Chapter Twenty

Anthony - 4 days

"I'm fine," I said for what had to be the tenth time already that morning. Still, Saylor cast dubious glances at me. "Salvatore just said I'm healing well yesterday," I added. Even though I'd been fucking Saylor literally every chance I got between drop-ins from my family.

Sometimes her riding me.

Other times, me standing off the side of the bed.

Once, with her bent over the kitchen island as we waited for a baked ziti to heat in the oven.

"I'm not worried about the stitches," she said, and there was a telltale twitch at the corners of her mouth that said she was about to tease the fuck out of me about something. "I'm worried you're gonna miss the step up from the living room, fall, and crack your head open when no one is here to watch you."

To that, I let out a little snort.

"I will stay on the couch," I said.

"The whole time?" she asked, brows raised.

"How the fuck long is it going to take?" I asked as the intercom buzzed, prompting Saylor to walk over and let Keith and Fury up.

"This is Keith we're talking about here," she reminded me.

"Fair," I agreed.

"I mean, the guy probably wants to know all the dogs' astrological charts before he makes a decision," she added, making a chuckle escape me.

"At least they all come with names," I reasoned as we heard the ding of the elevator.

"Unless he decides that their names don't suit them. Giving the poor fucking dog an identity crisis because he's a whack job. Speak of the devil," she said, swinging the door open to let him in.

Fury was on the end of a leash that definitely didn't belong to Saylor, given it was hot fucking pink, and she was wearing matching booties on her feet. Feet that tip-tapped as soon as she caught sight of Saylor. I swear her ass was about to pop off with how hard her tail was wiggling.

As Fury pulled the leash free from his grasp to fly at Saylor, Keith's face fell.

"Oh, stop," Saylor said, shaking her head at him. "We are literally about to go get you your own dog who will love you like this," she added as she rubbed Fury's belly with both hands.

"I bonded with her," Keith said, still pouting.

"Just think how much a dog that you literally rescued is going to love you," Saylor reasoned. "We're going to go pick you out your new best friend, so stop looking so fucking glum," she demanded as Fury bounced over toward me, jumping effortlessly up onto the couch to sniff at my chest, smelling the wound even through my shirt.

"Can I see the bullet hole?" Keith asked.

"Depends," Saylor said.

"On what?"

"If you're the kind who throws up easily or not. I'm not in the mood to clean up your puke."

Giving the poor kid a break, I pulled the material to the side, and realized real quick that Saylor was right in asking that question. Because the fucking kid went white as a sheet.

"Okay, enough show-and-tell," Saylor said, pushing Keith back a few steps. "Let's go get you a new friend. You," she said, walking backward up the step to the sunken living room without so much as a stumble, "stay your ass on the fucking couch. I mean it."

"What if there's a fire?" I asked, smirking.

"Then you keep your ass on that couch and wait for the tall, hunky fireman to come, whisk you off your feet, and carry you to safety," she said. "Oh, thank God," she said as she was walking out into the hallway to find my mother coming in with another tray of food. "Keep an eye on him. I'll be back in an hour or two," she said.

"Have I mentioned that I love her for you?" my mother asked as she put the tray in the fridge.

"You're only saying that because she saved my life," I teased.

"That certainly helps," she said, kissing my cheek. "But it's not just that. She really cares about you. And I think you would do well with a strong woman like that in your life."

"She doesn't know how to cook," I told her, not because I wanted to turn her off to the idea of Saylor, since I did plan on being with her, but just to give my mother the whole picture, so she didn't go creating ideas in her head that would never come true.

"Well," she said, walking around, fluffing pillows, "there's time to learn if she wants to. Or you can do all the cooking. I hear Sam's husband was the cook in that family. Besides, you guys would never starve as long as I am alive."

"That's true," I agreed.

"I heard a rumor that she is thinking about retiring from… her current profession," she said, choosing her words carefully since this wasn't a residence that belonged to someone in the Family, so there was no guarantee that it was safe to speak plainly.

"She is. I think this was enough for her. She never planned to do it long-term anyway. We were thinking about opening a business together. Make use of that warehouse of hers," I said.

