Page 92 of They All Own Me

"Then we figure it out," Connor says simply. "Together."

My throat tightens as I look between the three men who've turned my world upside down. Dom's quiet strength, Isaac's fierce loyalty, Connor's sharp intelligence. All so different, yet all wanting me. All willing to share.

"I never thought I'd say this, but you three are the best thing that's happened to me."

"Even better than that cheeseburger Isaac brought you?" Connor's lip ring glints as he smirks.

"Maybe tied with the cheeseburger." I grab Dom's mangled pancake, needing something to do with my hands. "Look, I know this isn't exactly the white picket fence and golden retriever life I dreamed about as a kid."

"We could get you a dog," Dom offers, his dark eyes serious. "Though maybe something more intimidating than a retriever. Ever heard of a Cane Corso?"

"Yeah, we can't keep our street cred if we have a golden doodle Tate…" Connor says.

"That's not-" I shake my head, laughing. "What I mean is, you three have made me feel more wanted and protected in these few weeks than my entire marriage."

Isaac reaches across the table, his calloused fingers brushing mine. "Because we see you. The real you."

"The one who dreams of putting laxatives in people's food," Connor adds.

"The one who plants surveillance equipment while giving blow jobs," Dom says.

"The one who makes bomb ass breakfast for mobsters," Issac finishes.

"Yeah, well." I squeeze Isaac's hand. "If you'll have me - all of you - I'm yours. No more pretending to be someone I'm not."

"Good." Dom's voice drops lower. "Because we don't want the perfect wife."

"We want you," Connor says.

"Though maybe less getting kidnapped in the future," Isaac adds, his accent thick with emotion.

I look at each of them - my protectors, my lovers, my future. "Deal."

Chapter 47

Tatum

The aromaof garlic and herbs fills the kitchen as I stir the marinara sauce. My ribs only twinge slightly as I reach for the basil - a vast improvement from last week. The security team mills around outside, their dark suits a constant reminder that I'm protected, even if they're not quite the protection I prefer.

"Mrs. Cope, do you need anything?" One of the guards peers into the kitchen.

"Just for you to stop calling me Mrs. Cope," I say, tasting the sauce. "It's Tatum."

He nods stiffly and retreats. These guys are competent but damn, they make Dom look chatty in comparison.

My phone buzzes with a text from Connor: "ETA 2 hours. Hope you didn't burn down our kitchen."

I snap a photo of the elaborate spread I'm preparing - homemade pasta, garlic bread, tiramisu chilling in the fridge. "Unlike your sad excuse for toast, my food is actually edible."

"Shots fired," he replies with a string of emojis.

I can't help but smile, remembering their attempts at cooking this past week. Dom's "pancakes" that looked more like abstract art, Isaac's valiant but failed attempt at alfredo, Connor somehow burning water while trying to make tea. But theytried, bringing me breakfast in bed, massaging my bruises, never leaving me alone for a moment until this job called them away.

The news plays quietly in the background, still covering Thomas's arrest. The evidence against him was overwhelming - thanks to Connor's technical wizardry. Not to mention my parents ratted him out without a second thought to receive a lesser sentence. I laugh to myself. My mother’s least favorite color is orange.

My soon-to-be-ex-husband's face appears on screen, being led away in handcuffs, and for the first time, I feel nothing but relief.

I stretch, enjoying the freedom of wearing yoga pants and one of Dom's stolen t-shirts instead of my former wardrobe of designer dresses and painful heels. The kitchen timer dings, and I pull out the garlic bread, already anticipating the looks on their faces when they walk through the door. Three dangerous men who've shown me more love in a few weeks than I've known in years.

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