Ravenous Kingpin (Kingpins of the Syndicate #4)

40. Killian

CHAPTER 40

Killian

T wo months had passed since we stormed the lab in Venezuela.

My wife was back at my side, and so was the daughter I never knew I had.

It had been two months of physical recovery—for all three of us—and getting to know each other. This time, there were no secrets holding us back.

And things were only looking up from here.

At Emory’s insistence, I took her seat at the Syndicate, but I still used her knowledge and experience at running Vegas and Nevada. She was still the key part, although she was content not being immersed.

She loved spending time with our daughter, appreciating every minute, hour, and day this summer, because once September arrived, Amara would start school.

And my wife, she glowed. In all the time that Emory and I had been married, she’d never been like this.

Happy. Relaxed. Radiant. And patient.

People crowded our lawn and patio—the DiLustros, Brennans, and even the Kings were here. Just a leisurely afternoon with family and friends. Some grilled, others swam, and the rest lounged around the lawn and admired the gazebo area.

I shared a look with my wife across the space and she flashed me a beaming smile, then returned her attention to the iPad in front of her. She, Amara, and Océane, áine and Cassio’s daughter, were watching YouTube instructions on fishtail braids, whatever the hell that was. Each had a doll’s head in front of them—creepy, if you asked me—applying the concept on their plastic hair.

Amara, being the smartest one in our family, quickly mastered the hairstyle, while Emory huffed and puffed but refused to give up.

“You know, sweetheart,” Emory muttered, “it’s so much easier to just punch people than do this.”

My brother-in-law chuckled, shooting me an amused look. “Apparently I failed miserably with my sister. She can’t master the simple female skill of fishtail braids.”

I reached for my glass of whiskey and brought it to my lips, smiling. “It would seem so.”

“If you’re so smart, you try it,” Emory said, never failing to pick up on his smart-ass comments.

“Yeah, you try it, Basilio,” I chimed in, smiling smugly.

He shot me a glare, but my daughter came to the rescue.

“Be nice, Uncle Basilio,” Amara said, putting her hand on her hip. “Or I’m going to kick your b-u-t-t.”

She’d developed quite the sassy streak, and I was fairly certain it was all thanks to her aunt Juliette and aunt Wynter. The two were a terrible influence on her.Lucky she was so cute.

“Or we’ll kick your a-s-s,” Juliette egged on. Like I said, terrible influence.

“You do know you’re teaching my daughter to spell bad words,” I scolded Juliette who paid me no mind.

“Don’t worry, Papa,” Amara chimed in, quick to defend her favorite aunt. Our daughter had started to pick up some Italian and Gaelic, and eagerly used them at every opportunity. She was a sponge when it came to foreign languages, although the fact that Liana taught her English alongside Spanish might have helped. “I learned to spell a-s-s and b-u-t-t from Mother Liana.”

My gaze flicked to my wife, but Em was just smiling. We’d talked about Liana and the things she shared, so there was no faulting Amara for thinking of her, never mind calling her Mother Liana. It was proof that she cared for our daughter and earned her love.

For that alone, we owed her more than we could ever repay.

“Are you mad, Papa?” My daughter’s question grabbed my attention.

“Whatever for?”

“For… About Mother Liana.”

“Of course not.” Amara had a sixth sense for people’s emotions. “She's an important part of your life, and therefore ours too.”

“Besides, I’m your mamma,” Emory added, pecking her affectionately. “I think your heart is big enough for all of us.”

Amara nodded enthusiastically. “It is, I promise.”

I smiled. “That’s settled, then. And I promise you, whenever Mother Liana wants to visit or you want to visit her, we’ll make it happen.”

It certainly was weird how life worked in mysterious ways. Sofia Volkov had my parents murdered while one of her daughters became my sister’s best friend and the other twin saved my child’s life.

“Thank you, Papa. Love you.”

Fuck, every time I heard my daughter say those words, I fucking melted and my throat choked.

