Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Elizabeth - 1 week

“You have nothing to be nervous about,” Elian assured me, reaching to grab my hand, so I stopped tapping my fingers against my leg.

We were riding the elevator up to Renzo Lombardi’s penthouse apartment. Because, apparently, the entire family had get-togethers every few weeks. And now that I was with Elian, I needed to be with him to meet everyone.

Sure, I’d already met Renzo, Rico, Serano, Cinna, Dav, Saff, and a few of the other lower-level men, but this felt a little like a test of sorts. Even if I knew that Elian wasn’t looking at it like that.

As soon as we stepped off of the elevator, I could hear the thrum of music mingled with the chorus of voices and occasional bursts of laughter.

Really, it sounded like any other party.

It wasn’t like we were going to walk in, the music was going to cut off, someone was going to produce a very bright light to shine on me, and everyone was going to take turns asking me questions.

Elian nodded to the man standing guard outside of Renzo’s front door. We still had one of those too. Elian said he was just being overly cautious, and I’d honestly been glad he hadn’t been quick to leave me all alone after the last incident. Even if the family had made a deal with the Russians.

“Cage,” Elian said as the man opened the door for us. “This is Elizabeth,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Elizabeth, this is Cage.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, getting a smile and nod from him as we moved into Renzo’s apartment.

“Oh, wow,” I said, looking around at the sprawling penthouse. “I wasn’t expecting this from the outside of the building,” I admitted as my gaze moved around the warm, cozy space with its giant kitchen, dining space, living room, and then area that was set up like a game room with a pool table and a full bar.

Dav was standing behind said bar, face animated as he told one of the stories he was, apparently, famous for. Cinna was a few feet away, looking like she was having some sort of serious conversation with Saff, who had a bruise on her cheek that hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen her.

“How about some food first?” Elian asked, leading me over to the kitchen where nearly a dozen pizza boxes were scattered around, along with foil-wrapped hot subs, and a few tins of appetizers—fried mozzarella, bruschetta, and pinwheels.

Elian and I loaded up plates, then walked over to join a small group sitting in the living room. Introductions were made, and then the conversation continued. I was glad for the food, because it gave me an excuse just to listen in instead of participating.

By the time we finished eating, I was feeling a little more at ease as we went to get drinks, then started to talk to more people.

At some point, though, Elian got called away, then I lost Dav, Cinna, and Saff to Rico, who needed to talk about something in private.

Feeling a little adrift, I slipped past the bar, then slid into the partially open door beside it, figuring I would just take a few moments to calm my frazzled nerves, then go back out to find Elian.

“Overwhelmed?” a voice called, making me gasp and spin to see a woman sitting on the couch, a gray and white striped blanket draped over her, and a big hardcover book open on her lap.

“A little,” I admitted. “I kind of… lost Elian. And now I don’t know who to talk to.”

“Been there,” she said, patting the spot on the couch next to her.

I made my way over, looking at the petite, pretty woman who had to be Renzo’s wife, Lore.

“Thanks,” I said, giving her a grateful smile as she slid a bookmark in between the pages of her book, then closed it. “Did you come in here for a break too?” I asked.

“This time? No,” she admitted. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out why the supposed hero in this story poisoned the heroine in the last book,” she said, running her fingers lovingly over the cover of her book. “I made sure I said my hellos before sneaking away. But no one will notice if I’m not around to say goodbyes. You’re Elizabeth, right?”

“Yes. And you’re Lore. I’ve met Renzo a few times,” I told her, watching the way she lit up at the mention of her husband. I couldn’t help but wonder if I looked like that when someone mentioned Elian.

“I don’t know if I should say That’s nice or I’m sorry , because it really depends on the situation with him,” she admitted.

“He’s definitely a little brusque, but he’s been nice. And understanding of my situation.”

“He can be really sweet, believe it or not. He just doesn’t like to wear that on his sleeve. Not like Elian. I have a soft spot for him, you know,” she said. “When I first came here, he was my only friend. And he stood up to Renzo for me when he was being an idiot.”

