End of the Innocence

Epilogue

I am fairly certain it was my father. My own flesh and blood who put her life in danger. I had my suspicions before, and have dug since. Dug as far as I can dig considering I can’t use any of my family’s connections. There is no real way for me to communicate how I feel about his possible involvement. About the idea that he would destroy my life for ... fuck ... I don’t even know why. A personal vendetta? For some fucked up version of pride? What kind of father puts a hit out on his son’s fiancée? It might not have started as a hit, but he knew what would happen. He saw her strength at Maria’s house. He knew when he ordered her taken that it would mean her killed.

If it was him. If it wasn’t him ... well, that is the small possibility that walks with such large steps.

I know my family has no connection to the warehouse—that the men in our organization who would handle this were otherwise occupied, their alibis verified in undisputable ways. But my father is too smart for that. He would have set up a wall of separation for a task such as this, would have covered his ass six ways to Sunday.

I have no choice. Damn the chances of his innocence. There is no good reason for him to be in my life anyway. I don’t need family. I have her. And now she is my wife. Protected. I have amped up security, and we are looking at a new house, one with a private gate and enough protection for the Queen of England. But I will never stop worrying. I have seen a glimpse of life without her, and it is hell.

So I have cut all ties. Again. Like I did at seventeen, and again at twenty-nine. I will miss my sister, but the rest of them can go to hell. No holidays, no birthdays. Definitely no weddings. I will never be able to hear a wedding march and not think of waiting for her. Waiting for her at the end of that aisle, my heart bursting, and her not appearing. Listening to the song end and the silence that followed.

We are taking off for two months. Taking a honeymoon that gives us one week in Key West and then seven in the Bahamas. Rebecca found us a house with a boat right on the ocean, close enough to Atlantis for fun, but quiet and secluded enough that we can fuck like rabbits and no one can hear. I plan to get her naked, tan from head to toe, and please her endlessly. Take the boat out and fish, dive. Catch lobster and bring them back. Eat, fuck, and sleep late.

The Bahamian house is for sale. If it is like its pictures, if it makes her eyes light up and her mouth curve, I will buy it. I will buy it and spend two months showing her the life that could be forever.

I don’t need the courthouse. I don’t need the fight. I don’t need my family. I sure as hell don’t need a town full of exes. Saffire brings in seven figures a year; we can live like kings without working. Assuming my fabulous wife doesn’t mind sharing the earnings of her company. And if she wants that law degree, we can spend nine months a year at the university of her choosing. Let her study until her eyes cramp, and debate until her voice is hoarse. Fuck, I’ll hang a shingle in Nassau if that’s what she wants. Or Miami. Or Colorado. Anywhere. I am untied. I have no bearings. She is my sun, and everything else is bullshit. I love so few people in my life. I need only one. Her.

I hope she never knows how vulnerable I am. It is terrifying to me. I hate it—hate how much I love her. I never planned for this. I wanted a companion, and instead turned over my entire heart. I hope she is not too young. I hope she doesn’t crush me.