"Something that can practically run itself," my mother said, sweeping crumbs from the coffee table into her hand, then walking into the kitchen to dump it in the garbage. "That way, when you two have children, you don't have to spend too much time on business."

"We haven't discussed kids yet, Ma," I warned her.

To that, she whipped around, eyes borderline panicked. "You think she wants them, though, right? You want children."

"I do," I agreed. "But we just started seeing each other, Ma. I don't want to freak her out by bombarding her with questions about marriage and motherhood when I don't even know her favorite color yet."

"It's sage green. Where do you guys keep the broom and dustpan?" she asked, starting to open cabinets that, objectively, no broom could fit inside. "Never mind. Found it," she said, opening a closet, and starting to sweep.

My mother had always been the kind of woman who always seemed to have boundless energy to spare. I don't recall often seeing her just sitting down with her feet up, watching TV. She was always on the move. Cooking, cleaning, running after kids, taking off on errands, making time for family and friends.

Whenever someone tried to get her to relax, she would sit for ten minutes before popping up again and moving around. She liked to claim that it was likely how she'd maintained her figure even after four kids and eating cheese and pasta at damn near every meal.

"You don't need to clean, Ma," I said, even though I knew she was going to do it no matter how much I protested.

"You and Saylor need to be taking it easy," she told me as she started to sweep. "Oh, it's okay," she cooed at Fury who started to growl and lunge at the broom. "Just you wait until you meet the vacuum. You'll be missing the broom. Is she protective?" she asked, glancing back at me.

"Of the warehouse and Saylor, yeah," I said, nodding. "This is the first time she's been in the condo, but she'll learn that it's hers to protect eventually."

"Good. I like the idea of Saylor having someone here when you're not around. So, who was the young man she left with?"

"Keith. He's a hacker. Who wanted to keep Fury for himself. So Saylor took him to the pound to get him his own dog. He's a pain in the ass. Who only eats pizza rolls."

"Only?" my mother asked, pausing in her sweeping.

"Only," I confirmed. "All the disgusting different flavors. But only pizza rolls. From the freezer," I added, knowing it would get her hackles up.

"Does he not have the money to eat right?"

"Considering how much Saylor paid him for very little work, it's not a money thing."

"The freezer pizza rolls?" she asked, lip curling.

"No one really makes them fresh."

"I can make him some," she said, and I could already tell I'd lost her to her plans. "Do you think I have enough time to get to the store before they get back?"

"I think Keith is going to want the entire life stories of each of the dogs before he decides, so yeah."

"Okay. I'm running to the market," she said, patting Fury on the head, grabbing her purse, and heading out.

By the time Keith and Saylor got back, close to dinnertime, Keith beaming, Saylor looking like she'd been put through the wringer, my mother was just about to pull homemade pizza rolls out of the oven.

"How'd it go?" I asked as Saylor dropped down next to me, making a whining sound as Keith walked inward with his comically obese English Bulldog walked further into the apartment, letting Fury smell them before they kept going.

"Great!" Keith declared. "Meet Petunia," he said, beaming down at the dog who was panting heavily, despite the apartment being comfortable.

"Petunia?" I repeated.

"She's a hefty lady, but the woman at the shelter said that she's doing well on her diet," Keith told us as the dog dropped down on the floor, out cold in seconds.

"Do not feed her pizza rolls, no matter how much she begs," Saylor told him.

"Speaking of pizza rolls," my mother said, walking over with a plate full of them, some homemade marinara sauce in a ramekin in the center.

Keith's eyes went huge as he looked at them.

"These are fancy-ass pizza rolls," he declared.

"They're homemade," my mother agreed, nodding. "Without all those nasty preservatives. Try one," she said as she, I shit you not, reached to tuck a napkin into Keith's collar.

"I think your mother just gained another son," Saylor said, snuggling into me.

"Hey, that's fine by me. It will stop her pestering me about when we're gonna have kids," I said, placing my hand on her thigh.

"She asked that already?" Saylor asked.

"Yep."

"You want kids, don't you?" she asked.

"Always have," I said.

"I never really gave it thought before," Saylor admitted. "But I think… if I were ever going to have any, I'd want to have them with you."

"We've got time," I said.

