Epilogue

Orion is curled up on Damien's lap, purring like there's no tomorrow.

If that bitch doctor had it her way, there wouldn't have been. Not for my cat—and not for my husband, either.

The moment he had his family behind the gates that ward off our home, the first thing he did was take my chin between his hands and tell me that I have nothing to regret. I took my first life that night, followed by a few more, and he seemed so sure that I'd spiral when I realized that I'd finally done it. I'd finally killed someone.

I surprised him by patting his cheeks, telling my husband that he's adorable.

Killing Liz? I've never felt so fucking free. I spent so long working toward revenge, and it turns out the thing that quieted those nagging whispers in my mind is vengeance.

I avenged Damien. He might've been sitting right there, bloody yet proud, but instead of letting Winter and his men hurt him any more, I did what I had to. And then, when Liz came at me, I did what I wanted to.

For Orion. For Damien.

For me.

Georgia is dead. She's gone. The woman I was before Damien's men picked my shop to pass their bills through before he had an iron-tight hold on the cops, on the banks, on the judges… I don't even think I know how to be her.

But Savannah Montgomery— no. Savannah Libellula… that fateful evening in the alley, I was sure my new life was over. But then I agreed to marry this man—sure it was torture, convinced he could never love me—and some way, somehow, I've been born again.

I'm happy. And maybe I'm just as insane as I once accused Damien of being, but when he was so sure that I'd crumble with all that blood on my hands, I laughed—and he gave me that crooked half-smile of his that I couldn't stop myself from falling for.

That was two weeks ago. I expected him to be a little more gentle with me, but I should've known better. As soon as we got the all-clear from Springfield Med—since the clinic is obviously out of commission for now—that Vin was going to be in a sling for a while, but other than that just fine, Damien told Genevieve to watch over Orion, then led me right to the basement.

Why? Because even with one eye swollen shut and his body tied to a chair, he noted that the way I flipped Liz after she ran at me wasn't as clean as he would've liked. Doesn't matter that I got her down and slit her throat. Oh, no. If she'd managed to knock me over instead, maybe the doc could've taken me out, and that wouldn't have been acceptable to him.

I smile to remember that training session now, especially considering it ended with Damien on his back. So what if he was achy and bruised from being worked over by Winsters and his guys. He managed to act like it didn't hurt after I stuck him with his knife. Enticing me to ride him… he'd ignore the pain for some pleasure any day.

That's my husband. God knows why I love this overprotective, controlling man, but fuck it, I totally do.

Maybe it's because he's stroking Orion's fur with one hand, playing with a lock of my hair with the other. My cat loves him, and though I was terrified that the sedative Liz tricked Genevieve into giving Orion would have hurt my baby, it didn't do any lasting damage to him. He's been spoiled with treats since we got him home from the vet, the same way as Damien's cook has been serving Vin's favorite meals for the household since he was released from the hospital.

Damien insisted. When his staff tried to focus their attention on him, he scoffed and said a shiner was nothing. Vin had a hole in his shoulder, plus one in his upper chest. He got lucky. He just barely missed his lung being hit, and I'm just glad I didn't accidentally run him over when I bashed into the window.

We have our own truce now, me and Vin. I don't know if he'll ever forgive me for stabbing his cousin, but he's magnanimously decided to overlook it since I did save Damien. He's also very pissed that Liz was the one who betrayed the Dragonflies, and if I hadn't already killed her, Vin would've made her pay no matter how much he wanted to bang her.

There's only one of us in the household who is struggling to get over what happened. Poor Gen's spent nearly all of her time on the third floor lately. We can always tell when she's dancing because the music filters down to our level, but like Damien, I've learned to tune it out when we're watching TV together.

Like now.

I don't draw my husband's attention to the fact that the music's been playing since we settled down in the den after we ate dinner. At first, I was concerned that his sister could spend hours upon hours in her studio, but Damien assured me that was usual for Genevieve. To be as good a dancer as she is, she needs to practice anywhere between four to five hours a day, especially when she has a performance she's preparing for.

Only… there's none on her schedule currently. She's not dancing because she's practicing, she's dancing because—like me—she needs to take her mind off of things. I used to do that by stalking Damien; now I distract myself with him. Having someone she trusted betray her… like her older brother, she isn't taking it so well.

She'll be okay. She's only twenty-five, and I remember how innocent and naive I was back then. Because Damien coddles her, she's even worse than I was. One day, he'll have to realize that his baby sister needs to grow up, and after her first taste of what it's like to really be involved with an organized crime syndicate, I wouldn't be surprised if that's what she's working through upstairs now.

