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“You don’t know how happy you have made us.”
“Then there’s something else I need to tell you.” A luxury sedan the color of a ghost pulls into the alleyway and three men step out with long coats and grim expressions.
I don’t care. My men need to hear this. “I love you. I have since that first night.” I look expectantly between all three. “I don’t know how, but I knew that night I wanted more with you. Maybe that’s why I returned the night my mother died. Instinct. Something primal in me that told me I would be safe with you.”
“Our sweet little birdie, you’ve become quite the hunter.” Con strokes the underside of my jawline and bumps my chin with the pad of his thumb. “Maybe you were all along.”
Maybe I was.
Epilogue
Laila, three glorious toe-curling weeks later
We never did get those four nights at Club Sin. But that’s okay. I have a lifetime with my men and I know we will return to our favorite club for some fun as time allows. It might be hard for the first two years. As it turns out, I presented the idea of establishing our own version of Club Genesis in Seattle. The men didn’t want me to be an undertaker and that is fine. I’ll be too plump to touch my toes in a few months. So I opted for the second-best option. Being the boss of the undertakers alongside my men.
With my law degree and their pedigree—plus mine—we won’t have any issues getting members to see the benefit of being a member. The men of Genesis back in Chicago have agreed to be our advisers until we are up and running. If all goes well, we will form an alliance that will serve the underworld. I’ll have to work hard not to end up like my father and die before my time, but crime pays. With us at the helm of this city, we’ll at least have a fighting chance of keeping the streets clean and under our reign.
A week after my stepfather's death I had powerful men reaching out to me. My mother did a great job of hiding from her birthright in the crime world she was born into. With her and my stepfather gone, the power has shifted to me and those who respected the Romano name want to build the family back and want me at the top with the crown. Especially if I can’t even shoot a gun.
I slap at Con’s hand when he tries to hand me a small snub-nose revolver.
“Woman. You either take this or I will be glued to your ass from here on out.” His brows are pulled low over his eyes and his mouth is doing that flat-lined thing it does when he gets mad.
Poor baby. There’s more than one way to rule over one’s territory.
I cock a hip and lean against a table filled with empty magazines, various revolvers, a couple of Glocks, and others I can’t remember. He told me the name of them but he might as well be counting off the names of soccer teams. They are all the same to me.
“Who says I need your protection?”
His large hand takes mine and before I know it that revolver is shoved in my hand. “Damn it, Dante. Not you too.”
My other loverslashblood husbandslashtorture shrugs and my empty hand is itching to slap that smug look off his face.
“Raise it and shoot me. Let me make it easier for you.”
Con comes in front of me. He’s wearing black cargo pants and a black t-shirt stretched over muscles I’d much rather lick than shoot.
“Some days, Con. Some days you do tempt me.” I try to put the gun on the table but his fingers wrap around mine, preventing me.
“Good,” he grunts, and the freaking lunatic steps into the gun.
“Now, pull the trigger.”
“No.”
“Point the gun at Con. Shoot him.”
Bastian who has stayed quiet for the last fifteen minutes while he cleaned his gun finally joins the debate.
“Great. You too? This is stupid.” I’m surrounded by all three now and it seems the only way out of this is if I pull the trigger.
“Until you can pull the trigger without hesitation you need our protection.”
“I can't shoot you.”
“Why not?” His arms are a shield over his chest as he crosses them.
I narrow my eyes on Con. He wants to play? Okay. Let’s turn the tables a little.
