Page 117 of Heartless Sinner

“I feel like hell, but at the same time, I feel free.”

I know what she means. “You don’t have to worry about Anton anymore.”

“Thanks to you.” She lifts her head and stares at me. “What’s going to happen to Johnny?”

He miraculously survived the bullet Kazimir put in his chest. I was going to end him, but I held back remembering he wasn’t my kill. He’s hers. “What do you want to do with him? On your word, I’ll kill him.”

She thinks for a moment and looks away. “Johnny has put Dad and me through hell and in some dangerous situations. He deserves death. If he’d died in the crossfire, I wouldn’t feel anything. But… I don’t know if it would bother me and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ordered his death.”

When she returns her gaze to me, I nod. “You’re not a killer, bellezza, so I get it.”

“Can you teach him a lesson?”

“I sure can.”

“What will you do?”

“There’s an Island the Bratva use. The Creed does, too. When you go there, no one ever sees you again.”

She nods. “Yes. Send him there. I never want to see him again.”

“Consider it done.”

She grips my shirt and pulls me closer. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for approaching me at the bar that night so long ago. That was how we began.”

“Thank you for agreeing to have that drink with me.”

She smiles. It’s a real smile that looks more like her. “I’m so glad I met you, Micah Delarosa.”

“And I you, Scarlett Delarosa. Now, how about that happy ever after we deserve?”

She laughs. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too, bellezza.”

I lean in and kiss her thinking of how far we’ve come and all the things I still want to do with her.

Forever.

We have time.

Epilogue Scarlett

Three weeks later

I walk into the living room, stepping into the radiant light from the afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows.

I head over to my father. He's sitting on the sofa across from the TV with his bad leg resting on the smaller velvet stool.

After the Anton incident, Micah and I went to Denver to spend some time with Dad. When it was time to come back to New York, Dad was still in pain. I didn't have the heart to leave him, so we brought him back with us.

His eyes light up, crinkling at the corners with genuine pleasure when he spots the tray in my hands. It contains an assortment of pastries Maria baked, their golden-brown crusts are still slightly warm to the touch.

Micah has been at work, so I decided to join Maria in the kitchen to bake cookies and prepare dinner. The familiar act of baking brings comfort, like wrapping myself in a warm blanket.

"You're all going to spoil me rotten." Dad grins when I approach, his smile reaching his eyes in that way that always makes me feel like his cherished little girl again.

"I’ll spoil you as much as I can." I set the tray on the coffee table and sit next to him. The warmth of his presence beside me feels like home.

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