“Who was being an idiot?” Saff asked, coming into the room, reaching up to let her long blue hair down, rubbing her scalp with a little groan. “That was too tight,” she declared.

“Renzo was being an idiot,” Lore told her.

“Oh, well, yeah, that makes sense. For all these guys’ good qualities, they’re morons sometimes too.”

“What happened to your cheek?” Lore asked.

“Oh this? A little misunderstanding with a shop owner.”

“He hit you?” I asked, brows shooting up.

“Is he still… with us?” Lore asked, getting a snort out of Saff.

“I don’t kill every man I come across, you know,” Saff said, rolling her eyes.

“No,” Lore agreed. “Sometimes you only castrate them.”

“Oh, my God. That was one time. Why does everyone keep bringing it up?”

“Elizabeth, how many men have you castrated?”

“Literally or metaphorically?” I asked, getting a giggle out of Lore and a smile out of Saff.

“So, what are you reading? Are they banging in it?” she asked, nodding toward Lore’s book.

“They… have banged,” Lore admitted. “But we’re at the betrayal part of the story now.”

“Well, then there is some great hate-sex and a grovel to look forward to,” Saff said. “We should start a book club. Do you read?” she asked, looking at me.

“I used to,” I admitted. “Then the campaign kind of took over my life. But I haven’t read any, ah, romance books. Is that what you guys read?”

“Lore here loves a good romantasy. I like lots of smut and violence. But I’m sure there’s a good common ground we could find.”

“I’m game if you guys are,” I said, a little desperate for some friendships. And for something to do with my time now that I was unemployed.

“We should take a trip to the bookstore this week,” Lore said, eyes bright at the prospect. “Pick something out we are all interested in.”

We were just finalizing our plans when the door opened, and Elian came in.

“There you are.”

“We stole her,” Lore said, giving him a sweet smile. “We are starting a bookclub.”

“The smutty kind,” Saff said, moving to stand. “So either make yourself available to Elizabeth after she reads the spicy scenes, or invest in lots of batteries.”

“Batteries won’t be necessary,” he said as I got up to walk over to him. “You want to head out?” he asked.

“I’m not rushing you,” I insisted.

“Nah, things are starting to wind down. Cinna and Dav headed out already. And Renzo keeps glancing up to his room like he wants to go to bed.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Lore said, getting up, folding her blanket, setting her book on the table, then thinking better of it, and holding it against her chest as she made her way to the door. “It was nice finally meeting you. Saff and I will text you about the bookstore.”

With that, she was gone, and Elian and I made our way out.

“I like that you’re making friends with Lore,” he said as we rode the elevator down.

“Not Saff?” I asked, getting a chuckle out of him.

“Depends. Are you feeling the urge to castrate anyone?”

“That was one time,” I said, defending my new friend, but making Elian break out into a laugh.

“I love you making friends with any of my people. I want you to start seeing them as yours too.”

The crazy thing was, I was starting to see them as mine too.

Elian - 3 months

“Hey, baby,” I said, pulling the headphone off of Elizabeth’s ear, making her jolt hard.

“Oh, hey,” she said, pulling them down to let them ring the back of her neck. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Not surprised,” I said as the sawing started up again across the hall. I could barely hear myself think over it. “How are you working with that racket?”

“The best noise-canceling headphones known to man,” she said, reaching up to pat the headphones.

“You could work at the coffee shop on the corner,” I told her, dropping down at her side.

Dimitri had been making the moves we’d been hoping for, setting up a new massage parlor in East New York, and slowly moving his apartment there as well.

It was safe for Elizabeth to be going back to normal life.

“But I can’t bring my coworkers with me there,” she said, reaching out to pet Kevin who was asleep on the arm of the couch as Richard lay on his back under one of her crossed legs, swatting at her sock-clad foot.

“How’s it going?” I asked, waving toward her laptop.

“I’m not even sure why Rico thought the meat shop needed marketing. It seems like he’s too busy to keep up most days already,” she said, having visited herself more than a few times to pick up meat for dinner.

