Consumed by the Mafia (De Salvo Family #5)

Epilogue

The De Salvo Family

Abigail looked around unabashedly after stepping out of her shoes in the entryway. The home that opened up around her had a distinctly masculine vibe, with dark furniture and wood tones blended with sleek lines. It created a sharp, not so subtly wealthy aesthetic. There were sliding interior doors and her eye was drawn to a color-sprinkled painting with obvious Asian roots positioned over the low-backed sofa. She couldn’t read the characters scrawled in the bottom, but she was certain they were Japanese.

She drew a deep breath. “So, this is your home.”

Ryō ma pried her duffle from her hands and looped an arm around her waist. “This is my home.”

It still felt a little surreal. “And no one’s coming to kill me.”

“No one’s coming to kill you.” He sounded like he was laughing, or trying not to. The jerk. Then he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her neck, letting his lips linger before trailing them up to her ear and murmuring, “I misspoke. This is our home.” He nipped at her earlobe. “An’ I’m thinking we have a ‘no clothes’ policy.”

Abigail barked out a laugh and shoved from his grip in order to turn and face him. “You are the worst .” Aside from her. “I thought we had things to talk about?”

He grinned shamelessly and stalked forward, backing her up until she hit the wall. “I have a gift for you, actually,” he said, voice low. “Most of the talking part can probably wait ‘til dinner.” He leaned in and teased her lips, but didn’t seal the kiss. “Boss wants us at his place by six. We’ve got a little time.”

Excitement and confusion ignited inside her. Abigail didn’t realize she’d taken hold of the sides of his shirt until she had to let go in order to stretch her arms around him. “Gift?” She should have asked about the dinner. He was scrambling her brain.

Ryōma rumbled and one hand left the wall, disappearing into is pocket. “Recorded a video for you, which is saved on an isolated drive so you can watch it again and again to your heart’s content.” He waved a flash drive as he spoke, then leaned in and brushed a meltingly sweet kiss to her lips.

Abigail sighed as he retreated, her gaze drifting to the small device in his hand. She was curious, but not as much as she was aroused. So she slid her hands up his chest until her arms were hooked around his neck and asked, “How long is it, and how critical is it that I watch it before dinner?”

His lips twitched. “Baby girl, you don’t ever have to watch it. Start to finish it’s forty-three minutes, which is my fault. I could have done better.”

She arched a brow. “Don’t tell me this is a video of you masturbating.”

It was his turn to laugh and he shoved the drive back into his pocket before promptly taking hold of her thighs and hauling her up, wrapping her legs around his hips. “You don’t need a video for that sort of thing, dirty girl.” He ground into her, assuring her of his own arousal, and his hands slid beneath the hem of her shirt. “Fact is, we couldn’t be sure at first how long it’d take for Walters to get you out of that fucking house. And we hadn’t planned on holding Wells indefinitely, so somethin’ had to be done.”

Abigail’s eyes blew wide. She’d have smacked herself in the face if she could have done so without also smacking him. “Holy crap! I forgot all about that asshole!” She almost felt bad. Rather, she did, but not for leaving her parents’ killer strapped to a chair. She only felt bad for whatever unintentional inconvenience she had caused Ryōma and the De Salvos as a result.

Ryōma’s hands skimmed higher, until his palms were splayed over her skin, and he leaned into her. The length of him pressed, hard and taunting, against her core. “It’s fine, Abby,” he said, tone unexpectedly gentle. “I was a little worried you’d be disappointed you didn’t get the kill yourself. I knew you at least wanted to watch, which is why I had someone record it.”

The breath rushed from her and she inadvertently pulled him in tighter. “Are you saying … you killed him?” Of course that was what he was saying. That wasn’t what was suddenly making it so hard to breathe. Her hands lifted over the back of his neck and threaded into his hair. “You killed Corey Wells for me?”