I'll let her. And when the time comes that Damien will have to let her be an adult, I'll be there for him, too.

For the moment, I just enjoy this peaceful evening with my husband as he loops a stray curl of mine around his finger.

Last week, I decided to dye my hair again at his urging. I understand why he's so concerned. One of Winter's men got away. I through I got them all, but I was wrong. So, depending on just what information Liz gave that crew, chances are he saw a woman behind the wheel and figured I was Damien's wife. If he didn't, the most he could've seen was my determined face and my head of black hair.

I can't do anything about my face except change the way I've been doing my make-up just like how I did when I went from Georgia to Savannah. My hair, though? It was a pain in the ass to strip out the black dye, but after Damien brought me to a local hairdresser to color my hair, I decided to go back to my old sandy-color shade again.

Damien loved the black hair that was so similar to his, but once he could see what I used to look like? I haven't been able to keep him away from my hair.

And that's not all…

When we're in a communal part of the house, Damien is careful to keep all of our touches g-rated out of respect for Genevieve and her promise that, if she catches either of us naked together again, she might have to wash her eyes out with bleach. I don't blame her. Damien's dick might be one of my new favorite things, but I can't imagine his sister getting an eyeful of it. But because of that, he's gotten used to stroking my hair or pulling me onto his lap so that she can't see the way that I affect my husband.

Over the last few days, though, he's found another part of me he can't keep his hands off of it…

"How are you healing?" he murmurs, freeing my curl before dropping his thumb to the back of my bicep.

I thought he was worried about the dragonfly inked on my forearm getting infected. That's nothing compared to his concern about the four leaves tattooed there.

I think it's because they're not as common among his Family. Every member of the Dragonflies has a similar tattoo to the beautiful one that wraps around Damien's forearm, but only five living enforcers have the tell-tale leaf tattoo on the back of their bicep.

Well, six now that my husband hired me on…

"I'm fine, Damien. What about you?" Turning into him, I lay my hand on his heart—and the bruise that's a mottled shade of green, yellow, and purple instead of the deep purple-y red it was last week. "Feeling okay?"

Still stroking my most recent tattoos, he shifts in his seat, turning so he can nuzzle the point where my shoulder meets my neck. Orion yowls as the lap he was sitting on shrinks, but since that means my husband can sidle me closer so that he can kiss my throat, I don't mind half as much as our cat does.

"You tell me, cara mia. I was well enough to have you sitting on my face earlier, bracing yourself with your hand in that same spot."

"I checked with you then," I remind him.

"That you did. And with your pussy in my mouth, I'd let you stab me again before I'd give you any reason to stop me from eating out my wife."

I arch my neck, giving him better access to it. "If I stabbed you, you'd probably fuck me with the blade still inside of you."

"And you'd like it, too, wouldn't you, ragna mia?"

Know what? I would, but since I'd never risk this man again… "Sorry, but I'm out of the ‘killing Damien Libellula' business."

"No, you're in the ‘killing for him' business," he breathes against my neck. "And I love that. What better enforcer and protector than the woman who owns this body? Owns my soul? Ti amo, amore." He presses a kiss to my skin. "Sempre."

"I love you, too," I say, my voice shaky as I shiver. It didn't take long for my husband to realize that my neck is a big erogenous zone for me, and even before he starts to lift me up so that I'm sitting on his lap where Orion was before, I'm wondering how bad would it really be if I got caught fucking my husband in the den.

Vin's supposed to be resting. Genevieve's music is still playing.

And Damien's erection is pushing against my ass as I get cozy on his lap.

It wouldn't take much. I could wiggle down my pants, he could unzip his, I grab his cock and I can have him inside of me in no time. A quickie might be enough to take the edge off, and since Damien is already dropping his hand to stroke my pussy through my leggings instead of paying attention to my enforcer leaves, I don't think I'll have to work hard to convince him it'll be worth it.

And that's when I hear someone clear their throat, and it's so careful, I know for sure it's not Vin.

One of the staff maybe?

I look over Damien's head. At the same time, he turns just enough to see who's standing in the doorway.

It's Christopher.

I'm being cockblocked by Christopher.

Damn it.

The frustrated scowl on Damien's face echoes the way I feel right about now as I plop myself down on the seat next to him as if I wasn't two seconds away from riding him here out in the open.