“He’s really taken to running his own business. And you know Rico. He never does anything halfway.”

Elizabeth had settled on working freelance now that she didn’t have to worry about her bills at her fancy apartment building. She’d sub-letted the place until her lease was up in six months, and moved everything into my place instead. Not the guest room this time, either. My room. The hers walk-in closet. The empty drawers in the bathroom.

There were parts of her all around.

And I found myself smiling anytime I opened a drawer or cabinet and saw her things right there next to mine.

“Well, we finally got his logos made up, and the new website up and running. Along with his socials. I can’t imagine how busy he is going to be in the next few weeks with the holidays coming.”

“Yeah, we should make sure we get our orders in early,” I agreed, wincing as the staple gun started up across the hall, interrupted only by the occasional burst of air from the compressor.

“You know,” Elizabeth said, reaching to pull off her headphones and set them on the coffee table before climbing over my lap. “There is one perk to all that noise,” she said, leaning in to press her lips to my neck. “We don’t have to be quiet.”

That was definitely a perk, I decided, as I grabbed her, turning her and rolling her under me, my lips sealing over hers as her legs went around my hips, using me as leverage to rock against my cock.

By the time we were done, I was suddenly not so annoyed by all the noise anymore.

Elizabeth - 1 year

“There could have been a couple more oral scenes, that’s all I’m saying,” Saff said, throwing up her hands as Islah’s cheeks went bright red.

Even after a year of our monthly bookclub meetings, and Saff’s shamelessly outspoken takes on, in particular, the sexual aspects of the books, Islah still managed to get embarrassed by it.

“I mean, it’s fantasy , right?” Saff asked, reaching for the bottle of wine sitting in the middle of the table, and topping off all of our glasses. “And in my fantasies, the hero goes down on his woman more than twice in the book. That’s all I’m saying.”

“You have a point,” Lore agreed. “It’s not really even that much of a fantasy. That should be, you know, the standard.” It certainly was in my relationship.

“Exactly,” Saff said, nodding. “So, what are we reading next? I vote for the vampires. I’m getting sick of royals. Oh, poor you, you have all the money and power and you’re so sad because some douchebag doesn’t want to feel you up…”

“To be fair, the past few books have all been a lot heavier on the court intrigue than the romance plots,” Lore defended the books.

“Exactly. Why isn’t anyone being slammed back against the wall and railed so hard that all the servants in the castle feel the need to go to confessional?”

“Okay,” Lore said, nodding. “We can do the vampires. If Elizabeth is cool with that?”

“Fine with me,” I agreed, just happy to be along for the ride.

After being alone for so long, with only work connections to lay claim to, having friends was still new and exciting to me. I was always reading, thinking of how Lore was going to dissect a complicated plot point, or Saff was going to insist that the sex position the main characters engaged in was physically impossible.

“I mean, if they’ve been alive for three hundred years, hopefully they’ve learned how to lay some pipe, right, Elian?” she asked, making me turn to see him frozen in the living room, brows raised.

“I’m… early,” he decided, starting to slow walk backward.

“No, no. I have to go hit the bookstore before I make dinner,” Lore said, lifting the heavy book off of the table and cradling it to her chest. “Do you want to come, Saff?” she asked.

“Ah, no,” Saff said, suddenly seeming a little more shut down. “I, ah, have plans,” she added, making Lore and I share a confused look. But we knew better than to try to pry things out of Saff.

Besides, she was grabbing her book, and rushing past Elian already.

“Did I interrupt?” Elian asked as he watched Lore follow Saff out. “I know you look forward to this,” he added as he brought his bag over to the island and started pulling out ingredients for dinner.

We shared that task now, though he definitely had more recipes in his arsenal than I did, so he tended to cook more often than I did.

Though I’ll go ahead and toot my own horn and say I found I had a skilled hand with baked goods, where Elian was still pretty hopeless with that task.

“No, we were pretty much done,” I said, eyeing the heavy cream and block of parmesan. It looked like Alfredo was in my future. My stomach let out a hearty growl at the idea.

