22. Epilogue

Bautista sat on the balcony at Casa del Rey, cradling a glass of whiskey in his large hands as he watched Carmelita sort through her collection of colored beads. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow on her dark hair, her small fingers deftly moving the tiny objects into their respective compartments with the focus and precision of a true hobbyist.

It was time for a talk. Bautista had been putting this off, but it needed to be done.

"Rylan is going to live with us," he said, his voice gentle and slow. He was careful not to startle her, knowing that she could be easily overwhelmed.

Carmelita looked up, her black eyes wide with surprise. "I thought he already lived here," she said innocently, and Bautista had to smile. To her, Rylan had become part of the family so seamlessly; it was endearing.

"Yes, but now he's coming to stay forever," he explained, his voice growing softer still. "I hope you and Rylan will get along well, mi vida. But remember, you'll always be my best and favorite girl."

A shy smile spread across Carmelita's face. "I like Rylan," she admitted, turning her attention back to her beads. "Is he going to stay in your room, Papá?"

Bautista hesitated for a moment, feeling a flicker of self-consciousness—how much did she understand about his relationship with Rylan? How much should he let her know? "Yes, he will," he said slowly, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Maybe he can turn his old room into a studio for his fashion designs," Carmelita suggested, her voice bright and full of excitement. Bautista felt a wave of relief wash over him at her innocent suggestion, grateful that she didn't seem to suspect anything untoward.

"That's a good idea," Bautista agreed, his voice warm and affectionate. He watched her return to her beads, her small hands moving with renewed enthusiasm. And as he sat there, sipping his whiskey and reveling in the simple joy of spending time with his daughter, he felt a deep sense of contentment—the kind that only came from knowing that his family was growing, that Rylan was becoming part of their lives for good.

And as much as Bautista relished the thought of sharing his bed with Rylan every night, he knew that what they were building together went far beyond the realm of dark, erotic pleasure. It was something deeper, something permanent.

He had treated Rylan poorly in the past, but it seemed he had been forgiven his sins. It was an undeserved absolution. He would have to make up for it by giving Rylan everything he needed to thrive now, here in the harsh environment of the cartel.

But he had done it before. The evidence was in front of him, sorting her beads with no concerns in the world. Carmelita had adjusted yet again to changes in her life, showing a resilience that he was proud of. She had cried when Teresa went away, but her new nanny was motherly and kind, and Carmelita called her Tía Juanita already.

Now she had accepted Rylan into their family with that same cheerful acquiescence, and Bautista would have to protect them both.

This he swore he would do, while there was still a single drop of blood in his body. Carmelita and Rylan were his world. Nothing could be allowed to harm them. And with Rylan by his side, Bautista knew he could face anything.

***

"Are you sure? One hundred percent sure?"

Rylan felt a smile coming over his face that he couldn't contain. "I am," he said into the phone, tucking a curl behind his ear as he spoke. He paced the lush garden of Casa del Rey, trying to find the words to explain the situation that had led him here. "I'm moving to Colombia, permanently."

Katja sighed. "With your warlord." Katja's voice was incredulous, her concern for her friend evident even through the phone.

"He's not a warlord," Rylan protested. "But yes. With him." He paused, his eyes skating over the vibrant flowers and manicured bushes surrounding him. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it the sweet, heady scent of the roses. "I know it sounds crazy, but...it's what I want. There's something between us, something I can't ignore."

He felt the weight of his decision settle on his shoulders. But deep down, he knew that this was where he belonged. And as much as the intensity of their connection scared him, he couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through him at the sound of Bautista's name.

Bautista. Marcus. The man who owned him, not because he had kidnapped him but because Rylan had given himself to him.

"Fine," Katja sighed. "Just promise me you'll be careful, okay?" Her voice had softened, and it brought a smile to Rylan's lips.

"Of course, Katja. I promise," he reassured her, his heart swelling with gratitude. He could feel her love through the phone, a lifeline in this strange new world he had chosen.

