Page 43

Epilogue

I can’t think of a better word than wild, to be sitting across from Marcy again. To see how she’s aged. To hear her voice.

Her book, The Blood Queen was a New York Times Bestseller.

I never did bother reading it though.

“If you had to, would you do it all again?” Marcy asks. I look down at Kenzie, and gently play with my napping daughter’s hair. We’re in my living room. She shouldn’t be here but when Kenzie and I were in town eating lunch—there she was, at the same restaurant as us.

A chill had whipped up my spine. Set all my hairs standing on end.

If she could find me, who else could? I’d braced myself.

Certain panic was about to terrorize me.

But she’d been visiting family in the area.

What are the chances? And so, when she asked if we could catch up, I’d said sure—off the record of course, because I’m no longer Kid, or Evany.

I’m just Meghan, a quiet, polite, single mom now.

I shrug. Would I? If I could go back, would I change anything? Would it still lead me to where I am right now?

“I loved and I lost, Marcy; what more is there to a life well lived? I try not to dwell on the would haves or could haves.”

She crosses and then uncrosses her legs. The chair she’s sitting in is the most uncomfortable chair in the house, but Truman loved the aesthetic of it. Even now it makes me want to laugh—the absurdity of it.

“Did you and Truman stay together?” She asks, looking around the cabin.

I let out a quiet laugh. “I’m surprised you don’t know. I thought you’d try and keep tabs on us.” Marcy shakes her head sadly.

“Couldn’t have found you if I’d tried. You were ghosts the moment you left my house.”

I sigh and nod my understanding. “We had seven blissful years together.”

“Where is he now?” she asks. “If you can tell me.”

I let out a breath. “He passed away. Two years ago. Cancer.”

Sadness etches itself in the lines of her face. “I’m so sorry. He was much too young”

I shrug, used to the constant state of grief I feel without him. Of the pain that Kenzie only got two short years with him and that besides what I tell her and show her, she probably won’t ever have her own memory of the greatest man I ever knew. Of her father.

“He gave me the greatest gifts in life. Unconditional love and Kenzie.”

Marcy nods slowly, her eyes filled with sympathy. “He was a good man. I could see how much he loved you, even back then.”

I smile softly. “He was the best thing that ever happened to me. If not for him…” I trail off, glancing down at Kenzie again.

“Do you think you would have gotten out?” Marcy asks after a moment. “Of the life, I mean. If Truman hadn’t been there.”

I consider the question. Would I have left the mafia had fate not brought Truman into my life?

Given me a glimpse of something pure and good amidst all the violence and darkness?

My throat tightens with emotion. I think about those early days with the family after Papa was killed.

The wrath burning inside me, scorching my soul.

I wanted revenge so badly I could taste it.

Would have done anything they asked if it meant avenging Papa.

“Truman was my lifeline,” I say quietly.

“He saw the good still left in me when I thought it was all gone. Reminded me I had a choice. But without him…” I trail off, watching Kenzie’s chest rise and fall in sleep for a moment.

“The pull was strong back then. Like a riptide dragging me under. I’d like to think so, though,” I say finally. “For Papa’s sake.”

Marcy nods again. We sit in silence for a minute, the weight of the past hanging over us.

She looks at me thoughtfully.

“Do you think Antonio would be proud of the life you’ve made for yourself now?”

I glance down at Kenzie again, sleeping peacefully. Would my papa be proud of the vengeance I had rained down on the families on his behalf? He certainly didn’t want me in that world. Would he be proud that I chose love and family over violence in the end?

“I think…” I begin slowly, “that in the end, Papa just wanted me to be happy. As long as I’m taking care of myself and the people I love, then yes - I believe he’d be proud.”

Marcy gives me a small smile. “You’ve come a long way, Kid.”

I let out a little laugh.

The late afternoon sun filters through the blinds.

“Do you think you’ll ever tell Kenzie?” Marcy asks after a while. “About…everything?”

I glance down at my daughter again and brush a strand of hair from her face. Her features are so peaceful, so innocent. The thought of burdening her with the darkness of my past makes my heart ache.

“No,” I say softly. “Some parts of my history died with the four families. And that’s for the best. Truman wouldn’t want that for her anyway.”

Marcy nods in understanding. “The past is the past. All that matters now is the life you’re living.”

I nod. “Exactly. Speaking of, Truman would kill me if he knew I was spending time reminiscing with a reporter instead of making dinner.” I smile at her, but my words are not affectionate.

Marcy laughs and stands abruptly. “Alright, alright. I’ll get out of your hair. It was good catching up, Evany—I mean—”

“Meghan,” I say firmly. “If anyone found out my real name, it’d be….”

She smiles softly at that, and the years melt away as I slide out from under a napping Kenzie to stand and hug.

“Stay safe, Meghan. Best of luck to you,” she says.

“Ditto,” I answer.