Relaxing his arm, Sandro drops it to take my hand once more, and we start forward—only to round the corner and come face to face with a towering black-clad figure. Sandro tenses, then straightens, his shoulders relaxing as a bark of laughter bursts from his lips.
“Gio, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Raf said you got yourself caught. We came to spring you.” Gio peers around Sandro’s hulking shoulder to smile at me. “Gladto see this mission’s going to be easier than I expected. But I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Kenji.”
“Nor will you,” Sandro says darkly. “He’s now sporting a crimson smile.”
“He’s dead?”
“Unless he somehow finds a way to put all the blood back into his body and reattach his head.”
Gio chuckles darkly. “You always were an artist with a knife.”
“Miko taught me well.”
With a snort, Gio turns, gesturing for us to follow. “Come on. I’ll show you the way out.”
Our escape is shockingly easy with the commotion Miko and Raf are causing at the front of the compound, and we slip up and over the towering walls without too much trouble.
Then Gio’s calling Raf to tell his brothers they can fall back—the extraction was successful.
We make our way slowly through the trees, Sandro sweeping me up into his arms—and refusing to let Gio help—when the sharp, uneven ground proves too painful for me to silently endure.
“But, Sandro, your back!” I protest.
He silences me with a kiss.
An SUV arrives a few minutes later, Raf throwing the passenger door wide and flinging himself from the vehicle so he can look his twin over.
“Look what that bastard did to your back,” he growls when he sees the cane marks.
“I’ll be fine,” Sandro says for probably the hundredth time as he shrugs it off.
“Not much worse than what Father used to do to you, I suppose,” Raf observes dryly.
And even though it was years ago, and the Don is dead and gone now, my heart still clenches for the little boy with the stutter who endured far, far too much pain.
“Come on. Let’s get you two home,” Raf adds, clapping Sandro lightly on the small, unmarked portion of his shoulder.
We all pile into the SUV together. And as Sandro’s brothers talk about what happened and how, with Kenji most definitely dead this time, the Yakuza are going to be significantly handicapped for the war moving forward, Sandro wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I nestle into his side. Their conversation strays toward what their next plan of action will entail, but Sandro seems entirely disinterested in participating.
Instead, he curls a finger under my chin and tenderly turns my head to face him. Our eyes meet, and a spark dances between us that turns me giddy in an instant. I must look atrocious, my face all tear-stained. My eyes feel like sandpaper after days without water and far too much crying. I’m sure I’m filthy as well, if my ruined slip is any indication.
And yet he looks at me with such burning love and devotion, I feel like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.
“What about you, Sandro?” I murmur so only he can hear. “What’s your plan?”
“Tonight, I intend to take my wife home and show her just how much I love her,” he rasps.
And as he leans in to kiss me once more, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ve never been happier. How I ever got so lucky, I’ll never know. But becoming Sandro’s wife has been the single greatest blessing of my life.
And I feel confident that, whatever our future holds, we will get through it. Together.
EPILOGUE
EVI
I clutch Sandro’s hand as we walk into the ultrasound clinic, my nerves buzzing like electricity under my skin. My stomach feels full of butterflies and something heavier, something tender that’s all mine. Sandro’s hand is warm, grounding me, steadying me in a way nothing else can.