"Yeah," she agreed as we listened to my mother and Keith prattle on about Petunia's birth sign, her life with an elderly man who overfed her, her trauma at his sudden death, then the trauma of living in the shelter where no one loved or cared about her. My mom had to unravel some paper towels to dab at her eyes.

And by the time Keith, Petunia, and my mother were getting ready to leave, Keith had convinced my mother that she needed to go rescue herself a dog as well.

And, what's more, my mother agreed.

"I feel like I should feel bad that we kind of just pushed Keith off on your mother," Saylor said.

"Hey, if anyone can get Keith out of that apartment and eating decent food like a human being, it's my mom," I said. "I don't feel guilty about shit. Besides, sounds like she's gonna be busy tomorrow. We will have the whole day alone."

"Yeah?" she asked. "What do you think we should do?"

"Spend the whole fucking day in bed."

And that was exactly what we did.

Though we actually spend the whole time sleeping.

Still, one of the best fucking days of my life up to that point.

Saylor - 5 months

"It's weird to see it so busy," I said as my mother and I stood back, watching dozens of men walk in and out of my warehouse over and over, carrying various boxes, pushing things on dollies, everyone looking determined and completely sure of what they were doing.

And I stood there kind of awestruck because, quite frankly, I didn't know shit about this new business Anthony and I, with some help from Lorenzo Costa himself, had started.

A, get this, construction business.

Something that neither Anthony nor I knew a damn thing about. But, somehow, something we were plowing forward with.

I think some part of me figured it would take many months, if not years, to start a new business once my mother, Ant, and I had decided not to franchise my father's gym.

But, nope.

From the moment the decision was made to when we started ordering supplies took all of two weeks.

Sure, it had been a busy two weeks. Involving endless paperwork, tax nonsense, decisions about logos and letterheads and healthcare plans. But, still, at the end of it, we were ready to start hiring people.

We already had our first job lined up too.

Adding on another level to Lorenzo Costa's brownstone.

Apparently, the decision to open this business mostly stemmed from a conversation between Ant and Lorenzo on the day that Lorenzo first gave the job of watching the Czech crew to Ant.

I'd been on-board because, quite frankly, I couldn't think of anything else to go into business doing anyway. Besides, it sounded like the plan was for us to let the company be run by people who actually knew about construction. While Anthony… handled the books. And I occasionally dropped in to show my face and remind them to stay in line.

It would leave my time free to do, well, I didn't know what. Spend time with Fury. Hang out with my mom at the gym. Make stronger connections with Anthony's family.

And, my mother would remind me on occasion when I was worried about being "purposeless," I would eventually be a wife and mother. My days would be plenty full.

Until then, she encouraged me to stop questioning, and start enjoying.

I decided to give that a try.

Fury let out a couple of half-hearted huffs at a passing skateboard before going back to watching the men pass by with their endless packages.

"It's kind of nice," my mom said. "This is probably similar to what it looked like back when it was a paper business."

There was a sudden screaming of my phone in my back pocket, making me reach for it as my heart thudded in my chest.

"What the hell is that?" she asked.

"Fall alert," I said, swiping to unlock my screen.

"What do you mean a fall alert?"

"Remember when I got Keith's friends to build Ant and me smart watches with GPS, but ones that couldn't be traced through the company?" I asked, swiping to the map. Obviously, Ant didn't want the government knowing where he was all the time, but given his tendency to get hurt, I wanted access. The Family too, if they needed it. So we'd needed someone to tweak the watches for us.

"Vaguely," my mom agreed.

"Well, I made sure the fall alert was on for Anthony," I admitted. "And it sends the alert right to my phone the second of impact," I told her as I looked at the map, then turned and rushed toward the front of the building.

Where I found Ant pulling himself up off of the ground where he'd fallen, dropping three coffee cups, the contents splattered all over the sidewalk.

"Great," he said, neck going red as he saw us rushing out, "an audience for my humiliation."

"I got the fall alert," I told him as I bent down to pick up the tray with their empty coffees.

"Let me see your hands," my mother demanded, slipping Fury's leash onto her wrist to reach for them herself. "Not too bad," she said. "But you need to wash them ASAP."

