Page 185 of Fallen Rook

They were dysfunctional to say the least, but they were a real family. And they cared about each other deeply. I’d grown up in a so-called functional family, with two parents who were together and held respectable jobs, and we had no dinnertime banter, no jabs, no hearty food, no involvement in each other’s lives. Life was cold and clinical. For decades, I’d imitated what I’d seen at home, even long after I’d left and actively washed myself of it.

I now understood why Enzo wanted a big family, with lots of kids.

He wanted this.

The mayhem. The laughter. The never-ending connections that just kept weaving into each other with every interaction. The relationship between these people reminded me of a nest—on the surface, a collection of independent twigs with different origins, stories, widths, and lengths. But together, they made something sturdy. Something that held itself together, that sheltered its occupants from harm.

Enzo squirmed next to me, taking a big gulp of his water.

“Please, can you put this fucker out of his misery and give him a kiss?” Tiernan threw a hand in Enzo’s direction. “He looks like he is about to cry or some shit.”

“I think he’s being shy,” I said dryly, pouring Enzo, and myself, more water.

Sobriety was a measly price to pay in order to have the man that I loved while keeping my demons at bay.

“I think he’s wondering if you still want to be with him after meeting his family properly,” Achilles countered. “This is a mild evening, by the way. This is us on our best behavior for you.”

Turning to my partner, I asked, “Is it true? Is this why you’re two seconds away from jumping out of your skin?”

He winced. “I know my family can be…a lot.”

“Uncalled for.” Tiernan tipped his Guinness in Enzo’s direction. “Maybe other families aren’t enough, but we’re definitely the right amount.”

“Just kiss and be done with it!” Tierney chanted. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

And then the entire deranged family hammered their fists against the table and repeated the word together. Even Sofia joined the chants.

Kiss!

Kiss!

Kiss!

“You’re never getting rid of me.” I dragged his chair closer, tipped his chin with my fingers, closed my eyes, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, thinking of the word I thought of every time I saw his face, from the moment I’d hung a picture of him on my office board.

Mine.

Epilogue

Enzo

Two months later

I pulled back from the autopsy table and admired my handiwork.

It had taken me almost three weeks to skin and process Slava’s corpse. First, I’d had to recover it from the morgue after the FBI was done with it. There were a lot of things working against me—the state of his cadaver, mutilated organs, and trauma to the flesh, to name a few.

I took special care dealing with his body. Then there was the process of curing, tanning, and dyeing the skin. Afterward came the pattering, stitching, piecing, and lining.

I’d managed to make three waist-length leather jackets out of Slava Rasputin. Perfect for next winter.

Carefully folding the camel-hued jackets, I placed each of them in an individual black box. I spritzed some perfume onto the leather, letting it air, before closing the black velvet boxes and wrapping them with a white satin bow. There was a tantalizing thrill about opening a designer box containing a stunning new piece of clothing, and I wanted the recipients of these parcels to experience the same delight.

Lining the boxes on top of one another, I exited my office—formerly one of Tom’s two home offices.

Carrying the gifts through the hallway, I stopped at our bedroom’s doorway. Tom was sitting in bed, reading the New Yorker, as always.

He looked up from the magazine and beamed at me. “Hey.”