Page 167 of Savage Empire

“Perhaps married life is softening me,” I suggest, attempting to lighten the mood. “Rayna calls me a prick enough for the both of you. I have no need to irritate you on purpose.”

“Dad says we argue because we’re fundamentally different,” he tells me, unsure of the words like he doesn’t quite believe them. “But I don’t think I’m similar to any of our brothers, and we all get along fine.”

“They didn’t help raise you,” I reply slowly, attempting to explain my understanding of our strained relationship. “I took our mother’s?—”

“Alina,” he cuts in like a correction. “Don’t call her my mom.”

There’s so much hurt in his eyes that I almost wince.

“Alina, then,” I continue. “I took Alina’s place in your life, and unfortunately, that meant you ended up with my teenage version of nurturing. You took nothing seriously, and I needed you to grow up so that I didn’t have to worry about you so much. I made you strong, and I would feel bad about it, but Dad let you be yourself where I didn’t.”

He frowns, contemplating.

“I was concerned that yourboisterouspersonality would get you killed some day. I wanted you to be able to protect yourself. But Dad always knew that you could be lively and lethal. I didn’t understand it, so I wasn’t perfect. I still don’t understand it, but I hope you can see that I’ve improved. I thought our arguments have become more banter than anything else over the years, but correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Maybe you’re not wrong,” he mumbles, sounding almost reluctant.

“You should know that you can come to me with stuff like this,” I remind him slowly. “I would be a shitty Capo and a shittybrother if you felt like I wouldn’t help you if you needed it. Our personalities clash, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”

“Fuck, I wish I was recording that.” Matteo’s face lights up, his typical joy making a grand return. “No one will believe me without proof. Matteo Moretti, Apollo’s favorite brother.”

“I literally didn’t say that.”

“That’s not what I heard,” he sings, smirking. “Leon and Cassio are going to be so crushed when I tell them they’ve been replaced.”

I huff, pinching the bridge of my nose. “They won’t believe you.”

He rubs his hands together, a mischievous look in his eye. “We’ll see.”

“How about you start helping me carry these boxes downstairs instead of plotting whatever scheme you have brewing in your mayhem brain.”

“Fine,” he pouts. “But only because helping you is proof that you need me.” Matteo snatches up a couple of boxes and leaves the room before I can correct his ridiculous assumption.

I can’t believe I’m going to miss dealing with him everyday.

Who am I kidding?I groan.He’ll be letting himself into my new home on a daily basis in no time.

Chapter Forty-Five

Rayna

If I hadn’t seen the progress happening before my eyes over the last eight weeks, I never would have believed something so beautiful could be made in only two months. It’s absolutely incredible, and we’re officially moved in.

The three story mini mansion has everything we planned. Six bedrooms, two on the main floor, three upstairs, and one in the finished basement. Yordan’s bedroom specifically. It was Apollo’s idea to give him that area so he could have privacy while still living at home with us. And I agreed, mostly because it’s the closest bedroom to our safe room—which Apollo assures me is state of the art.

We also ended up with three and a half bathrooms, just to have an extra small one available when we have guests over to eat or hang out. And thanks to Armani, not only is our house built, it’s completely furnished. I swear, that man could decorate an entire city in a fortnight, the way he’s able to work so quickly and efficiently. It’s like a superpower.

I’m in love with this house, and I can’t believe it’s mine. My kitchen is the stuff of dreams, the living room is cozy and pretty, and my bedroom is like every little girl’s dream. Apollo didn’t care that I wanted pale pinks to decorate the space, and he sleeps like a baby under my rose colored covers.

I’m unboxing some new plates and bowls in the kitchen, thinking about all the memories that are going to be created here when my husband walks in. Not alone.

I almost drop the bowl in my hands at the sight of him holding two tiny balls of fluff. Setting it down before I lose control of my hands, I clutch my heart and meet his eyes.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, heart racing. “Where did you get them?”

“Do you like them?” he asks, looking down at the kittens. “They’re for you. Yordan said you’ve always wanted one.”

“And you just got them for me?” I breathe, rounding our island counter to get a closer look. “I love them so much, oh my God. Where—h-how?”