"I love you." The words come easy now. "I'm terrified and overwhelmed and probably still in shock… but I love you. And I'm so glad it's you."
His eyes darken with emotion. He kisses me slowly, deeply, like he's sealing a promise.
"I love you too, wife. More than I know how to say. Finish eating, then get some sleep. Tomorrow, we start figuring out the rest."
After the trays are removed, I snuggle closer; his heartbeat is steady under my ear, his hand warm and protective over our babies. For the first time in what feels like forever, the future doesn't feel like something I have to survive. It feels like something I get to live. With him. With them. With the wild, chaotic, beautiful life we're about to build. And as sleep finally pulls me under, I let myself believe it.
We're going to be okay. We're going to be more than okay. We're going to be home.
I hate leaving her.Every step away from the bedroom feels like tearing off a piece of my own skin. She's curled up in our bed, exhausted, bandaged, carrying my twins, and all I want is to crawl in beside her, wrap my arms around her, and never let go again.
My wife.
The word keeps slamming into me like a bullet I welcome.My wife.She's finally mine. Legally. Irrevocably. In front of a justice of the peace in a cheap Vegas chapel that smelled like cheap flowers and desperation. She said the words. She's wearing my ring. She's carrying my children.
Still, I have to leave her.
Quietly, I walked down the hallway, jaw tight, fists clenched at my sides. New guards are posted, and every trace of the earlierbloodbath has been erased as if it never happened. Good. I didn't want her to see any of it when she came home.
A few minutes ago, Massimo called a meeting, seconds after I texted him to give him a quick debrief. No delays. Not with the Collector still breathing.
Twenty minutes later, I step into the private conference room on the upper floor of the Sovereign. The others are already there. Massimo sits at the head of the table, his expression as unreadable as ever. Damiano leans back in his chair, spinning a knife between his fingers, restless energy crackling off him. Enzo stands silently in the corner, scars catching the low light. Alessio's seat is empty. I frown.
"I'm not the only late?" I check.
"We can't reach Alessio," Massimo declares darkly.
Nobody has seen or heard a word from him since he left me at the club house with Audra. I know it's useless, but I try his phone.
"Let me guess," Damiano says darkly, "goes straight to voicemail."
I nod with my jaw clenched. Alessio might be reckless and dangerous in his own way, but he'd never ignore calls from us. Especially not from Massimo. Not now. Not in the situation we're in.
"I'm sure all our thoughts are going in the same direction. El Recaudador. So far, the Collector always seems to be a step ahead of us. Time to put a stop to it." I plant both hands on the table and lean forward, giving words to the concern I see mirrored on all my friends' faces.
"The Collector is playing a long game." We all know that, but it needs to be reiterated. "He's been watching us. Hitting our supply, sending messages, turning people we trust. He almost took my wife tonight. He has reach we didn't account for. We need to?—"
Just like it did at the MC's clubhouse, the speaker system in the room crackles to life without warning. A calm, cultured voice fills the space. "The game is up, gentlemen. Time to pay up."
Every single one of us goes rigid at the sound of our archenemy's voice. The Collector continues, almost conversationally, like he's discussing business over dinner. "You've been very entertaining, I'll give you that. Scrambling. Reacting. Always just one step behind." A soft chuckle follows, low and satisfied. "Did you really think tonight was a victory?"
My grip tightens on the table.
"I let you have that one," he goes on smoothly. "A small mercy. Consider it… motivation. After all, hope makes the fall so much sweeter." He takes a deep breath that sounds too loud over the speaker. "I already have Alessio. The rest of you will follow. I'll start with your families first… one by one. Slow enough for you to feel it. Fast enough that you can't stop it."
A muffled sound shifts in the background, movement, a struggle, followed by a woman's cry cutting through the line, raw, terrified.
"Nicci!" Damiano shoots to his feet so fast his chair slams backward. "If he has Nicci, he has my son?—"
The Collector hums softly, almost pleased. "Ah, there it is. Recognition. Such a powerful thing, isn't it? The moment you realize you've already lost."
"Touch them, and I will—" Damiano snarls ferally.
"You will what?" the Collector interrupts gently. "Come find me? I do hope you try. I've prepared something special for each of you." Another pause, deliberate, cruel. "Tell me… who do you think screams first? Nicci… or Heathcliff?"
"Say their names again, and I'll?—"
"Tick-tock, gentlemen."
