“Okay. I’ll stay for as long as you need in this safe house,” I reply lightly. “I’ll be your captive.”
A slow smile develops on his face again and it’s getting easier for him, I think. He reaches out and rests the backs of his fingers on my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
“Everywhere is your safe house when you’re with me.”
I thought my heart couldn’t expand further, but it does.
“I would die to protect you,” he murmurs as he looks into my eyes, sincerity in his. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the woman I love. Those men who hurt you were just the beginning. Anything it takes. Any sacrifice. I’d kill any number of men to keep you safe and by my side, moya koshechka.”
“Brody. My angel.” I pull him closer to me, his warm heat enveloping me. He’s been my Dark Angel, looking over me, for three years. And now he’s mine. “I love you.”
18
BRODY
Three months later
The happiest moment of my life is seeing my bride step onto the lawn as the music swells. The sun is shining, and well-dressed guests including a who’s who of the London Mafia Syndicate since Caterina is now in their book club and has told me I have to be nice to them, are sitting in neat rows in our walled garden.
And I’m the luckiest man in the world.
Caterina looks stunning. She takes my breath away. This girl is the sun, my everything. The source of all the good things in my life, and I’m so grateful that she somehow loves a grumpy mafia boss twice her age.
A little sob comes from the front row, but I don’t look over to see who it is. I already know, and my smile widens.
“Doesn’t she look beautiful?” says Caterina’s mother. “My baby is all grown up.”
I found Caterina’s parents in the Cayman islands, as expected. It was a cute family reunion. While they weren’t delighted about her choice of fiancé being a mafia boss, they didn’t take too much persuading. They love her, and since she’sglowing with early pregnancy and being spoiled to within an inch of her life, they gave their blessing. I think my reassurances about the Geraci mafia having been disposed of helped, too.
“She’s a credit to you, Mrs Hart.” But what I mean is that Caterina is a credit to herself. It’s her hard work that made this wedding as stunning as it is. She chose everything, I just gave her a bank account in her name with a lot of money in it and said yes to her every idea.
She holds my gaze as she walks down the aisle between the guests. At her side is her father, but I only see her. And when she reaches me, and takes my hand, my chest is an expanding balloon that threatens to lift me off my feet from sheer happiness. I could hold Caterina to me and float away.
But thankfully, my heart only feels light. This sensation is still unfamiliar after decades of snapping and growling at everyone. Caterina marrying me is more than I deserve.
And when she repeats her vows with so much love in her eyes, and slides a thick platinum band onto my finger, I can’t resist catching her hand to press an illicit kiss onto her soft palm. I enjoy every moment of our wedding ceremony, because Caterina crafted it.
After the formalities that make her officially mine, there’s a reception in the garden. The same one where we finally understood each other. Caterina is busy hugging people and being perfect. All I have to do is stand by her side like a very protective and pleased gargoyle. I love watching her so happy.
“Congratulations,” says a voice to me.
“Thank you.” I don’t look away from Caterina.
“Worked out well in the end, didn’t it.” The voice is posh. And not good at taking a hint.
“Yes.”
“How did you get on with the Italians?”
“Fine,” I reply.
Caterina laughs as her mother exclaims loudly about how proud she is of her daughter with her Business Studies degree. The university was very understanding about the alternative exam arrangements, after I made a substantial donation.
“Angel, you’ve married her. You can take your eyes off your wife for two minutes. I’m sure you’re aware of object permanence. She won’t disappear if you’re not looking at her,” the kingpin of Westminster drawls.
To make a point, I stroke Caterina’s shoulder and kiss the top of her head in a leisurely fashion, before I murmur to her, “I love you, I just need to speak with a self-important zhopa.”
She nods and clasps my hand briefly.
