“I was meant for you, too.” Her voice was soft, and she refused to look at me. She fixed his hair. “You died for me. You killed for me. You love me, us,this, beyond what you can understand. That’s why he’s here, why he’s ours, because you loved us enough to sacrifice everything for this moment.”
She looked up at me, met my eyes, and touched my throat. “I love you,Capo. I’ll always love you. You’re stuck with me forever.”
I took her hand and brought it to my mouth, kissing her pulse longer than usual.
She grinned. “Più delle parole, mio marito,” she whispered in Italian.More than words, my husband.Then she started to hum while she stared at our son.
A knock came at the door. Mariposa didn’t even bother to look up. She was beyond tired and well past in love with the baby in her arms—she was deliriously high on life.
Not long after Saverio had been born, I sent our family out the door. Mariposa needed rest, and I wanted time to study his features without having to share him when one of the women got grabby hands. So I had no idea who it could be—maybe it was one of the nurses, but they usually knocked and then came in.
Keely, Cash Kelly, and Harry Boy stood on the other side of the door. Keely had gifts in her arms.
I narrowed my eyes at the two men after Keely barreled past me, going straight for Mariposa and Saverio.
Harry Boy nodded at me. “Do you mind if—” He nodded toward my wife.
Mariposa glanced up when he asked. Keely had already taken Saverio in her arms, making faces at him, but she looked up, too. All eyes were on me.
I nodded once but said nothing. He thought we were cool after I saved his sister, but he’d always be on thin ice with me. He was still in love with my wife, even after he showed some interest in my cousin, Gigi.
Cash stood at the door, not entering. “You got a minute to spare, Macchiavello?”
I turned to Mariposa. She was biting her lip, squeezing the blankets covering her legs, her eyes wary. She didn’t like that Cash was here.
“A minute,” I said to her.
She nodded once but said nothing. Keely said something to her, but she didn’t look away from me until she knew her point had been caught and taken to heart—don’t commit to anything that would take you away from us.
After shutting the door, we stood out in the hallway, my back to the wall. Cash stood next to me.
“Congratulations,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Your wife did a fine job. Your son is a big, healthy boy.”
He didn’t have a hard Irish accent, but the lilt was there.
I nodded. “You came all this way to chit chat about my family? Doubtful. Let’s discuss business.”
He sighed. “Tell me where I stand with the new King of New York. I’ve heard rumors. After Arturo and Achille were killed, no sons left to claim the throne, rumor has it that you’re the man who’s stepped into the role of king. We don’t usually run in the same circles.” He grinned. “But unforeseen circumstances, gravity, perhaps, has sucked us into this gray area at the same time.”
“You stand right where you are. I stand here. We’re neither friend nor foe. I did you one. You did me one. We’re square now. But I’m not taking over the Scarpone family. That legacy has died with the men who made it into what it was. What it was? Depends on who you ask, but if you ask me, here’s my answer. It was something I want no part of. I’ve made my own life. I’ll rule it the way I see fit. I work for one family beside my own—the Faustis. Other than that….” I shrugged.
I had my investments, my businesses, plenty for me and mine to live comfortably on for the rest of our lives.
It had been my intention to be the new King of New York, the new King Wolf, but unforeseen circumstances—my wife, my son—had changed the direction of my footsteps. And those footsteps led me back to the door where, beyond it, my kingdom waited for me to return.
Epilogue
Mariposa
10 Years Later
“Peeeeeassse. Mamma, peeeassse!”
My entire body tilted to the left, my arm being yanked, my shoulder shaking up and down. “Evelina, child, calm yourself.” I smiled at my spunky five-year old. She was our third child out of four, and our only girl. To say she was the apple of her Papa’s eyes would be a lie—she was the entire pie. And the poor thing had my nose. At least she had her Papa’s eyes.
She stopped shaking me, and I saw the thoughts move behind her sapphire eyes like honey. Her black hair made them pop against her tan skin. Her lips were full and pink, and she puckered them just right. She learned early on that it took sugar to catch butterflies, not salt.
“Mamma.” Her voice was so soft, so sweet, and she put my hand to her mouth, placing a tender kiss on my finger. “Can Ipeeeeeeasssesee dis wing?” She lifted the hand she held, showing it to me.