He kissed her again, tongue stroking hers just for a moment. “I’d do fucking anything for you, baby girl.” He lowered his kisses to her jaw. “Killing a man who’s haunted you all your life was easy.” He nibbled at her skin, then soothed it with his tongue. “I drew it out for a bit, made him suffer some pain.” He angled his wet, toe-curling kisses down her throat. “It wasn’t enough. But I hope—” Ryōma lifted his head, his eyes startlingly serious. “I hope watching him die, and knowing it wasn’t an easy or quick death, brings you some kind of peace.”

Her heart was going to burst right through her chest, to say nothing for the devastating ache in parts further south. For so many years, all she’d really wanted was someone who would fight for her. She’d thought what she had wanted was justice, but even at it’s best, that was rarely satisfying. And the world they lived in was never at it’s most ideal. She didn’t need that fantasy. She needed something real, something dependable, something that pushed back.

“Ryōma,” Abigail said, her voice strained to her own ears, “fuck me now, and after dinner, let’s come home and have a movie night. ”

He groaned and crashed his lips to hers, his hands dropping immediately to the snap on her jeans. By the time they crashed onto the bed they were fully naked, he’d rolled onto his back, and she was sinking down on him with a long, shameless moan of ecstasy. He felt a little too good inside her. She quickly found a rhythm that had his fingers digging into the backs of her knees and his hips bucking up into hers.

“Ry-Ryōma,” Abigail gasped as she pulled one of his hands up to fondle her breast. She wanted his touch, she wanted all of him, everywhere. “I-I’m not—I couldn’t—birth control—”

He shoved upright, his other arm relinquishing her leg in favor of curling again around her back and holding her close and tight. The angle pushed him deeper, had him grinding in a way that felt like she might ascend straight to another plane. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, kissing her hard for a long second, before he eased back and grunted, “Don’t fuckin’ care. We’ll just put a couple extra rooms on the house.” He bit into her lip, adjusted his grip, and latched onto her ass as his cock jerked inside her.

Oh, god! Abigail clung to him, grinding against him as he filled her.

Ryōma moved his lips to her ear. “You’ll be so fucking sexy when I knock you up.”

Tears pricked her eyes and she wasn’t sure if it was from the painfully heightened pleasure he was holding her at or the beauty of the idea his words painted.

“Now come for me, Abby.”

Her hips shifted as they rolled and it was like that tightly wound coil finally snapped. White-hot, delicious euphoria rushed through her and Abigail couldn’t stop the scream. Or the tears.

Ryōma rolled them onto their sides when her shaking settled, holding her chest to his. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I meant what I said, Abby. I’m not lettin’ you go now. Sooner or later, with the way we fuck, that’s gonna mean kids. I recognize that, and I’m fine with it. As long as it’s you with me, I’m fine with all of it.”

If it were physically possible for her to have melted more, she would surely have done so in that moment. All she could do was sigh. She stretched up enough to trace her fingers over the edge of his tattoo, where it curved into view from his back. An idea struck her, one she thought she’d keep to herself just for a short while, but she said, “If that’s what you’re thinking … we’ll definitely need a bigger house.”

Two Years Later

“Fancy meeting you here, stranger,” Abigail teased at the sight of one of her dearest friends wobbling through Romeo De Salvo’s entryway. She hadn’t been entirely sure either half of the couple would make it, considering how heavily pregnant Felicity was.

Felicity made a bitter laughing sound and dramatically rolled her eyes. “I finally had to tell Cristiano if he didn’t at least let me come to this meeting—whatever it is—I was going to turn on every faucet in the house and flood it until the water carried me out the door. ”

Cristiano slid the lightweight coat off his wife’s shoulders with a low rumble. “I don’t give a shit about the house, Foxglove. It can be rebuilt.” He nodded to Abigail. “How’s Sakurako?” It hadn’t come as any kind of surprise that Cristiano was an overly protective, hovering husband with his wife’s first pregnancy. He seemed to think the world itself was a threat to her and would much prefer to hide her away, but Felicity craved companionship, so occasionally these arguments happened.