I placed my hand there, seeing the gorgeous marquise-cut diamond sitting on my left ring finger, a promise of a future we’d been working toward ever since I’d officially moved into this condo, and wondering how long it would be until my belly started to go round. I was hoping it at least stayed flat for another two weeks, or my seamstress was going to have a fit since I’d already had my final fitting.

I never imagined myself having a large wedding. Mostly because I didn’t have any family that I was close to any more.

But, I guess, now I did.

Elian’s blood and extended family was now mine to share. And they were more than enough to fill up the church.

“You okay? Nauseated?” Elian asked, watching me with worried eyes.

We’d suffered through about nine weeks of absolute hell. Throwing up, migraines that I couldn’t control with my usual meds, just complete misery for me, and by extension, him.

But for the past five or six days, the nausea had disappeared, leaving ravenous hunger in its wake.

“Just starving,” I admitted, watching as he reached into the bag to push those almond biscotti things at me.

“You think of everything,” I said as I opened the package.

A loud sawing sound had Elian’s gaze sliding toward the hallway. “Were they doing that all through bookclub?” he asked.

The never-ending construction was a bone of contention with Elian, who was promised this project would have been done almost two months ago. Which, in city construction timelines, was practically on track.

Though, yeah, we were still a ways away. Including the worst part of the project that would have them cutting the wall open in the living room to open up the condos into one giant one.

I was just hoping they’d be done before the baby got here.

“It was background noise,” I said, shrugging. “Just think how nice it is going to be to have one, big home to bring the baby to,” I said, running my hands up his chest to wrap around his neck. “It’ll all be worth it in the end. And we already have the nursery,” I reminded him.

“Did you get the girls’ input on the wallpaper?” he asked. We’d been hopelessly deadlocked about the decision since we started looking at all the options online.

We wanted to go neutral, not because we weren’t going to learn the gender of the baby, but because we decided this would be the first of several, and we wanted it to be able to work for all of the babies moving forward.

“Lore liked the one with the castles.”

“And Saff?”

“Thought that the leaves look like pot leaves. And now I can’t see anything else,” I admitted.

“Back to the drawing board then, it seems,” he said, leaning his forehead to mine. “Expecting someone?” he asked when there was a knock at the door.

“No,” I said, shaking my head, but Islah was dropping by a lot since she learned she was about to be an auntie. Sometimes, it was with cute stuffies she saw in a shop window. Other times, it was with ginger lozenges for my nausea. We already had a small stack of books to read to the baby.

Elian moved away from me, striding over to open the door.

And there was Serano, gaze expectant.

“Saw you with the groceries,” he said, glancing toward the kitchen.

Elian shot me a smile.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Serano?” I asked.

“Sure,” he agreed, walking in like it wasn’t his idea, stopping to pet Kevin and Richard before turning on the TV and cranking up the volume.

Serano, I learned over the past year, was someone who always stayed abreast of the news. So it wasn’t surprising when the newscaster’s voice filled the room.

What was surprising, though, was to hear a name I hadn’t heard in months.

“Former senator, Michael Westmoore…” she started, making Elian and I move in to stand beside Serano.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“They found his body,” Serano said.

“The senator’s body?” I asked, stiffening.

“Yep. Found ‘em strung up by his feet and gutted.”

“Oh, God,” I said, hand slapping over my mouth as bile threatened.

“Christ, Serano,” Elian said, reaching to rub his hand up and down my spine.

“I thought… didn’t Rico say he, you know, went into the Witness Protection Program?”

“He turned State’s evidence,” Elian agreed.

“Rolling on the Bratva has consequences,” Serano said. “Sometimes it just takes time.”

“You okay?” Elian asked, following me to the kitchen where I dropped down on one of the stools.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“You’re not responsible,” Elian insisted, knowing that was where my head was going.

If I’d never exposed the senator, he would have gone on working for the Bratva, never making enemies of them, not having to roll over on them, then uproot his life, only to live a few months in WITSEC, before being brutally murdered.

“I feel responsible.”

