Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
“I don’t deserve you.” He hugs me close and runs his nose against the side of my neck. “But I’m keeping you anyway.”
“You’re keeping us.” I smile up at him before snuggling into his warm embrace. Somehow, I managed to tame the King of the Texas Underworld. And he’s made me his queen. Life doesn’t get any better than this.
Epilogue Two
DANTE
FOUR YEARS LATER
Most men give their wives jewelry or a new car for a wedding present, but I’m not most men. I wanted to make sure my wife could continue her career without any threat to her safety, so I gave her an urgent care clinic for her wedding present. It might’ve been a little excessive, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure my family is safe. I breathe easier knowing my men are controlling the security at the urgent care. Their number one job is making sure my wife is safe at all times. I personally designed the urgent care security system and I can guarantee the president doesn’t have more protection than Belle.
Over the last four years, we’ve found a way to make our lives as “normal” as possible. My wife didn’t want our children raised by outsiders, so we skipped hiring a nanny. The first few months of parenthood were trying until we figured out a way to make everything work. Of course, my beautiful wife makes it all look easy.
Belle works two days a week at the Silver Spoon Falls Urgent Care and spends the rest of the time at home with us. To keep the urgent care running in her absence, we hired four outstanding local doctors to work the other five days of the week.
I’ve been slowly handing over more control to my nephew, and Dmitri is thriving with the extra responsibilities. He’s almost ready for me to step back and let him assume control of the organization. I will always keep an eye on things, but I trust Dmitri and Bruno to keep everything running smoothly. We’re still working to get rid of the cartels, but the fuckers are like cockroaches. As soon as we get rid of one, another two pop up to cause trouble.
Our close proximity to the border and Houston makes us a continuous target to the bastards, but they’re starting to realize I won’t go down without a fight. And so far, they’re losing the fight big time.
We take turns making sure the little monsters stay out of trouble while maintaining both our busy positions, and today is my day to supervise the hellions.
While all is quiet, I’m sitting at the desk in my home office reading an email when my three-year-old son comes blasting into the room. “Daddy!” This kid only has one volume—earsplitting. We’ve been working on teaching him to moderate his voice. Unsuccessfully so far.
“Dmitri.” I attempt to give my son my sternest look, but it has little effect on my mini-me. “What did I tell you about running around the house screaming for no reason?”
“But Daddy!” My son is a professional at arguing. “I have a reason,” he insists. “Marissa’s eating Rover’s treats.” Holy fucking hell.
I rush around the desk and take off running down the hallway. My wife is going to have a stroke when she gets home if she finds out our two-year-old daughter ate dog treats while I was in charge of watching the kids.
“I don’t wanna die!” My daughter’s wail fills the hallway as I meet Bruno at the kitchen door. We find my daughter lying on the kitchen floor, wailing at the top of her lungs. “I don’t wanna die.”
“Marissa.” I shove Bruno out of the way and lift my daughter against my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“Daddy.” I wince as her loud screech assaults my eardrums. “I don’t want to die.”
I gently search her tiny body for any signs of injury and breathe a sigh of relief when I find she doesn’t appear to be harmed. “Why do you think you’re going to die?”
I sit her down on the edge of the countertop, attempting to calm her down enough to find out what the hell is going on.
“Meetwee dared me to eat Rovo’s tweats.” Now, I know part of the story. I glare at my suddenly guilty-looking son over Marissa’s head. “He said they’s poison, and now I’m gonna die.” Her voice gets louder with each word until I’m pretty sure my ears are bleeding from the damage. “I don’t wanna die.”
Her pitiful pout causes my heart to clench while I debate how to handle this situation. I should let her continue believing the bullshit her brother fed her, but seeing my tiny little girl so upset breaks my fucking heart. Parenthood is much fucking harder than running a goddamn organized crime family.
“You’re not going to die, sweetheart,” I tell Marissa and watch as she instantly perks up and her wails come to an abrupt halt.