"Good," she replied. When she spoke again, her tone had lightened. "So, are you still coming to my catwalk show next weekend?"

Rylan chuckled at the sudden shift in topic. "I'll have to check if I can borrow the helicopter," he joked.

Katja laughed, high and tinkly. "Oh, travelling in style. Well, you'd better make it happen! Can't wait to see you there."

"Me too."

He ended the call and walked up the steps of the house, his nerves tingling with anticipation as he prepared to face Bautista and Carmelita.

Would the little girl be approving or disapproving of Rylan staying with them? Before now, she'd had no choice in the matter, but things were going to change. Rylan was no longer a prisoner in her father's house. And Teresa had been let go. Rylan knew that was because Bautista had no need for his women anymore, and that Teresa had been found a good position somewhere else. But if Carmelita connected Rylan moving in with Teresa leaving, things could be disastrous.

Upon reaching the balcony, Rylan found Bautista and his daughter sitting together in the warm glow of the setting sun. Relief washed over him as he saw Bautista's relaxed expression, signaling that their conversation had gone well. His heart swelled, feeling more welcomed and accepted than ever before.

"Hello, Carmelita," Rylan greeted her with a gentle smile.

"Hola, Rylan!" the young girl responded, her eyes shining with curiosity. "Papá told me you're going to stay with us forever. Will you help me design a dress for my birthday party?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Rylan answered, touched by her request.

"Really? Thank you!" Carmelita beamed, her excitement contagious. Her eyes seemed to dance with delight at the prospect of collaborating on a design together.

"We'll make it the most beautiful dress ever," he promised. "What are your favorite colors?"

"Um," Carmelita said, tapping her index finger against her chin in thought. "Papa's favorite color is blue...or maybe violet."

"I see." Rylan spread his hands. "But we're not making a dress for your papá, are we?"

At this, Carmelita burst into a fit of giggles, the sound as sweet and infectious as the scent of the flowers surrounding them on the balcony. Even Bautista couldn't help but crack a smile, though he raised an eyebrow at Rylan's playful banter.

"Papá in a dress! Muy extra?o," Carmelita said between peals of laughter. Eventually she pulled herself together. "I like pink and gold. And I want a dress that's fluffy like a princess!"

Rylan smiled. "Perfect. Why don't you go get your pencils so you can show me exactly what you want?"

"Okay!" Carmelita agreed enthusiastically before scampering off, her patent leather shoes tapping rhythmically against the tile floor.

Seizing the opportunity, Rylan slid into Bautista's lap, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. The cartel kingpin responded by wrapping a possessive hand around Rylan's waist, pulling him closer to nuzzle his neck.

"Can't resist, can you?" he murmured against Rylan's ear, causing a shiver to run through him.

"Never," Rylan admitted, his voice barely more than a breathy whisper. It was true—the magnetic pull between them was as undeniable as it was intoxicating.

"You spoke to your friend?" Bautista asked, his fingers absently tracing patterns on Rylan's thigh.

"Yes. She…understands," Rylan said hesitantly.

"So I shouldn't expect Interpol on my doorstep?" Bautista said dryly. "Good. You must invite her some time. Show her the crocodiles."

Rylan made a sound of mock exasperation. "Please don't frighten my friends. Ah, actually, she's having a show for her new collection next weekend. I'd like to go, if I may." He sat up a bit straighter as enthusiasm took him over. "There's this cut she's experimenting with, a sort of angular, asymmetrical silhouette—it's really quite daring."

As the words echoed in his ears, Rylan realized how absurd it must sound to discuss fashion with a man like Bautista—a crime lord whose life was steeped in danger and violence.

He felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment, and he lowered his gaze. "But I'm boring you."

Bautista snorted. "You could never bore me, cari?o," he said, his dark eyes locked onto Rylan's flushed face. As he spoke, his hand slipped between Rylan's legs, stroking him through the fabric of his pants. The unexpected touch elicited a gasp from Rylan, his blush deepening. "Later," Bautista promised, his voice a low growl as he nipped at Rylan's throat, "I can fill your mouth for you, if you think you talk too much."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Rylan gasped as his body responded eagerly to Bautista's touch.

