Page 146 of Manic

His eyes softened. “Will you marry me, Sutton? If you don’t, I’m afraid I’ll have to sell the villa.”

“Back to coercion?”

He grinned. “Will you be my captive for the rest of our lives? It could be fun.”

I answered his grin with a smile, because my answer was so easy. It shouted in my mind, bleeding to the center of my chest until my entire body was overwhelmed with the feeling. Life with him would be so, so easy.

I craned my neck and whispered, “Yes.”

The moment I uttered the words, his mouth slammed into mine, hard and desperate. Manic swallowed my answer, my breathy gasp, and pulled me in by tightening his arms around my waist. He lifted me off my feet, and our laughs echoed off the walls like a soft, lilting lullaby as he walked us toward the center of the room.

EPILOGUE

MANIC

Everything about our life was simple, even the years as they rolled by. Some were harder and longer than others, but most were effortless.

I blinked, and five years had passed, and within it was a life built around our villa. Birthdays and gatherings and friendships throughout the years—something I never thought was possible before Sutton came along.

We’d transitioned from temporary to permanent residents after growing a business centered around that café and bookshop I’d promised Sutton, along with two private libraries opened to the public. We’d adapted to the language together and fit into the community with ease. I’d even learned a new skill, which was how to serve others by becoming one of our café’s baristas. Sutton learned how to bake.

She nestled closer, curling into my side.

I swept the hair off her sleeping face, then glanced at the clock on the nightstand which read 6:50am. Ten minutes before we had to be up. I lay in bed for another minute, unable to peel myself away as Sutton’s limbs and the other tiny arm flung over her waist.

These days, now that I had something to live for, it took much more willpower for me to leave the comfort of our bed. I reluctantly rose, careful not to wake my sleeping wife and the tiny humans curled in behind her.

I didn’t bother throwing on a shirt or changing my sweats. Instead, I quietly strode out of the room and prepared coffee before opening the patio door, a cool breeze rushing in. I stepped out, breathing in the crisp air as the pinks of sunrise peeked through the hazy clouds, a layer of light fog over the water.

Then my phone rang, and a smile pulled at my mouth. We were nine hours ahead of Vancouver, meaning it was nighttime there. Just as we planned.

“Axell,” I said in greeting.

“Declan,” he said back. My alias.

After Sutton and I settled in Lake Como, I’d finally reached out to Axell months later. We scheduled monthly calls for him to keep me updated with everything happening in Vancouver. An old habit, maybe, but now I considered him a true friend. Regardless, he kept me in the loop with Naomi and Grave. Even my father.

Shortly following the warehouse explosion, Sutton’s parents had sold the casinos to Ronan and skipped town. They’d refused to do any more work for the Crimson Crowes after that, and my father let them leave. Amelia and Grave had even separated, but when I’d asked Axell for details, he couldn’t give me an answer as to why they did.

But two years ago, my father had been caught in the middle of a bad shipment he’d attended himself. He’d smoothed their alliances over with both the Russians and the Irish, but he’d died after the incident. I’d hoped to feel something when Axell delivered the news, but it never came. If anything, I’d been relieved as I stopped looking over my shoulder after that.

“How are things?” I asked Axell, raking a hand through my hair.

Like every phone call with him, my fingers twitched for one of my other old habits—my cigarettes. I’d quit shortly after arriving in Italy, not feeling the urge to drown my impulses with tobacco and alcohol and violence. Therapy helped, but it was like all my old vices fluttered away in the warm breeze.

“Good,” he said. “Her birthday is tomorrow.”

My chest tightened, and I let out a long breath. I missed Naomi. “I know. Did you deliver her gift?”

“Yeah, man. Just like every year.”

“Did she like it?”

Axell chuckled, his voice dropping. “You know she did. She talks about you during her birthday dinners, you know.”

Guilt shortened my breath.

Even though our father had died, I knew keeping the truth from Naomi and Grave was best for our safety. For my family’s safety. It was better this way, but Axell bore the brunt of it. He sighed after a long moment, and I knew just by the sound he was likely rubbing the back of his neck. His nervous tick.