Ant nodded at that, then bent to press a kiss to my head. "How are things going?"

"Been busy. We're almost ready to be up and running," I told him.

It was all falling into place.

Anthony finally got that promotion he'd been wanting for years, getting his own neighborhood to control, and the ability to run his own crew.

We'd officially moved in together two months after having technically been living together since the day after the shooting.

And, now, we had the business almost up and running.

Little steps toward our future.

I couldn't wait to see what might be next.

Anthony - 3 years

I didn't know which was worse.

The baby screaming his head off for almost an hour straight.

Or his mother just as hysterical because she couldn't calm him down.

"He's fed. He's changed. I rocked. I sang. I pushed him in the stroller…" Saylor said, sniffling hard.

I thought I'd brought out a softer side of Saylor over the course of our relationship. But motherhood had revealed whole other facets of her softness.

It was likely all compounded by her insecurities about motherhood.

Sure, she'd been around a fuckton of babies since we'd gotten together. But she'd always had the luxury of handing said babies back to their parents when they got too fussy.

It was a whole other thing to her to be fully responsible for the wellbeing and happiness for a tiny human that was completely dependent on her.

I'd only left for five hours, needing to square away some issues with my crew. But it was the first time she'd ever been fully alone with the baby for longer than how long it took to shower or walk Fury.

"It's alright," I told her as there was a key in the lock.

I was expecting my mother, who'd been around every single day since we brought the baby home from the hospital.

She'd made herself invaluable. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, taking the baby for a few hours, so Saylor and I could get a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.

But it was actually Keith with a basket, and a newly svelte Petunia who made their way inside.

Once he'd committed to her, Petunia had become his whole world. He bought her the best food on the market, treated her many rolls with specialized salves and ointments, and organized a daily walking group with himself and Petunia, my mom and her new dog, Halle and her dog she'd rescued from the woods, and Brio with his half dozen or so fosters.

The love and attention had done wonders for Petunia, who no longer panted and struggled to breathe or walk around.

But she had done wonders for Keith too, who was now getting out of the house and his video games daily, interacting with people, getting some sunlight and exercise.

He wasn't so damn pale anymore.

And he'd put on a solid fifteen pounds of muscle.

He'd even quit his energy drink habit, claiming he had to keep himself healthy for Petunia.

He'd made a lot of strides.

But he was still Keith.

I didn't want to know how he'd managed to get a key to our place.

"Uh oh," he said as the cries of both Saylor and the baby met his ears. "What's going on? Are we hungry?"

I wanted to say that Saylor probably was, and it was likely part of the reason she was so miserable, but I felt like it wasn't the time to tease her.

"No. He ate. He got changed. He just won't stop crying," Saylor admitted as I jiggled our son to no avail.

"He's probably got gas," Keith said, walking over to set down his basket and wash his hands, then making his way toward us, doing gimmie fingers at the baby.

"Ah…" I said, not sure I trusted him with my son.

"I'm just gonna put him on the couch," Keith said, taking him from me with surprisingly careful hands, setting him on his back on the couch, then sitting as well.

Reaching, he started to rub his hands down his belly while counting. "One and two and three and four and five and six and seven and eight," he said. Then, switching to move his hands in a wave, he counted again. "And running man!" he said, unbothered by the baby's wailing as he gently grabbed his ankles, then ran them up into his belly quickly as he counted. "High knees!" he went on, quickly bringing the baby's knees into his belly. "Around the world!" Keith cheered, moving his legs in circles. "Downnnnn," he said, pulling his legs straight. "And release!" he declared as he pressed the baby's legs up by his shoulders.

Yeah.

Let's just say Keith was right.

The kid had been full of gas bubbles.

But not anymore.

And he immediately stopped crying.

"How the hell do you know that?" Saylor asked, tears gone, brows pinched. "God, please don't tell me you do that to Petunia."

"Nope," Keith said. "I did once have to pull—"

"Good God, don't finish that sentence," Saylor said, picking up the baby, and putting him to her shoulder, where he quickly settled down, exhausted from his pain and crying.

"I learned the trick from my mom," Keith said, and I was pretty sure it was the first time in the several years we'd known him that he'd talked about a family. "She used to run a daycare out of our house when I was growing up. Lots of miserable babies. That trick always worked."