"Both," Bautista replied, smirking wickedly as he stroked Rylan's growing arousal.

Rylan bit his lip, struggling to maintain some semblance of composure. "I…I'll try to be appropriately grateful, then."

Bautista laughed and kissed Rylan's cheek. "Go to your friend's show. Perhaps I'll come with you, to make sure no one lays a hand on what is mine."

So possessive. Rylan smiled, enjoying it even though he knew he shouldn't. "And how was your day?" he asked, trying to refocus on something other than the heat pooling in his groin.

"Work was...challenging," Bautista admitted, his eyes briefly flicking away from Rylan's face before returning with that same intense focus. "Nothing for you to worry about."

Rylan made a face, unable to completely hide his discomfort with the criminal side of Bautista's business. He knew it wasn't his place to question it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Bautista seemed to sense Rylan's unease, and a reassuring smile crossed his face. "I've been making some changes." His hand stroked the inside of Rylan's thigh. "Ensuring the men here in the compound are a bit less…close-minded, perhaps."

Rylan considered this for a moment, then realized what Bautista meant—he must have had Carlos get rid of the men who were most likely to judge their boss for being in a relationship with a man. Hopefully Carlos had simply sent them away to some other location, rather than murder them in cold blood. Rylan chose to believe that was what had happened.

Before he could say anything, they were interrupted by the sound of patent leather shoes tapping against the tile floor. Carmelita's return had Rylan quickly slipping from Bautista's lap, settling instead on the arm of his chair just as the young girl appeared in the doorway. She immediately climbed onto her father's lap to replace him.

"Here, Rylan!" Carmelita handed him her pencils to hold, her eyes bright and eager as she began to draw the dress she wanted on her sketchpad. Bautista kissed her hair affectionately, his dark gaze meeting Rylan's across the top of her head. Their eyes held a message—the promise of more later.

"Oh, that's a very fluffy skirt," Rylan said warmly as he watched her sketch. "Do you think it should have a lot of petticoats?"

Carmelita agreed heartily. She added ribbons to the sleeves. "Can I have gold ribbons?"

"Of course. Whatever you want, I'm sure it will be beautiful."

"Ah, mi vida," Bautista murmured with a smile. "You will bankrupt me with your ribbons."

Carmelita gave him a worried look. "Is that bad, Papá?"

But Rylan reassured her. "Don't worry. I'm very good at working within a budget."

This made Bautista laugh. "Oh, no. Have as many ribbons as you like, mija. Solid gold if you want."

Rylan shook his head. "Too heavy. Gold brocade would be more than enough."

This seemed to placate her, and she happily chattered about her drawing until the new nanny fetched her away to wash up for dinner.

As the sound of their footsteps receded, Bautista pulled Rylan back into his lap. Rylan shivered with anticipation, feeling his heart race as he leaned into the solid warmth of Bautista's embrace.

"Tonight," Bautista whispered, his voice rough and intent, "I'm going to remind you just how much you belong to me."

Rylan's breath hitched, the promise of it sending a thrill down his spine. He nodded eagerly, knowing that surrendering to Bautista's demands was exactly what he craved.

"Anything you want, Marcus," he murmured, locking eyes with the dangerous man he loved like nothing else.

Bautista smirked, his grip tightening. "My little prince," he said, and in it Rylan heard all the love he knew Bautista could not say aloud.

Words weren't necessary. He felt that love in Bautista's touch, in the way Bautista devoured him with his eyes, heard it in his voice when he spoke soft Spanish in Rylan's ear. He knew it was true, that he was wanted, loved, cherished. That this was real, and he could keep it.

His heart swelled. "I'm yours," he said, pressing a kiss to Bautista's mouth.

Bautista smiled, kissing him back. "Always."