Page 86 of Owned By The Bratva King

I walk her to the door. “You did great, Quinn. It was fucking amazing. I’m so goddamn proud of you.”

We sit on the porch steps, and Quinn’s head lolls on my shoulder as I reach for my cell phone. I wrap my arm around her and dial Leon.

“Tovarisch, where are you?”

“I just picked up Ricky at the diner,” he replies. “He looked like someone told him he’s gotta go on a diet or something. Almost felt sorry for the fucker.”

In the background, I hear a voice weakly telling Leon to go to hell. “Shut up, Lubomski,” Leon says. “You’ll do well to survive the night.”

“You were already on your way?”

“Sure. We planned on waiting in the diner parking lot, maybe having a piece of pie. I wasn’t expecting to see my least favorite weasel hanging out here, but he told me what happened, and seeing as you’re calling, I guess he wasn’t bullshitting me after all.”

“You said ‘we.’ Who’s with you?”

“Viktor and a few others. You won’t want to drive back, so I’m in the limo. How’s Quinn?”

I look at my wife’s tear-streaked face. Her eyelids are heavy, but she manages to smile, and my heart swells.

“Leon wants to know how you are,” I say.

She furrows her brow. “Hungry. Did he say he’s at a diner?”

I hold the phone to her ear. “Hi,” she says, her voice husky. “I could wreck a vanilla milkshake and a cheeseburger. Please.”

“You got it, princess,” Leon replies. “Put Roman back on.”

I take the phone back. “How long will you be?”

“Less than five minutes, as long as the grill’s hot. Hang on in there.”

Cars begin arriving; an entire motorcade to escort us back to the city. A group in hazmat suits head past us into the house, and Quinn looks questioningly at me.

“They’ll get the bodies out, then torch the place,” I say.

“Why burn it down?” she asks.

“Because it’s no longer my sister’s home. It’s the site of her murder. It’s where her baby—my nephew—died before he had a chance to live.”

I close my eyes, trying to block it out. “I told Silvio I forgave him only because I knew he’d be distraught. The bastard wanted to go to hell and take my soul with him, but you saved me again. You understand that, right?”

She nods. “You told me, balls and eyes. I’m a good learner.”

My laughter is tempered by the sobering weight of the truth. Silvio Vercotti came too close to destroying us; I will never forget that feeling.

“I’m sorry.” I tilt her head back and look into her eyes. “Can you forgive me for letting this happen?”

“Roman, it was me.” Her eyes spill over with fresh tears. “I was the one who lied, kept secrets, created a diversion, turned off my location—how could I have been so stupid?”

She buries her face in my lapel. “You warned me. Carrie did, too. All I had to do was be honest.”

“I didn’t listen to you either,” I smooth my thumb over her cheek, wiping it clean. “I swear I’ll never make that mistake again. You’re mine, always, but I don’t own you, and I don’t want to. I’d rather you had your freedom and chose me, but I’d understand if you didn’t.”

“I’m going nowhere except to a warm shower and a clean bed,” she murmurs. “With you, if you’ll have me. I know I’m kinda gross right now?—”

I cup her face in my hands and kiss her deeply, almost delirious with joy. My beautiful wife is alive and by my side.

I’d say it was a miracle, but that would be a lie; it was her. By her quick thinking and decisive action, she and I get to live on together.

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