Abigail had come to understand both of them well enough to know any frustration she heard was only born of concern for the other, so it was easy to smile and let her gaze slide down the hall, in the direction Ryōma had disappeared with their five-month-old daughter. “We’re actually sleeping a little, finally. I think that means she’s doing well.” Abigail was by no means an expert on raising a child, and she was downright embarrassed for all the times she’d called Iris or Grace for help, but it had been nice to have the support.

It was even nicer to think that her daughter would grow up surrounded by a community, a family, that loved and defended her like doing those things was as natural as breathing.

“That’s good to hear.” Cristiano offered what Abigail suspected was supposed to be a grin. “Can’t have my right-hand pulling the trigger on no sleep.”

“Right, because that’s the issue here,” Abigail said.

Felicity shoved at him and turned a smile out to her. “Can I hold her before we leave? I haven’t seen her in weeks. And I need practice.”

“Absolutely. ”

Grace laughed as she came up to join them. “I really doubt you need practice.” She curled an arm around Abigail’s shoulders in a sideways hug, then motioned them all down the hall. “Eleonora’s doing the babysitting for all the little ones that aren’t onboard—” She pointedly tapped at her own faintly swollen belly. “The rest of us are supposed to rendezvous in the office.”

Rapid footfalls belied her words and everyone smiled as a familiar young girl’s excited cry reached their ears. “Uncle Cris!”

“Here we go,” Felicity said softly, the biggest smile on her lips.

Cristiano stepped forward, around Grace and Abigail, and lifted Lucia De Salvo off the floor in a swooping gesture. “You’re lucky you have high ceilings, Lucy,” he said as she squealed with laughter.

“Part of me is afraid she’s never going to grow out of that,” Grace whispered as they watched him spin the nine-year-old into an above-ground planking-like position.

Abigail rested a hand on Grace’s arm. “Don’t worry. Sooner or later, she’ll discover other ways to fly.”

Felicity snorted.

Grace bit her lips in an effort to hide her laughter before finally saying, “I think Romeo would actually shoot you for that.”

Cristiano set the girl down after several seconds and patted her on the back. “Say hello to your aunts and then go back to Grandma El. She’s going to need help with the babies.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Vitto’s not really a baby anymore, is he? ”

“Close enough.”

Lucy gave them all a hug, kissed Felicity’s stomach, and skipped back through the house. By the time she was done, Ryōma was rejoining them.

He arched a brow at the scene. “Still in the foyer? I thought I took forever.”

Abigail shuffled up to her husband’s side. “You did. We’re moving slow. How is she?”

“Wide-eyed and cleaned up, for the time being,” Ryōma said. He pressed a kiss to her temple and settled a hand in the dip of her waist as he looked around. “Are we waiting on anyone else?”

Grace shook her head. “Everyone’s here.”

“Let’s not keep the boss waiting, then,” Ryōma said, sweeping his free arm down the other hall in offer of letting their hostess lead the way.

Cristiano moved up to his wife’s side even as Felicity laughingly said, “We can all blame me. I’m like fifty months pregnant and feel like everything’s new again.”

Ryōma chuckled. “Go figure. You move down to earth like the rest of us and promptly disappear.” He only laughed more at the scowl Cristiano shot his way.

Abigail joined the laughter, keeping pace with her husband as they filed down the hall. Her gaze dropped, just for a moment, to the tattoo on her left ring finger. When they’d gotten married, they’d decided not to go the traditional route with rings that could be lost or destroyed. Instead, Abigail had suggested tattoos—one more for him, and one for her—tattoos that wrapped around the base of their ring fingers, forever marking them. The mark on his finger was a ringlet of sakurasou petals, in a beautiful, striking violet. Hers was a series of kanji, chosen and carefully scribed by her husband, which spelled his name.

She quite liked having something of him forever branding her skin.

Abigail pulled her focus outward as the office door swung open and Iris’s warm greeting drifted out. She didn’t know what the purpose of this meeting was, exactly, but ultimately it didn’t matter. She knew enough. She knew she was where she was meant to be, where she wanted to be. The men and women who filled her life were so vastly different from the ones she’d known years before. Her old life had been a job. This … this was a family.

The End