"Does she still run it?" Saylor asked, likely thinking it might be a viable option if we ever needed someone to take care of our son when the family members were busy.

"Mom died," Keith said, gaze cutting away. "It's just me now," he said, tone sadder than we'd ever heard it. "And Petunia," he added, putting some pep into his tone.

"And us," Saylor said, making Keith turn, eyes bright.

"I'm gonna teach my little nephew all about video games," he decided, tone serious, like it was his new life's mission.

"So long as you don't try to teach him about nutrition, I'm fine with that," Saylor agreed.

"Oh, speaking of," Keith said, hopping up to grab the basket he'd brought in with him, then handing it to Saylor.

Inside was every single one of her favorite gummy candies.

And, postpartum and emotional, Saylor burst into tears again, handing me the baby, then throwing her arms around Keith.

"What? Nothing for me?" I teased as he awkwardly patted Saylor's back.

To that, Keith's gaze went to Saylor, then the baby.

"You've already got everything," he said.

And, fuck, truer words had never been spoken.

Saylor - 11 years

"Breathe," I demanded as Anthony looked about ready to pass out as we led our eldest son into the shooting range. "I was seven when my grandfather first showed me how to shoot," I reminded him, thinking of those summers where my mom would pack us up and take us upstate to visit my paternal grandfather's farm.

We'd spend endless days getting fresh air, milking cows, collecting eggs from the chickens and ducks, playing in the creek, and, yes, shooting in my grandfather's makeshift range on one of his back acres.

"Yes," Anthony said, watching our son's dark head move confidently in front of us. "But you forget it's not just your genes he's got," he added, voice too low for our son to hear.

"We're going to be right there with him," I reminded him. "It would be virtually impossible for him to get himself hurt."

"Virtually leaves room for error," Anthony insisted.

Even though our eldest showed no signs of inheriting Anthony's clumsiness. That unfortunate gene passed down to our youngest, a little girl who was forever falling over her own feet, slamming into corners of cabinets, falling off of her bed, dropping and spilling things.

I was still hoping it was something she might grow out of. Because I really didn't need to worry about someone else so accident prone in my immediate family.

"I'm just saying, this could have waited another couple of years."

"Sure," I agreed. "But, quite frankly, I'm sick of listening to him complain that his cousins all get to go practice and he doesn't. So… here we are," I said as we crowded into our lane.

As I suspected, Anthony had nothing to worry about.

Our eldest boy was calm, confident, and determined to do things right. So while he was far from a marksman, he definitely wasn't accidentally shooting anyone or himself.

We were walking as a trio down the subway steps when Anthony… I don't know, lost his footing, and started to topple.

I shit you not, both me and our son reached for him in unison, yanking back on his jacket until he righted himself.

"Really, Dad?" our son asked, shaking his head at his father's clumsiness.

"Thought it would be a couple of years before I started to be an embarrassment to him," Ant said, draping an arm over my shoulders.

"Well, let's make it worse," I said as we waited for the subway car to pull up. Reaching up, I grabbed Ant's lapels, and pulled him down for a big, long, passionate kiss, getting whistles and chuckles from those around us as our son went an almost concerning shade of crimson.

"Mommm," he grumbled, even his ears going scarlet.

"Hey, it's only natural. You see, when a man and a woman love each other, and they want to show that love—" I started, watching as he shoved his fingers in his ears and hummed. "It's going to be so fun when they're teenagers," I declared to Anthony as we got in the subway, and made our way to Keith's place.

Well, Keith and Katie's place now.

Sometime after learning what sunlight was and growing out his silly alpaca haircut, Keith happened upon a lady lawyer. And, as they say, opposites had attracted.

He now lived in a fancy apartment, had a bed with a headboard, and his very own office/gaming room.

I knew as we let ourselves in that I would find him in there with our daughter as our other son lounged on the couch watching TV.

Much to Keith's dismay, neither of our boys liked video games. They were more action-type kids. They wanted to go out and do, not play at doing.

But Keith had been delighted to find out that our little girl was obsessed with everything to do with video games.

