“However,” he continued calmly, “for six years, all you have brought this family is trouble. We had Russians rampaging through Florida because she killed one of them—and though he thoroughly deserved to die, it caused an immense amount of trouble. Then the Black Axe situation.” His eyes cut toward me sharply, pinning me to the pillows. “Now her father is dead in my city, and half of Miami believes someone connected to us pulled the trigger.”
Nobody spoke. Because he wasn’t wrong.
“There have been whispers of war,” he said flatly. “Emergency meetings. Negotiations. Favors called in internationally.” His jaw tightened slightly, a brutal muscle flexing in his cheek. “I am seventy-one years old. I should be gardening at my villa in Italy, not flying across the Atlantic Ocean because two emotionally unstable people refuse to decide whether they love each other or want each other dead.”
He paused, smoothing the front of his jacket. “My sons—Caine and Raziel. My nephew, Kael.” He counted them slowly with one gloved hand. “They have used extraordinary family resources cleaning up the disasters surrounding your relationship.”
Indigo snorted softly before covering it with a wet, forced cough.
Raffaele pointed a finger at her immediately, his eyes narrowing. “See? That. You think this is funny because both of you are still breathing.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Raffaele,” Indigo said, leaning forward in her chair. “I know who you are and the terrifying power you wield, but the last time I saw you, you were dressed like Santa Claus with your granddaughter blowing raspberries on your cheek. It’s hard to separate the grandpa from the gangster.”
“Don’t be cute, Indigo. There are threats of wars being whispered in ports from Miami to Lagos.”
I glared at Indigo from the bed. She shook her head quickly and wiped the remaining remnants of the smile from her face.
He turned his focus back to me. “This cannot continue. I did not spend decades building an empire so that my heirs could spend their lives cleaning up the wreckage of a toxic marriage. You have become a liability, Malachai.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a single hand, cutting off the apology before it could form.
“So here is my advice before I am forced to intervene. Fix it. Or end it completely. Go your separate ways. Or, if you want to be together, then be together like adults. Not like two children playing with matches in a powder keg.”
Sal looked completely bored with us at this point, his eyes tracking the hallway outside.
I leaned back carefully against the pillows, the movement pulling the chest tube tight through my ribs. “I understand,” I said finally.
Raffaele studied my face for a long, quiet moment, as if he were deciding whether or not I actually comprehended the weight of his words.
Suddenly, the hospital door slammed open hard enough to rattle the drywall. Every single person in the room turned instantly.
Maya burst inside, breathing hard as if she had sprinted up the stairs. Her curls were wild, and an oversized hoodie was half-falling off one shoulder like she’d gotten dressed while running down the corridor.
“Maya, what the fuck are you doing here?” I grunted, my voice tight and strained from the sudden shock.
“Daddy Raf, please don’t kill my friend!” she gasped out, ignoring me entirely as she rushed toward Raffaele. “Caine said you were coming to the hospital. She won’t fuck up anymore, I promise!”
An absolute silence slammed into the room.
Indigo covered her mouth instantly with both hands, her shoulders shaking violently as she tried not to burst out laughing. Sal blinked once, his expressionless mask cracking slightly. Raffaele stared at Maya for a long, agonizing second before sighing so deeply he sounded spiritually exhausted.
“Nobody is killing anybody, Maya,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.
Maya looked relieved for exactly half a second before narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the old king. “Promise?”
Raffaele looked up at the fluorescent ceiling lights briefly, as if he regretted every single life choice that had led him to this specific hospital room.
“This,” he said slowly, pointing a finger at all of us, “is exactly why I retired.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked out, Sal following silently behind him like a shadow.
Epilogue
Indigo
I laughed in the moment, but we took Mr. Raffaele’s threats seriously.
For months after that hospital room warning, Malachai and I actually worked on our relationship. We let go of the old animosity, the sharp edges of resentment, and the constant push-pull that had nearly destroyed us both. We had hard conversations at two in the morning, ugly crying in the kitchen—well, me crying and him just staring—and long stretches of silence where we learned how to just exist together without trying to control or escape one another.
