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A few months had passed since the incident that altered the course of our lives for good.

The Bianchi family didn’t take their son’s death lightly.

They decided to declare war against the Bratva, opting for bloodshed rather than reason.

I didn’t blame them; they lost their golden boy, heir to his father’s empire.

Acting irrationally and making impulsive decisions based on their emotions was expected.

And as such, I was prepared when they attacked—fully fortified on all aspects. The Italians were short-sighted, unable to see the bigger picture in front of them. They thought that they would be fighting against the Russian Bratva alone. But when they attacked, they were in for a big surprise.

I wasn’t alone in this battle. I wasn’t the only one affected by Lucas’s failed attempt at executing his plans.

The Italians were outnumbered, outsmarted, and ambushed in an attack that they orchestrated.

The idiots didn’t count on the Irish taking my side in the battle, and so they received the biggest shock that almost ended them in one sweep.

Two against one was hardly a fair fight.

Two powerful families against one…that was a massacre.

The Italians lost in the worst way ever, with only a handful of survivors to report to the Bianchi family.

This defeat crushed Giovanni’s vengeful spirit and sent him and his family hiding underground.

His men were hunted and killed like dogs in the streets, his name dragged in the mud as his empire burned to the ground.

The Tarasovs alone were a force to be reckoned with, a family that sent their enemies six feet under without breaking a sweat. Together with the O’Hara by our side, both families were invincible—untouchable.

After we destroyed the Bianchis in an attack that they started, our combined forces became legendary.

Tales of two sworn enemies now turned allies kept other powerful organizations on their toes.

Our alliance was so solid that every family in the underground criminal world knew that an enemy of one was an enemy of both.

And vice versa. They knew to keep their distance and tread with caution lest they end up like the Bianchis—powerless, nameless, and irrelevant.

It took a lot of work for a man to admit his wrongs—especially a proud man like Ronan O’Hara.

That’s how he earned my respect and scooped seventy percent of my trust. In this business, trust was a luxury we couldn’t afford; it was risky and dangerous.

But for now, O’Hara earned a good amount of my trust.

He’d come to me months ago, just a few weeks after the big incident.

He confessed he’d been wrong about Lucas and the Bianchis, that he was blinded by his greed and hunger for power.

He didn’t say it, but I saw the regret in his eyes that day, the guilt that ate deep inside him.

He did say that if anything had happened to his precious Ayla, he never would have forgiven himself.

The man made peace with his daughter and did everything he could to strengthen his bond with her. He asked for her forgiveness, and being the best human being that I knew, Ayla had no problem letting go of her pain.

Interesting how an event designed to bring us shame and pain brought us glory and joy, the exact opposite. I’d forever be grateful to that sneaky bastard—Lucas—for orchestrating such a life-changing disaster. In trying to tear us apart, the prick only brought us closer, solidifying our bond.

That son of bitch would be rotting in hell right now, regretting ever pulling that stunt.

Ronan was relieved that he didn’t throw his daughter to a wolf just seal a fucking deal, to build some stupid alliance. “We’re all devils in this line of work. At least she ended up a devil who worships her.” Those were his exact words as he left my office that day.

Ronan didn’t fully trust me either; I didn’t expect him to anyway.

He still had his eyes on me, hoping that I wouldn’t double-cross him someday.

I was no snitch. Double-crossing an alley wasn’t my thing; it was childish.

Stupid. Ronan O’Hara would understand that about me soon enough.

But in the meantime, he was welcome to keep his guard up or sleep with an eye open. Whatever made him feel safe. Protected.

One thing was certain, though: He’d given his approval and had blessed my union with his daughter. Not that it mattered anyway because with or without his approval, we’d still be happy together.

My wife, Ayala, was no longer the same girl who rode into my life on a bike with fire in her eyes and chains on her wrists.

She was bolder than ever, stronger, and she went for what she wanted out of life.

She took control of her future with me backing her up every step of the way.

I supported her decisions but also offered suggestions on how I thought she should go about something.

I was twice her age, meaning I was more exposed, more experienced. And I wouldn’t sit back and watch her make silly mistakes just because I was supporting her dreams. It was her life, so I let her take the wheel while riding shotgun, guiding her on the right path.

“What would I do without you?” she would always ask each time my suggestion and opinion on something turned out just fine.

Ayla didn’t go back to law school; she dropped out, and her father didn’t complain. He knew better now. She was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. Plus, she had one of the most powerful men in the city on her side, guiding her every move.

Me.

Ayla took a much quieter path, one that made her eyes sparkle when she spoke. She started a project in the city aimed at helping young women like her who were interested in biking. It was a small space downtown that offered custom workshops, riding lessons, and even basic mechanics.

I funded the whole thing without blinking, although she swore she’d pay me back . “Business is business, babe,” she had said, convinced that she’d make the money back in less than a year.

Her optimism was remarkable, and with the speed at which the business was booming, I had no doubt at all that her profit would be huge.

She still raced at times—when she felt like it—and never had she been bested.

After beating the Phantom Rider months ago, Ayla had been unstoppable, retaining the title of “Undefeated Champion.”

I was incredibly proud of this woman. Her journey to success was a challenging one—filled with pain and nearly costing her life.

But despite everything, her spirit was never broken, and she defended her mind with great fervor.

She didn’t allow her circumstances to defeat her. She fought back, and she triumphed.

Every day, I woke up grateful to have found such an amazing soul that silenced my demons and made my life easier.

We understood ourselves, learned how to be each other’s strengths when the other was down.

She saw me for who I was—the devil who adored her.