“His choices were his own,” Elian insisted. “He didn’t have to get involved with the Bratva. He didn’t have to roll over on them when he was caught. He could have taken his prison sentence. He chose not to do that. He knew the risks. Actions have consequences.”

“I know,” I agreed, exhaling hard as I reached for one of the lozenges Islah brought me that we kept in a bowl on the counter. “I just… I worked with him, y’know? I didn’t exactly like the man, but he shouldn’t have been murdered. Is his family okay?”

“They’re fine,” Serano said, joining us.

His wife and daughter probably weren’t even mourning, given their tense relationship. But his sons were likely grieving their loss.

I wondered how everyone I’d worked on his campaign with were handling the news. If they were as upset about it as I felt.

“Small miracles, I guess,” I said.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Elian reminded me. “The Russians know you’re mine now. They won’t touch you.”

“Still doing the wedding thing?” Serano asked.

“Seeing as we have a baby on the way, yeah, we’re still pretty committed to making him or her legitimate,” Elian said, rolling his eyes.

Serano’s gaze slid to my stomach. And if I wasn’t completely mistaken, it seemed like there was interest in his gaze.

“Meet any nice girls lately?” I asked.

The way his head whipped up, eyes wide, told me all I needed to know.

“What? No,” he said, rushing back to the living room.

“Maybe we won’t be the only ones with wedding bells in our future,” I said.

“Can’t wait to see what kind of woman snagged him,” Elian said.

“I hope she knows how to cook,” I agreed.

Elian - 7 years

“Hey, hey, hey,” I said, scooping up our three-year-old right before he burst into the primary bedroom. “Mommy is taking a nap,” I told him as I walked us back toward the family room. Which was as far away from the bedroom as I could take the kids to give Elizabeth a chance to sleep off her migraine. “She has a boo-boo head,” I added, tapping his with my knuckles after setting him down next to his older brother who was zooming a small stuffed animal in and out at his baby sister’s face as she flailed at it and let out little bubbly laughs.

Elizabeth’s migraines ebbed and flowed. She always suffered the worst in her first trimester and then the months following delivery. We assumed it was some issue with all the hormonal changes that were trying to regulate themselves.

This postpartum, in particular, was really rough.

This was the third migraine just this week.

And while our eldest son understood the need to leave his mother alone and try to be quiet, our middle was still obsessed with being with his mom every second of the day.

“Knock knock,” Islah’s voice called as she stepped into the condo.

“Eye! Eye!” our three-year-old called, running toward his aunt with his arms up high.

“Hey, you,” she said, scooping him up and settling him on her hip. “I was dropping by to see if my niblings want to come and get ice cream,” she said, making our older son’s eyes light up.

“The boys are happy to come,” I said, nodding. “But they’re a handful enough.”

“Nope. We’re taking all three, so get me a diaper bag ready.”

“We?” I asked, watching as she walked back toward the door, opening it and stepping back to let a man walk in.

“See? Extra set of hands. Now, the diaper bag,” she said, coming over to the family room to set her nephew down at her side, so she could reach for her niece. “So, what kind of ice cream are you getting?” she asked my oldest. “Because I think I want vanilla soft serve in a cone with rainbow sprinkles.”

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and knowing Islah was more than capable of taking care of the kids, since she was our go-to babysitter, I went ahead and got the diaper bag all packed while Islah strapped the baby into her carseat carrier, then handed it to the man who she had to be getting serious with if she was bringing him around to introduce to her big brother.

With that, she hoisted the three-year-old on her hip, put the bag on her shoulder, and took my eldest’s hand.

“Say bye to daddy,” she said as she shuffled my kids out the door.

I turned back from the door to find Elizabeth leaning in the doorway. Her eyelids were still swollen from the migraine, but the ease in her body language said it had finally broken.

“I guess she finally figured out that real men can be even better than fictional ones,” she said, following me over to the couch and sitting next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“How’s your head?”

“Better. Hopefully, there’s no rebound, but better. That was a banger.”

“Want me to make you some coffee?”

