Page 132 of Raphael (Belles & Mobsters 5)

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I woke up to the scent of primrose all around me. My wife’s scent.

Hope for our future grew as I watched her sleep in my arms.

Whatever time she needed, she’d get it. Because we both knew, she’d be mine in the end. All my sins, all my wrongs, they had all led me to her and I’d be damned if I let this chance at our happy ending go.

We both earned it. Okay, I didn’t but she and Gabriel sure as fuck did.

Sailor slept on her side, facing me. The first rays of sunshine reflected against her hair like shimmering white gold. Like a halo on an angel's head and sprawled all over my chest, her warm body pressed against mine.

Taking a silky strand of her hair between my fingers, I relished its softness, then moved it out of her face so I could see her. I couldn’t stop touching her so I laced my fingers through her hair and kept smoothing it.

Peaceful, her brows just slightly furrowed.

After the daily updates I received on her nightly nightmares, it gave me hope that she’d get better soon.

My eyes traveled over my wife. My hand rested on the top of her thigh, her skin cool under mine. Wearing a pair of silk, ivory shorts and a matching top, one smooth thigh hooked over me, she looked like an angel in the devil’s bed. The red satin sheets and red accent in the bedroom. She hadn’t bothered redecorating anything since she’d been staying here.

My dick was hard but I ignored it. For the first time in almost a month, I had my wife next to me and my heart felt at peace. This was exactly where I was meant to be - with her.

And, for the first time in a month, I woke up rested. At peace. Fuck, maybe even happy, despite the morning wood and the risk of blue balls.

Anything for her, as long as she was with me.

I shifted slowly off the bed, careful not to wake her. She needed the rest. The dark circles under her eyes weren’t as dark this morning as last night, but the many nights of restless sleep left a toll on her.

My phone buzzed and I quickly grabbed it so it wouldn’t wake Sailor.

It was a message from Nico. With an address.

Got you, motherfucker. I’m coming for you.

* * *

One plane ride and a helicopter ride later and I was in Mexico.

I stalked the area for the past day, surveilling.

For someone that detested Hispanics, Sailor’s father sure loved to deal with them a lot. And who in their right mind would have ever thought the fucker would seek refuge under the roof of the very man he hired Benito King to eliminate.

Anya’s father.

Karma at its best. Or testament to McHale’s deviousness. The fucker bought the house, no doubt as a middle finger to Anya’s father, the man he had murdered.

I arrived at the little, one level stone home with a stucco and terracotta roof, only a couple of hours outside Mexico City. In Cuapiaxtla. The landscape was stunning and deadly in its dry beauty. Twenty or so colorful homes in the middle of the desert looked out of place.

According to Nico, the one where Father and Mother of the Year were hiding was the red row home. How fucking appropriate. When I was done with them, it’d be fucking bloody red on the inside too.

“Want me to go inside with you?” Caine offered.

“No, not this time,” I gritted, the thirst for their spilled blood slithering through my veins. All I had to do was remember Sailor’s beaten body and I was ready for a murder spree.

I strode through the little iron gate and stepped on the front porch. A single silent bullet swung the door wide open. I spotted them right away - the couple, members of one of the most prestigious American families, surrounded by poverty while wearing a Brioni suit and Chanel dress.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” I sneered.

Two sets of wide eyes, full of fear, stared back at me. It was clear they never expected to be found.

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