Page 45 of The Mob and his Messenger

My breath catches when we emerge into a clearing.

I just stare at what I’m convinced for a few moments is some kind of green screen or mirage. But then my eyes focus on the scene, the small yellow bricked cottage sitting next to a pond bordered on all sides by earth-green fencing, wrapped with ivy and vines … And the whole place, the whole picture of it, looks like a fantasy writer’s cottage, a precious private place where—

“It’s yours,” Dom says, reading my mind. He reaches across and slides his hand behind my neck, tickling me adoringly. “I know you’re going to prove to the world what an incredible writer you are with your skill alone. But there aren’t any rules about me giving you a perfect place to do it from, are there?”

“No,” I whisper, feeling tears prick my eyes. “This is amazing.”

“Let’s go look at the pond,” he says, suddenly throwing the door open and springing out.

“Okay,” I laugh, following him. Poppet leaps from the seat and darts around the cottage, sniffing frantically, establishing a border around her humans.

“You seem very keen to look at the pond.”

He turns with one hand in his pocket, the sun framing him from behind, making him seem bright and silhouetted at the same time.

“Come here, Dallas,” he says.

I walk over, feeling as though I’m in a dream, but the closer I get to my fantasy cottage the more real it becomes.

“I wanted to bring you here to show you that I’ll always support you,” he says, taking my hand with his free hand, the other still suspiciously in his pocket. “And I wanted to, no, need, to tell you that I love you. I love you, Dallas. I loved you the second I saw you in that alleyway, before the goddamned bomb. I remember feeling like my world came crashing down.”

I blink away tears of joy, a swelling in my chest trying to make me sob. But I choke it back and instead speak the words I’ve been holding back, “I love you, Dom. I love you so much. I love you more than I ever believed possible.”

“Good,” he grins, reaching up now and wiping away my tears.

His other hand still in his pocket, he brings it out as he falls fluidly to one knee and presents me with a ring box. I gasp and stare at it, Poppet bubbling energetically beside me because she knows how important this is, too.

“Dallas Smith,” he says, his eyes holding mine, brimming with sparkling emotion. He opens the box. “I love you. I fucking love you. Please make me the happiest man in the world and be my wife. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I beam, hardly knowing what to do with myself.

Somehow I end up on top of him, my arms wrapped around him, both us rolling in the fresh-smelling grass as Poppet yaps and licks at our faces.

“She must think we’ve gone mad,” I giggle.

“Mad with love,” Dom grins. “Let me put the ring on you at least, Firecracker. Goddamn, you just jumped on me.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Never,” he growls, sliding the ring onto my finger, the metal cool and fitting perfectly.

I hold my hand to the light, examining the elegant yet full diamond, the way it dances, and shifts in the light.

Perfect.EpilogueTwo Weeks LaterDom“So I’m going to be your father-in-law,” Gabriel says, chuckling from the kitchen bar and then taking a satisfying sip of his beer.

In the two weeks since the madness with the Irish, Gabriel seems to have lightened up. All of the remaining Irish have declared their loyalty to us publicly and are now working with us … if they weren’t Patty types, that is. If they were like him, they’re going to suffer the same fate, life in a small metal box that reeks of their own shit.

Good.

Because that means the streets are clean now, safe for regular, innocent people to go about their business.

“Do you have any idea how many times you’ve made that joke?” I mutter, leaning against the wall with my hands in my pockets, a smile on my face I couldn’t have believed even a month ago.

Dallas is changing me. And I’m so fucking ready for it.

“Big bad Domenico DeLuca,” Gabriel goes on, looking like the little boy he was when I first met him. He even has the same boyish grin. “Don’t think I’m gonna be changing your diapers, though, friend.”

“Hurry up and finish that beer,” I snap.

“Why?”

“So I can smash the bottle over your head.”

Gabriel chuckles and swigs it back, and then offers it to me. I’m about to walk over to him and grab it when Dallas walks into the kitchen, Poppet at her feet.

The sight of Dallas always makes my breath catch and this afternoon is no different. Standing there in her gray sweatpants and her baggy black hoodie, barefoot with her hair piled messily atop her head, she’s like a photo of my wildest fantasy made flesh.

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