I've only met Gen's friend and Damien's assistant a few times, but they've both spoken highly of him. Unlike Vin, he doesn't know the true way that his boss and I met so he's always been friendly enough to me—until he caught the first glimpse of my leaves and, suddenly, he's a lot more careful around me.

Damien warned me that that would happen. It's one of the reasons that Vin hides his leaves from anyone who's not part of Damien's inner circle. Dragonfly enforcers have a rep in Springfield, and if it's anything like the one that's followed Kieran Alfieri even after his death, I can only imagine what the other Dragonflies think of me.

Enforcers only get their leaves when they make a kill that benefits the Family. I went from being introduced as Damien's ‘shy' wife to showing up with four leaves. Three for each of the rival gangsters I shot and killed, plus the fourth that represented the ruthless way I slit Liz's throat for betraying Damien.

And while my arm might not be as big as say, Vin's, I've got two of them, plus an entire fucking spine now. The only one allowed to kill this man is me, and since—surprise, surprise—I love him too much to see him dead now, I'll target any soul who thinks they can take him down.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I am his black widow. His spider.

But I'm his, and that's all that matters to me.

He likes Christopher. He's fond of his personal assistant, so though my stiletto is never out of my reach now, I leave it where it is as I give him a smile.

Damien's not feeling as forgiving when it comes to the interruption. "Christopher. What are you doing here?"

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows nervously. "It's about Gen, boss."

"Genevieve?" Damien waves his hand flippantly toward the ceiling. "She's upstairs, dancing. If you want to see her, go on up. But I'd call her first if I were you. You know how angry she gets when anyone interrupts her practice."

The way Christopher pales tells me that he's probably had a run-in or two with Genevieve when she's been distracted. I haven't seen her lose her temper myself, though I've heard more than a few stories from Damien about her threatening to kick him out of her studio.

I've seen the muscles on her dancer's legs. She could do it easily, I'd bet.

But then his gaze flickers from Damien to me and back, chewing on his bottom lip, and I know that, whatever he's about to say to Damien, none of us is going to like it.

"She's, um, she's not up there, boss."

Damien's cheeks hollow. "What do you mean? I hear the music."

"I know. But, I promise you, she's not up there."

One look. He gives the younger man one look, then rises up to his feet. I expect him to gesture for me to stay where I am since this involves his sister—but then he holds out his hand to help me up.

I take it, and together we head for the stairs that lead to the third floor, Christopher trailing anxiously behind us.

The studio door's locked. That's not unusual. To keep others from distracting her during her rehearsals, Genevieve has a habit of locking the door.

Damien knocks. He waits a beat for her answer, then knocks again louder when he doesn't get one. When there's still no answer, he doesn't knock.

With his bare foot, he kicks in the door to her studio.

Like the gym, Gen's studio is covered in mirrors. These are wall-to-wall, and all we see reflected in their depths is the three of us.

The room is otherwise empty. Her music is playing from the speakers, but there is no Genevieve.

Damien's attention snaps to every corner of the studio. When he has to admit that she's not there, he storms to the next door. Her bathroom.

No.

Her bedroom.

Nothing.

Her walk-in closet.

Except for a pale pink leotard tossed haphazardly in the middle of the space, it looks untouched.

There's no sign of Genevieve anywhere.

He whirls on Christopher. The lanky man twitches, and I feel sorry for him. Damien made it clear from the beginning of our relationship that his sister would always come first. Something tells me that Christopher's unexpected arrival is his way of trying to protect Gen, and it's taking every last nerve he has to confront Damien to do so.

But if he goes from suave, sophisticated Damien to the brutal Dragonfly leader in front of Christopher, I'm sure he'll regret it.

So, instead of letting him, I lay my hand on his arm. I tell myself I won't be offended if he shakes me off, but the opposite happens.

Damien keeps the connection. His gaze slides my way, and though I can see the matching fury simmering in his normally icy blue eyes, he gives me a reassuring nod.

Then, blowing a calming breath out through his nose, he turns back to Christopher. "You're right. Gen's not here. So, tell me, Christopher. Where is she?"

Christopher gulps. "That's why I had to come here today. Why I had to tell you that she's been turning the music on and sneaking out through her window. Because Gen… she's gone and I can't find her."

And it's a testament to how much Damien loves me that, when he goes eerily quiet upon hearing the news and I wrap my hands around his middle, he doesn't push me away. He lets me hug him—and my embrace might be the one thing that saves Christopher's life when he confesses that he's known about Genevieve sneaking out to see a guy this past month… and he never told Damien.

Because that guy? He belongs to the Sinners Syndicate—and he's missing, too.