It was still surreal sometimes, that Archie had a whole family I didn’t know about at one point.A family he was murderously protective of, which was so at odds with the evil little villain he’d been when I’d first met him.
Rasputin sat with his wife, Yelena.
She was sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, the Russian beauty just sassy enough to tame the beast in him.
Which probably explained why they worked.
Archie watched his brother laugh at something Bass said, and I felt his hand tighten over mine.
Anna was there too.She looked healthier, lighter than when I’d first met her when she’d come to visit two years ago when I’d given birth to Marigold.
Bass sat beside her.Close.Closer than “family friend” close.Which I found very interesting.
I leaned toward Archie.
“Are your mother and Bass sleeping together?”
Archie nearly choked on his drink.
Across the table, Rasputin laughed again.
Marigold stirred, blinking herself awake, her lashes heavy with sleep.
Without a word, she climbed out of Raze’s lap and straight into Archie’s as if it was instinct, her small hand reaching up to catch his jaw, anchoring herself there, knowing this was where she belonged.
“Papa.”
He kissed her hair.
“Yes, buttercup?”
“Cake?”
He laughed.
And that sound hit me harder than the vows we’d exchanged earlier.
Because there had been a time I thought I’d lose him and I’d never hear the tinkle of his laugh again.
And now here he was.Alive.Holding our daughter.Laughing beneath the Tuscan sun.
I looked around the table.At all of our family.
This strange, brutal family forged in blood and violence and impossible love.
Atlas and Neve.
Gianni and Mikayla.
Marcello and Samira.
Rasputin and Yelena.
Raze and Izzy.
And us.
Me.Archie.Marigold.
