I freeze mid-reach for a book. Roman’s hand stills on the zipper.
Father shrugs, completely casual. “I’m not getting any younger. I want to spoil them before my knees give out.”
Roman clears his throat, a tiny smile tugging his mouth. “We’re… working on it.”
I feel heat crawl up my neck. We might already be there. We’ve never used protection once. But neither of us says that part out loud.
Father laughs, low and warm. “Good. No pressure. But don’t wait forever.”
We don’t answer. We just share a quick look, that secret possibility sitting soft between us.
Father claps Roman on the shoulder. “The jet’s fueled. We’ll stop at your compound first. You’ve got people waiting.”
Roman nods. “Yeah. Need to let the club see she’s safe.”
Father looks at me. “This is his life now. Your life too. You understand that?”
“I do,” I say. “And I want it. All of it.”
He nods, satisfied. “Then let’s go home.”
The jet ride is peaceful. I fall asleep against Roman’s shoulder somewhere over the Atlantic, his fingers stroking my hair. When we land in Jackson the air feels warmer, familiar. The drive to the Iron Reapers compound is short. When we pull through the gate the whole place is lit up like Christmas, string lights strung across the yard, smoke curling from grills, music thumping low from speakers someone dragged outside.
People spill out the second they see the SUV. Jenny’s the first one to reach me, arms open, tears already falling. “Oh my God, you’re here. You’re really here.”
She crushes me in a hug so tight I laugh and cry at the same time. Carlie’s right behind her, then Maria, then all the other old ladies, talking over each other.
Tank lifts me clean off the ground, spins me once. “Little sister’s back! And married! In a fucking shootout!”
Lucky’s grinning like an idiot. “We threw you a party. Figured you deserved one after all that bullshit.”
Roman keeps his arm around my waist the whole time, like he still can’t believe I’m really here. I look up at him, eyes wet. “They did all this for us?”
He kisses my temple. “They love you, baby. Almost as much as I do.”
Someone cranks the music louder. Someone else presses cold beers into our hands. The prospects fire up the grills again. Kids run around chasing each other. Mikhail’s already arm-wrestling Tank at the picnic table, losing but laughing. Viktor and Dmitri stand a little apart, watching with quiet approval.
Jenny pulls me toward the long table loaded with food. “We made all your favorites. Chili, cornbread, that weird potato salad Carlie swears by. Sit. Eat. Tell us everything.”
I sit. Roman drops down beside me, arm draped over the back of my chair. People keep coming up, hugging me, clapping Roman on the back, yelling congratulations.
Carlie leans across the table, eyes shining. “So. Married in a church with a dead guy at the altar. Iconic.”
I laugh, real and loud for the first time in days. “It was a little dramatic.”
Lucky raises his beer. “To the bride and groom! May your marriage be as wild as the wedding!”
Everyone cheers. Glasses clink. Music swells.
I lean into Roman’s side, watch my two families mix together under the string lights. Viktor talking quietly with Mason. Dmitri showing Blade a knife trick. Mikhail teaching a prospect how to curse in Russian. Jenny and Carlie dragging me up to dance when a slow song comes on. Roman pulls me close, sways with me in the middle of the yard, forehead pressed to mine.
“You happy?” he asks, voice low.
“So happy,” I whisper.
He kisses me slow and deep right there in the middle of the yard, hands cradling my face like I’m the only thing that exists, and cheers explode around us, whoops and whistles and beer bottles clinking, but I barely hear them because it’s just his mouth on mine, tasting like home and relief and forever. This is it, my husband with his arms locked around me, my club roaring their love for us both, my family blending into the chaos like they’ve always belonged here. Both worlds finally crash together in one loud, messy, perfect place, no more running, no more hiding, no more cages or threats or looking over my shoulder. Just us, standing in the glow of string lights and grill smoke, the rest of our lives stretching out ahead full of chili nights that Jenny will force me to perfect, club runs where I ride behind him with my arms tight around his waist, and maybe, just maybe, a little one on the way already growing quiet and secret inside me. We don’t say that part out loud yet, don’t need to whisper it into the night or make promises we haven’t tested. We’ve got time. All the time in the world. And for once, it doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like a gift.
EPILOGUE
