Page 77 of Text Me, Take Me

Keepsake: It’s probably the craziest first chapter in the history of relationships. You know that phrase, ‘that’s a story we can tell our grandkids?’ I’m not sure we’ll be able to tell ours about our beginning.

I chuckle.

Dom: I don’t need it to make sense to anybody else as long as it makes sense to us.

Keepsake: It does. Now, let me get back to work. I love you. Call me when it’s done.

Dom: I will. Go and make a masterpiece. I love you, angel.

She was shocked when a mystery client contacted her via her social media to request a custom engagement ring, but she rose to the challenge just like she has her entire life. We’ve slept in the same bed every night since the standoff in the cemetery.

When I wake from a nightmare, she’s there for me, and when she jolts awake with terror in her heart, I’m there for her. Are we perfect? Nobody is. Are we a team? You bet your ass we are.

We’re a rock-solid partnership and I’ll never stop being proud of what we’ve built together.

From the main bar, I hear the door open. Father raises his voice. “Did you bring the cash?”

One of the Vulture’s laughs. “I thought you’d have backup, Don Russo. Selling out your son is dangerous business.”

Father contacted the stragglers to let them know he will trade me for cold hard cash. The idiots believed it, probably because they cynically think everyone is as callous as they are.

“The cash?” My father snaps.

“Let’s talk specifics first,” the second Vulture says. “How are you going to give us your son?”

“It’s easy. I’ll call him and he’ll come to us.”

“Go on, then–call him.”

“Not until you give me the cash.”

I slip out the back door and walk around to the entrance, taking my gun from my waistband. The past week has reminded me of who I really am, as I spend time in business meetings, conference calls, focusing on my legitimate business in my expensive suits in my offices: offices I earned with wits and ruthlessness, not bloodshed.

But these bastards won’t quit, hounding my woman, clinging on as if they think there’s even a one percent chance I’ll let them hurt my new family, my new life.

I walk quietly into the bar, the Vultures with their backs to me.

Their names are Henrik and Larson, and both are wanted for multiple sex crimes. Both are going to spend a long, long time in prison.

I raise my gun. “Hands in the air or I blow your fucking heads off.”

“Ah, ah,” Father says, when one of them goes for their gun. Father reveals the shotgun hidden under his jacket. “My son wants to do the right thing. Make sure you two scumbags areimprisoned for what you’ve done. Me? I’ll happily paint the floor with your brains and be done with it.”

Slowly, they drop their weapons and fall to their knees. I take the zip-ties from my pocket as my father keeps his shotgun aimed at them.

“We could make this easier,” Father says.

“No,” I growl. “Let them rot.”

“They’ll rot in the ground more than in a cage.”

“There’s been enough bloodshed. Call the cops.”

After we’ve handed the Vultures over to the police, I call Evie.

“Does that mean it’s over?” she asks, voice shaky, like she can barely believe it.

“It’s done,” I tell her. “We’re free.”

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