Michaelson,” I said and clung to him tighter.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a laugh. “And as fun—and uh, exerting as last night was, I don’t want to share you for a while.”
“You’re the one who brought Kir here,” I said.
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Danny said and kissed my neck. “Quite the opposite. The recordings will back me up.”
He kissed me and then gazed at me. “I know we have a lot to talk about and I have months—maybe years of groveling ahead of me, and trust to rebuild, but I want you to know, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy and safe.” Danny kissed me. “I love you more than I think you know, Sara Tailor.”
“You better not let me go again, then,” I said, even as I fought tears back.
“I won’t,” he whispered. “I can’t.”
And after that, neither of us said a word for a long time, we just held each other as the sun came up.
Finally, though, I stirred and smiled at him. “You’re free, from all of it—what do you want to do?”
Danny smiled at me and gave me a wicked look, tossing me on the bed and standing up. “I want—hm, what do I want?” He looked me over. “I think I want coffee.”
“Danny,” I shouted as he laughed and ran into the bathroom, with me chasing after him, my heart full and ready.
Because I knew I needed to prove to him, as Kir had implied in so many words, that Danny had to understand that I would never let him go again either.
EPILOGUE
Daniel
One year later
I left the office later than I meant to, thanks to a problem with our overseas office in Germany, and was cursing in German and Italian as I rushed to the waiting car. All I could hope was that by some miracle, I’d make it on time. Pulling at my tie as I scrambled in, I thanked the driver for waiting and he zoomed off into the foggy night, already aware of where we were going and who was waiting.
My heart began to pound faster as the lights of San Francisco swept by and I leaned back against the cool leather seat. I’d never thought I’d live anywhere beside Boston, and while I sometimes missed it, I now couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. The driver navigated the steep inclines of downtown with ease, and I tried to calm myself, tried not to mark everylandmark and street we passed as we got closer and closer to the restaurant.
Settling back, I glanced at my phone, and saw that Lia had texted me a picture of Mario sticking out his tongue, and had followed it up with,thinking about getting a dog—thoughts?I texted her back, marveling that this was my life now. It was all so wonderfully normal. Messages about my nephew from Lia, or from Ty about planning a visit to see them down in Los Angeles, where they now lived. My heart beat a little faster as another message came in, a picture of beautiful Korean woman with flawless makeup, raising an eyebrow at the camera.
Sara’s name in my phone was “future wifey,”something she’d done one night earlier this year when we’d been silly and tipsy, and I couldn’t bring myself to change it.
It seemed like a good omen.
I know, I know,I texted Sara.
You better be worth the wait.Sara fired back.
I huffed a laugh to myself.I think I have a decent track record.
Have I told you that I am NOT a patient person?Sara asked and she sent another picture, one that she must have taken earlier in the day, and I swallowed a groan.
It was a picture of her standing in our apartment bathroom, looking over her shoulder, as she held a towel to her front, yet revealed a bit of the side of her breast, and the curve of her ass.Such a fucking tease, I texted back.You’ll pay for that.
I look forward to it,Sara responded.If you ever get here. What happened to leaving early?
I sighed and texted her back an explanation. We were in the throes of a serious negotiation with our German office to expand further into Europe. I was just the CIO, while Sara was the CEO, but this project was all mine, and I was determined to see it through. We’d already had wild success—beyond our wildest hopes, and I knew how good Sara was.
And me, too, I supposed, especially now that I was starting make a far different kind of reputation for myself. I was no longer Daniel Michaelson, but Danny Michaels. Sometimes it felt like I’d always been this guy and the whole mobster thing had been a bad dream.
My therapist, impressed with my progress and determination, said that I had to be careful—that this might have been another coping mechanism of my brain, another way to disassociate, and that it could cause me issues down the road. Which was the last thing I wanted to happen, as I wanted a happy ending with the woman I loved more than anything else. And if we wanted a family.
