Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Forever.
SIX MONTHS LATER
Damien
With every step, my woman brings our future closer.
I stand at the altar, the church is packed with the Bratva and their wives, everybody watching as the music plays, as the atmosphere becomes more important, and every piece of our lives falls into place.
The sunlight shines down on the aisle, the music rising, Nick walking at Liliana’s side. Isabel and Josefine, two of the other tattooed, hold the train of Liliana’s dress. They look much freer, much happier without Gabriel’s sick games dictating their lives.
Liliana looks radiant, my breath catching, my pulse hammering. Her hair cascades down to her shoulders, glistening, her face covered in a delicate layer of makeup that only serves to enhance her natural beauty.
Her dress frames her pregnant body, the bump showing beautifully, one hand resting on it as her engagement ring glitters.
Closer and closer, my woman walks until she’s so close I can almost touch her.
My throat gets tight with emotion when she reaches us.
She looks up at me, her cheeks tight from smiling.
Nick steps forward, giving me a significant look.
Things have been better than good these past seven months. Liliana has planned the wedding and enrolled in culinary school, due to start six months after she gives birth.
The business is ticking along. The Cartel has steered clear.
And Nick has been a man of his word, supporting our engagement and our marriage. He even opened up to me one night, his voice gravelly and his eyes glassy.
“The truth is, I blame myself most of all. For being on the West Coast when this all went down. Earning money for them.”
But it’s all in the past now, dark and forgotten. He smiles as he hands me Liliana’s arm. His look changes when Liliana turns away and walks to me. Look after her.
I stare hard at him in return. I will.
Liliana clasps my hands, coming to stand in front of me, staring up with tears glistening in her eyes.
I lean down, kiss them away, then laugh when she gives me a playful nudge.
“Silly. You’re not supposed to kiss me yet.”
She winces when the music cuts out right then, so everybody heard what she said.
I lean back, grinning down at her as her cheeks flush and her smile falters.
My laughter comes out like it did that time in the car, the ride back to the safe house, our first night. It comes out like when we realized how special this was, this sudden connection, this bond forged within moments.
After a second, Liliana starts to laugh too. It spreads through the crowd. Everybody is laughing, not at Liliana, but with her, because she’s funny, beautiful and kind, clever and committed.
Mine.
Once the laughter dies down, I reach over, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
“I couldn’t resist,” I tell her.
The officiant clears his throat politely, stepping forward. I turn to him, an older dignified-looking man, almost forgetting he was there until just now.
But that’s not saying much.
I forget about the rest of the world after staring into Liliana’s face for a second. Or after lying in bed with her, my cheek resting on her bump, waiting for our child to kick.
“Are you ready?” I whisper.
She blinks, her smile radiant, glowing with the pregnancy and all the love between us. It’s like when I watch her in the kitchen before she notices I’m there, the way she’ll lose herself in the act, almost dazed in her joy.
We both are. Stunned by happiness.
“Yes,” she says. “Are you?”
“I was ready the first moment I saw you.”
I take her hands, her dress shifting, showing a glimpse of the red crosshair. I know she wants to get it lasered off now that Gabriel’s gone, and there would be no negative consequences for her.
It’s up to her.
I’d take her – will take her – however, she comes, always.
We stare deeply into each other’s eyes, hold each other’s hands tightly, sinking closer together.
ONE YEAR LATER
Liliana
“It’s all repetition,” I tell Kira, chopping the vegetables. “Muscle memory. You can become a cutting wizard like that.”
She doesn’t say anything from her basket in the corner, resting just out of the sun. She’s cuddling onto her favorite teddy bear, her eyes closed, murmuring softly.
I look over at her, taking a moment to treasure the sight and pure innocence of her.
She’s there, half me and half Damien, a testament to our chosen life. The life we fought for.
She seems to like it when I cook or prepare food, crying unless she’s in her basket, in her favorite spot with her favorite teddy. She looks so adorable there, cuddled into it.
I reach carefully for my phone.
Then Kira does her special trick, waking up and bursting into tears any time I try to take a photo.
It’s like a superpower.
I make a soothing noise – I hope – and place the phone and the knife down. Picking her up, I rock her from side to side, singing softly.