“Love you too,” I croaked, clearing my throat and getting emotional. My wife flicked me a warm look full of understanding. She knew exactly how I felt, because she had those same emotions.

Happiness. Love. Gratefulness.

Needless to say, Amara quickly became the apple of our eyes. Everything we did and planned revolved around her, as it should have been all along.

And Emory and I… We argued, we kissed. We fought, we made love. Life was fucking great and I loved every second of it.

There was still this constant need to put my hands on her, to mark her, and to fuck her at every turn. I suspected this craving would never cease, because no matter how many times I had her, it would never be enough. She’d captured my heart and soul, and I never wanted them back. They were safe under her protection.

Life certainly had an odd way of working out.

The night I met Emory, my ghosts went dormant. Little did I know that the woman would become my obsession and so much more. I couldn’t let go, not when I found blood coating the condom. Not when I found that cursed obituary after months of searching for her.

Six years.

It took six fucking years for life to throw us back in each other’s paths. And while I was so furious and intended to exact revenge, it became quickly apparent that everything with Emory was so much more.

I knew without a sliver of doubt that Emory was meant for me. It was an uncontrollable lust, an unhinged obsession, and a never-ending peaceful love that balanced me.

She was my perfect match, someone that never shied away from her determination and people she loved. And there was no fucking way that I’d ever let her go again.

As if she could hear my thoughts, Emory lifted her head, and like the first time we met, I was trapped by her beautiful, dark eyes.

“Papa, Papa, Papa.” Amara ran over to me and shoved the doll’s head into my face. “Isn’t she pretty?”

I chuckled, staring at the face that had been painted. “I see she got more than just a new hairstyle.”

Amara beamed. “I gave her a makeover.”

“I can see that. You’re quite an artist.”

She placed the doll on the table and then hopped onto my lap, admiring her handiwork before turning to me. “Do you want a makeover, Papa?”

I winced. “Do you think I need one?”

I prayed she said no, but if she wanted to give me one, fuck it, I’d let her. Whatever my daughter wanted, she would get.

“Nah, Mamma says you’re the most beautiful boy she has ever seen.”

I grinned, looking over at my wife who was slowly making her way over to us. Her beautiful dark strands fell freely down her shoulders, and she swayed her hips, being sexy as fuck.

“What are you two up to?” she asked in a soft voice, pressing a kiss on our daughter’s forehead.

“Makeovers,” I told her.

“But Papa doesn’t need one,” Amara said quickly. “Because you said he’s beautiful already.”

Emory took a seat next to me, nudging me with her shoulder. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“How could I not?” I teased. “The two most beautiful women in the world are sitting with me, and they think I’m beautiful.”

Emory chuckled. “It’s a good thing our daughter is a spitting image of her daddy.”

Amara’s eyes darted to me, confused. “But Papa, you always say I look like Mamma.”

I tickled her. “To me you do, because your mamma is the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“But her eyes are dark and my eyes are blue,” Amara protested, sometimes her way of thinking was too black and white.

The truth was, Amara was a perfect mix of the two of us. She had beautiful thick, dark curls that were slowly, but surely, getting longer and blue eyes that my wife couldn’t stop bragging about.

But before I could say anything, her cousin Grayson caught her attention and she slid off my lap, taking off in his direction.

I wrapped my arm around my wife and she leaned her head against my shoulder and sighed happily, lifting her eyes up to me.

“Are you happy, álainn ?”

“So happy.” She smiled and then kissed me on the lips. “Thank you.”

I kissed her forehead. “For what?”

“For forcing me to marry you, but if you tell that to our daughter, I’ll deny it,” she murmured. “For loving me. For being my family. For everything.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” I grabbed her by the waist and turned her to me so she could face me. “You gave me the best gifts a man could want and made me the happiest man alive.”

She frowned. “What gifts?”

“Our daughter and your heart.”

Then I lifted her chin and kissed her gently, every piece of me healed by her love.

We were one.

I was hers and she was mine.

Until death do us part.