"Girl gamers are so cool," Keith had declared. "I'm gonna teach you how to kick all the boys' as—butts."

That's exactly what he'd been doing.

"Hey, bud," Ant called to our other son who was engrossed in some ridiculous kids' skit show on YouTube. "You ready to get going? We have to get to Grandma's for dinner."

"Dinner?" Keith asked, rushing out of his office as our little girl trash-talked some stranger on the game while she reached for her bright pink pony water bottle for a sip. "Can I come?" he asked.

"When has my mom ever not saved a spot for you?" Anthony asked as our other son got up off the couch and went in a frantic search for his shoes.

My appetite? Yeah, that was something all our kids had inherited. Our grocery bill was absolutely astronomical.

When they went through that big growth spurt in their tweens and teens, I was worried I might have to sell some of my gold bars just to keep them all fed.

Keith rushed back to lean over our little girl's head, pulling one of her pink headphones off to tell her in a comically serious voice, "Finish him! We have to get to Grandma's."

We were all about to walk out of the door when Keith's lady, Katie, came in wearing her black pantsuit, her belly round enough that the jacket had no hopes of closing around it.

"Where are we going?" she asked, looking at all of us.

"Dinner at Grandma's," Keith said, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"Oh, thank God," Katie said. "Think she made those pizza roll appetizers again?" she asked, making Anthony and I share a smile as we waited for the elevator.

"Mama," our little girl said as we sat in the back of a taxi with her, Katie and Keith taking the other two with them.

"Yeah, baby?" I asked.

"I know what I want to do for my birthday," she told us, tone very serious. She'd been giving it thought for over a month at this point, unable to decide on anything, despite the day approaching quickly.

"Oh yeah? Great. What is it?" I asked, figuring she'd want to rent out an arcade or something like that.

Nope.

Not our little girl.

"I wanna go on the ferry!"

Anthony and my gaze met over her head, both our minds flashing to the last night we'd taken that ferry.

It practically felt like a lifetime ago now.

But the memories came back in vivid detail.

"That's, ah, an interesting idea," Anthony said. "We can do that," he decided.

"It's okay, Daddy," she said, patting his leg. "I won't let you fall over."

The idea of our clumsy little girl trying to save her father from falling over was enough to make me have to turn toward the window to keep her from seeing me trying not to laugh.

I'd end up having to save the two of them.

"Thanks, baby," Ant said, reaching behind her back to give my hair a playful tug for laughing as the taxi pulled up to Anthony's mom's house.

"There's my girl!" my mom greeted our little girl who rushed to her, arms outstretched.

"You okay?" Ant asked as I stood there, watching Keith and Katie take our sons inside where Ant's mom was waiting with hugs and kisses the boys pretended they didn't feel too old for, and my mom listened to our girl chatter about the ferry as she walked up the steps.

Where we would all sit around the table.

Eating.

Talking.

Laughing.

As I was told many years ago, you didn't ever really get used to the noise, but, God, did you learn to love the company, the security, the family.

There were broken pieces in my mom's heart, Keith's heart, and my own that had been filled thanks to this amazing group of people.

It was enough to take my breath away at times.

"Yeah," I said, watching everyone through the door. "Just really happy," I told him, leaning into him.

His arms went around me, pressing a kiss to my head.

"We poured the concrete on that new job site this morning," he told me.

"Do I want to know how many bodies are under it?" I asked, smirking up at him.

He smiled back, leaning down to seal his lips to mine. It was quick, just a hint of something we both silently agreed we needed to continue at home later.

His hand moved up my arm, over my shoulder, then slipped under the collar of my shirt to pull my necklace out of the material until the bullet was visible.

He'd had it made into a necklace for our first anniversary.

I'd never taken it off since.

His fingers traced the chain back up, then slid around my neck.

"Have I thanked you for carjacking me eleven years ago?" he asked.

"Only every other day," I said, heart still so full of love for this big, clumsy, amazing man.

"What do you say to the kids staying with my mom tonight, then you and me, and a bag of gummy fish in bed?"

"You know the way to a girl's heart," I said.

And, fuck, he really did.

Even if he tripped and stumbled and fell flat on his face along the way.

XX