His brow lifts at my smile. “Don’t get used to taking my phone.”
I punch in the command on his app. “I won’t need yours once I get a new one.”
Benny wraps an arm around me and kisses my head. He whistles for Hades and Ares, who barrel around the side of the house as the drones circle.
Explosions boom as our SUV exits the driveway onto the private road, shooting debris into the air. The drones follow us back to the citrus grove.
My new home and the start of my next chapter.
Epilogue
Husband of a Don
Salvatore
Two years later
“My shipments had better arrive as scheduled. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes, Mr. Bennici,” Aronni, a new employee, stammers over the phone.
“Fix it. If I have to make an appearance, I’ll make you disappear,” I say before hanging up. “Testa di minchia.”
“Testa mika,“ Aaliyah repeats with a gummy grin. Her curly bun bops from side to side. “Testa mika!”
“Don’t repeat that,” I tell her in Sicilian.
Brown doe eyes light with mischief. She’s not listening to shit I said. “Testa.”
“Aaliyah.” My tone is stern.
She smirks before yelling, “Mika!”
Jeremiah stirs in the baby carrier, wrinkling my suit. He wails.
“Cazzo,“ I mutter.
“Katzoo!“ Aaliyah jumps in circles.
“Waah!”
“Katzoo!”
Stephanie pops her head out of the back door. “What you out here teaching my kids, Sally? I’m still learning Sicilian and Italian, but I know dick and fuck when I hear it.”
“Difuk.” Aaliyah stomps in a circle.
I roll my lips and kiss the top of Jeremiah’s head as I rock him back to sleep.
These kids are a menace. I’ll kiss Trouble’s feet for wanting to hold off on having our own. We agreed one is enough for us. Between these baby-wearing gadgets, sleep deprivation, and the “terrible” stages, I’m not afraid to admit I fear what we might spawn. Aaliyah has her mother’s mouth and her father’s energy. There’s no telling what mixing my genetics with Bianca will bring. A mini-me with a Fisher-Price kill container most likely.
Stephanie slogs across the stone pavers on the balcony. Her eyes are half-closed, her scarf falling off the side of her head.
She motions for Jeremiah.
“Go back to bed,” I say. “I got him. Wipe the spit-up off your shoulder. We’ll see you in a few hours.”
Aaliyah tugs on my suit trousers. “Amunì.“ She’s in a purple one-piece.