“Nope,” she said, sliding her legs over my lap. “I want to stay here, just like this,” she said as my arm went around her, pulling her close. “I love the noise, but it really does make you appreciate the occasional quiet. Well, relative quiet,” she said as Richard and the newest rescue Serano had dropped at our door, Donald, got into a little tiff over the dangling yarn ball on the tree stand.

We were currently at four cats.

Four cats.

Three children.

And only two sets of hands.

It was crazy around here more often than it was calm.

But neither of us would have it any other way.

Elizabeth - 25 years

“Okay,” our daughter declared from her side of the dinner table after nervously twisting her pasta, a telltale sign that she was nervous about something. “I finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Elian asked, head tipped to the side as he looked at her, our only girl, though not our youngest.

I remember being dubious once about how many “a few” children meant to Elian. It turned out it meant five. An absurd number of children to raise in the city. But thanks to Elian’s forethought to buy the other condo in hopes of a family one day, we had more than enough room for all of them.

And, hey, that last one turned out to be one of the best decisions we’d ever made. Because that little dude had worked some kind of magic spell on my hormones, making my migraines all but disappear.

I still struggled with one here or there, mostly due to the weather or working out too hard, but it was nothing like I’d been experiencing most of my adult life.

“My major,” our daughter said, rolling her eyes like we all should have known what was going on in her mind every moment of every day. Despite her being our most mercurial child with a mind that flip-flopped from one thing to another in the blink of an eye.

Of all our kids, I guess she was the one who was most similar to me. Ambitious, but a little directionless. Eager to prove herself, but not sure exactly how.

At her age, I was exactly like her.

And, well, she was also a little mini-me. Except she’d inherited her father’s golden eyes.

“Oh, that’s great,” I said, happy for her, knowing how much she’d struggled to make up her mind, feeling like she was behind all of her peers who’d gone into their senior year of high school knowing exactly what they wanted to be when they grew up.

This had been an easier age for our older boys. Who, despite really strong urging on our part to get them to go to college, to travel, to have normal lives, had long-since made up their minds that they were going to follow in their father’s footsteps.

And while, sure, the Lombardi family was still very progressive and open to female capos, I had to admit that I was glad our girl had never shown any interest in joining the family business.

“What did you decide on?” Elian asked when she didn’t immediately offer up the information.

“I want to go for political science,” she said, making Elian and I share a look.

“Really?” I asked. “What kind of career are you hoping to go into with that?”

“Well, I kind of want to be a political campaign manager,” she declared a little shyly, letting me know how much she actually wanted that. Her uncertainties were always loud. Her desires were quiet. It was another thing I related to a little too much.

This time, when our gazes met, neither of us could hide our wide eyes.

“What?” she asked, looking between the two of us. “It’s a real career,” she insisted, getting offended that we thought she didn’t do enough research.

“Oh, I know,” I agreed, not sure if I wanted to laugh or to cry.

“They make good money,” she said, chin lifting.

“Yep. Yep, they sure do,” I said, thinking of that fancy apartment I’d been living in when I’d been just a few years older than she was now.

“Why do you guys look like I’m saying I want to be a race car driver?” she asked. “It’s a safe profession.”

God, I really, really hoped so.

“Well,” Elian said, recovering a bit more quickly than I could. “We’re happy for you, sweetheart,” he said.

“But I’m afraid we might have to tell you a little story,” I said.

“What story?” she asked, head tipped to the side.

“About how your mother and I met,” Elian supplied.

“What? You guys told us how you met,” she said, pretty face scrunching up. “Outside of mom’s office at the time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, sucking in a deep breath. “But we may have left out some key details.”

“What kind of details?” she asked.

“The ones about all the bullets,” Elian supplied.

“And the break-ins,” I added.

“Political corruption,” Elian piled on.

“And Bratva enforcers,” I said, wanting to laugh at the wide eyes our kids were all giving us.

“And I guess it all starts with the decision I once made to run a political campaign…” I said.

It had been one hell of a ride.

But, I decided as Elian reached for my hand, it had all been worth it in the end.

XX