And I saw her for who she was—the light to my dark, the better half who completed me.

With her, I was whole, never feeling empty on the inside because this woman had filled all my voids.

She brought balance into my life and opened my eyes to a new perception of things I had once been blinded to.

What a woman!

If I were to do this all over again, I wouldn’t change a damn thing because despite all we’d been through, we came out triumphant. At the top.

Tonight, I stood at the arena, watching as engines growled beneath the night sky, tires lined up on cracked asphalt.

“So, this is how she spends her evenings,” Ronan said, his arms across his chest as he stood beside me.

“More or less,” I replied, stealing a glance in his direction.

He scoffed, a small smile tugging at his lips, his gaze fixed on the bikers, revving the engines.

We stood at a distance from the spectators, packed tightly on either side. Phones were raised in the air, cheers loud over the bass thumping from nearby cars. This was Ronan’s first time watching his daughter do what she knew how to do best. Ride.

He tried to mask it with a flat expression, but I saw through his anxiety. The man was nervous, probably worried about her safety.

Ayla sat on her bike, her eyes fixed ahead, her visor down. When the flare hit the air, bikers launched forward like speeding bullets from a gun, each one struggling to take the lead.

Ronan’s expression soon started to give away, anxiety creeping into his gaze. He looked like he was holding his breath, eyes trailing his daughter’s bike. “Come on, baby,” he murmured.

Ayla weaved between competition with fearless precision, taking sharp corners like she owned the asphalt.

“Shit, that’s reckless,” he whispered to himself, lost in the tension of the game.

Ayla leaned into even sharper corners with more reckless grace, scraping metal, dodging mirrors.

“Oh, c’mon!” Ronan spread out his arms, frustration lacing his tone.

“Would you relax? She knows what she’s doing,” I said, my eyes never leaving her bike.

“She’s insane,” he declared, more intrigued than annoyed.

Ayla gunned the throttle on the final stretch, surging past the leader with a flawless slide. She crossed the finish line two full seconds ahead.

“Yes, that’s my girl!” Ronan exclaimed, unable to hold back his excitement.

The arena erupted, fists in the air. Smoke. Some fireworks. “Ayla, Ayla, Ayla…!” The crowd exploded, chanting her name.

I stood there, beaming with pride, knowing that this wonderful woman was mine forever.

“She’s incredible,” Ronan whispered, his gaze fixed on his daughter.

Ayla hopped off her bike, smiling at her fans, waving and blowing kisses in the air. Her hair spilled like a river of blood as she whipped it back, her helmet in her hand. She didn’t just win another race. She dominated.

Tonight wasn’t about who was a better rider. No one cared to bet or take sides. It was just an amazing show that everyone loved and was entertained by.

She won for the Bratva.

She won for the Irish.

For her blood and her fire.

I left Ronan to himself and walked down the gentle slope we were standing on. Ayla was speaking to her crew, laughing and exchanging handshakes, when I arrived, clearing my throat.

Upon my arrival, they wrapped things up with her and left in a hurry. Not just because they were afraid of me, but because it was clear that I needed some privacy with my wife.

“Did you see that? Did you see that corner drift?” She chuckled, almost breathless, still high off the win.

“I did,” came my reply as I closed the distance between us, pulling her to myself. “You know who else did?”

She squinted, a small smile playing on her lips. Ayla traced my gaze to the slope across where her father stood. He beamed at her with a slight wave.

“He came,” she said softly, her smile broadening as she waved back.

“You almost gave him a heart attack,” I teased.

She laughed, turning to face me.

My fingers smoothed out her messy hair, tangled from the helmet. “You did great out there tonight,” I whispered, my voice laced with pride and sincerity.

“Thank you.” Her lips curled into that radiant smile of hers.

We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment until I broke the silence. “Can I take her for a spin?” My eyes flickered to her bike.

She pulled her head back, brows arching in disbelief. “You mean Alice?” She pointed at the motorcycle.

“Yeah. I promise I’ll be gentle,” I teased, winking at her.

Her cheeks flushed, and she scrunched her mouth playfully, pretending to think. “Fine,” she said, adding almost immediately, “but you crash her, I promise, I’ll crush your balls.” Her lips pursed, suppressing the smile threatening to break free.

I wasn’t exactly sure how my balls got into the equation, but “Okay.” I caught the keys she tossed at me. “And who names her bike Alice anyway?”

She laughed, climbing on behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist. I revved the engine, feeling the warmth of her bosom pressed against my back. My lips curled into a sly grin. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she replied, her arms tightening around my waist.

The engine roared, and we shot off into the night. We rode through the city like we owned it, the wind howling around us as neon lights blurred past. The ride was smoother than she thought, and I could tell she loved it from the sound of her laughs echoing against my neck.

Perhaps she underestimated my skills.

I weaved through traffic, taking sharp swerves and dangerous turns with expert precision. My moves were reckless, spiking the adrenaline surging through our veins. Ayla trusted me; she knew that I was in control and would never endanger her life.

Eventually, I pulled off on a quiet overlook just beyond the city. The skyline stretched out before us, glittering and silent. Ayla slid off the bike, taking off her helmet.

I did the same and turned in her direction, watching the sparkle in her eyes. She dropped the helmet, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me into a kiss that silenced the rest of the world.

One thing led to another, and soon, we began gasping for breath, losing control. My hands were all over her body, our mouths greedy and impatient. She leaned her back against the nearest tree, and I pressed against her, devouring her lips.

No restraints, no holding back. We surrendered to our passion, allowing our burning desire to consume us both.

Fuck, I love this woman .

*****

THE END