Page 44 of The Mob and his Messenger

“I know what it means,” Dallas beams.

I smirk.

So do I.

“Sorry,” Dallas says a moment later, shooting me a silly-me smile that makes me want to kiss her right here.

“But it turns out Cillian was a killer and even worse, and you, Dom, well you saved my life. I guess what I’m trying to say is things clearly aren’t as simple as I thought they were. So if Dallas is happy, I’m happy. That’s the headline.”

“Really?” Dallas whispers. “That means so much to me, Mom. I know this is crazy, but it just feels so right.”

“It feels like fate,” I growl, shocked at the intensity of my voice, as well as the word.

Fate.

I’ve never invoked it before.

But I’ve never fallen in love before.

Love.

I need to tell Dallas.

I need to ask her, too, ask her the most important question of my goddamned life.

“It sounds wonderful, in a way,” Samantha murmurs. “It sounds so Hollywood.”

I see Gabriel flinch a little at that since her desire for Hollywood is what drove their divorce. But then he sees me looking and grins, and soon Samantha is opening the wine and I pour Dallas and me some soda, and as I slide her glass to her our hands’ touch and I feel the need in her, the desire, the rightness.

She pauses and stares at me, our gazes seeming to become one.

“I’m so happy, Dom,” she whispers, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Thank you so much for saving us. For saving Poppet.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” I whisper, bringing her hand to my lips and kissing it softly, unable to stop myself even though Gabriel and Samantha are sitting right there. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Poppet must be getting jealous of all the attention aimed away from her because with a victorious harrumph she comes leaping onto the patio and up into Dallas’s lap. I laugh and stroke her lovingly, wrestling with her as she laughs and leaps around in my arms.

“You’re going to make an amazing dad, Dom,” Dallas giggles.

Then she flinches, glancing at her parents.

“Sorry, I know we’re getting a little heavy here.”

Samantha laughs. “I’m getting a little jelly, you mean. That’s the only problem.”

Dallas makes gagging noises and Gabriel laughs loudly, slapping his leg, and as I cradle Poppet to my chest I think about tomorrow, a new day, the first day of the rest of our lives.Chapter Twenty-ThreeDallas“Where are we going?” I ask from the passenger seat, smoothing my hand through Poppet’s fur. I turn to the window and look out at the forest, an expanse of vivid green that reminds me of Tolkien’s Shire. “It looks like a freaking fairyland out here.”

“The perfect place for a fantasy writer?” Dom murmurs, a sly smirk on his lips.

I turn to him with a smile, feeling excitement rise a blossoming flower-like blush on my cheeks.

“Why do I feel like you’re up to something?”

He glances at me briefly, wearing a steel suit with the top button undone, showing a sliver of his muscled chest. Every inch of him exudes power and confidence and victory as he sits there, my man remade, not the executor I mistakenly believed him to be.

“I’m always up to something,” he grins wolfishly.

Last night when we lay in bed together – after the rushing, frantic lovemaking, lovemaking that caused shivers of elation to riot gloriously through me – I told him I was sorry for ever believing he could be that man.

“I’ve cultivated a certain image,” he sighed. “That of a man to be feared. It’s necessary to stop other Families from rising up and bringing mayhem back to the streets. Because I’ll always protect this city just like I’ll always protect our family, Dallas.”

“So you don’t hate me for thinking it?”

He kissed my forehead softly. “I could never hate you.”

Now he turns onto a lane bordered on all sides by thick leafed trees, their foliage almost impenetrable, the sort of forest that could send a fantasy minded writer into a mad dance of creativity.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Poppet sits up, tail perked, ears perked, utterly alert as she aims her snout here and there.

“See,” I go on. “You’ve even gotten Poppet all worried.”

“Don’t worry, Poppet,” Dom says, his voice suddenly husky. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

I feel a tumbling mass of warmth in my belly as we drive, the significance of this moment starting to build inside of me.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. We could be doing anything out here.

But I’m already on a gleeful high after the discussion with Mom and Dad yesterday, the knowledge that they’re not going to fight this relationship making me feel like I can finally relax, I can finally be with Dom without reservations.

It’s all too easy to let the momentum of that happiness collide with today and drive my mind into a frenzy of speculation … and everything I settle on is warm, fuzzy, right.

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