24. Part one

Itell myself that I couldn't care less that Savannah doesn't love me the way I love her.

Look at that. I guess that woman made a liar of me after all because if that isn't a crock of shit, I don't know what is.

I want to say everything changed at my fortieth birthday dinner. That would be another lie. From the moment I had her standing in front of Judge Callahan, I was already prepared to do whatever I had to to keep her. Obsession was enough; I didn't expect to fall in love. But I did, and now a part of me won't stop until he loves me, too.

It's hard. To convince her to trust me, to fall for me, to love me… that's a full-time job. Throw in the self-defense lessons that I insist on, plus those cozy moments when I can forget the weight of the world on my shoulders and just watch a silly musical with Vin, Gen, Savannah, and Orion… that's time I never would've spared before.

Not when my entire life was devoted to turning the Libellula Family into what it is now.

I'm still a workaholic. Nothing passes through the East End of Springfield without my stamp on it, and with Jimmy Winter still finding a way to push his shitty product through my city, I'm busier than ever.

Two nights ago, a pair of my soldiers got invited to a dice game downtown. It was run by Winter and his guys, and it was obvious he was looking for new recruits. He saw the dragonflies on their skin and didn't care, either. That means he's looking to poach, and that bothers me more than hearing he's expanding his operations, bringing the hard drugs like coke and H into Springfield instead of sticking to party drugs like Breeze and Eclipse.

Fuck, no. The real shit is a Dragonfly special. Lincoln's already desperate to shut him down because of the cut in profits he's seen since Winter started gun-running on his turf, but for this upstart nobody to come for me?

He's dead. The second I can get my hands on him, I'll make an example of him for any other shit-for-brains who thinks they can take me on.

Only one problem. Winter snuck out of the dice game before my guy could tip off the rest of our Family. By the time I got there with Vin, Oliver, and Tony, Winter was gone, and the one sacrificial lamb he left behind refused to give up his boss.

Even when I used my stiletto to cut out his tongue, choking on his blood as Vin tipped his head back to allow it to pour, that dumb fuck never said a word beyond an agonized, then garbled yell.

That pissed me off. I wanted to shut him down, knowing that once the snowflake threat was over with, I'd have more time to dedicate to Savannah. As it was, despite the fact that now we're actually sleeping together instead of just sleeping side-by-side, I can't help but feel like she's drawing away from me again.

Gen, too. She's as bubbly as ever when she's not in ‘dance' mode, obsessively performing a routine until her toes are bloody and she's a sweat mess, but lately… she seems to be hiding something from me.

I don't like it. I don't like how Savannah will fuck me, but anytime I try to treat her like my wife, she pulls away.

And then I remember what Vin said to me before I had my snip reversed, and I had a brilliant idea to show Savannah just how dedicated I am to making this marriage worth. It's a two-parter of a plan—and if I guess wrong and she's been fucking playing me all along, I might be dead at the end of it—but, to me, it was worth the risk.

It took another week and a half before I could get everything set in motion, plus find the time to actually do it. But I finally did, and though she seems a little hesitant when I tell her we're leaving the manor after dark, I see the tiniest hint of trust in her soft brown eyes as she says, "Okay."

Fifteen minutes later, my wife looks up at the neon sign hung over the door of the shop. She takes it in—Coyote Den Ink—and then shakes her head when she sees the cut-out piece of vinyl shaped like a dragonfly that's tucked away in the nearest window.

"One of your businesses?" she asks.

"Something like that. It's more like we give Roger most of his business, and because of that, it's a welcome place for my men in case they need one."

I would've thought that she figured out what we were doing here once she saw it was a tattoo parlor, and maybe she did, but that doesn't stop Savannah from asking me, "And why have you brought me here?"

With one hand on the lower back of her jacket, I use my other to open the door. Normally, Roger closes up his shop at six. It's after eight, but the door's unlocked because I asked him to give me an eight o'clock appointment as a favor to me.

"I told you once that you have to earn your dragonfly," I murmur, guiding her into the clean shop. The scent of disinfectant slaps you in the face as you enter, as does the bright light Roger uses so he can see what he's doing, but those are all marks of a shop where I trust the ink. "It's time."

Savannah bites down on her bottom lip. For a moment, I wonder if my murderess will fight me on this. To wear the Dragonfly… she spent years plotting how to take us down. With my mark on her skin, it'll be a reminder that she didn't. That she actually became one.

I won't force her. When it comes to this… this has to be her decision.

I wait on bated breath, only to feel my chest puff up in pride when my wife simply says, "Can I pick the colors?"

Brushing my lips over the shell of her ear, hiding my smile of relief, I tell her, "Naturalmente."

I've hadthe pleasure of seeing Savannah in the nude. Before now, she didn't have a single tattoo, a fact that did not pass me by as she agrees to mar that beautiful skin with my symbol. She goes through it all like a champ, not even wincing when Roger starts the outline on her inner arm.

She ends up picking colors similarly enough to mine. There's purple and green in her dragonfly, with a hint of yellow and orange, too. Half the size and almost dainty, it's perfect by the time Roger is done.

Like he does for every Dragonfly, he made sure she understood just what she's signing up for when she gets her tattoo. For a moment, I think she might back out, but all she did was thrust out her wrist and say, "Ready."

Now she's been given instructions on how to care for it, her new tattoo covered up with second skin, and she seems ready to go—but I'm not.

Roger swaps out his gloves. "One moment, Mr. Libelulla, then we can get started on you."

Savannah's head snaps my way. There's a question on her lips she doesn't quite ask, though that's alright. I'll answer her anyway.

"You didn't think you would be the only one marked tonight, did you? Ragna mia… if you are my property, I am yours. And I will wear your mark proudly on my skin."

I jerk my chin at Roger. "You prepared the stencil I approved?"

"Got it right here, sir."

"Then, please, show my wife."

It's a spider. Nothing too graphic, or detailed—not like my large dragonfly tattoo—but its undeniably an illustration of a black widow spider.

"Where are you planning to put that?"

I smile at Savannah. I'd already removed my jacket in preparation for my appointment, and my fingers fly down my shirt, unbuttoning it so I could take that off next.

One I have, I trace my finger over the scar on my side.

She swallows notably. "You're covering it up?"

"No. I would never cover up my wife's handiwork. But I will put the spider right next to it as a reminder not to piss my personal black widow off again."

I thought she'd laugh or roll her eyes. Only… unless I'm mistaking it or it's the fault of the bright lights, it seems to me as if those pretty brown eyes are shiny with unshed tears instead. And then she blinks a few times, and I know I'm right.

Even better, part one of my plan is a clear success.

And once the tattoos have healed enough, it'll be time for part two.