Page 33 of Tall, Dark, and Grumpy

“We don’t. Questa è la nostra casa. This is our home now. This office. We’re never leaving.”

And when Cassie snuggles back onto my chest, I can almost believe that’s true. Until the phone rings again. On the fifth time, I sigh.

I shift her onto the sofa and leave her there, walking naked to my clear desk and kneel to pick up the phone from the mess on the floor.

“I’m not here for the rest of the day, or tomorrow. Neither is Cassie Meadows. Don’t ring again unless…” There’s spluttering on the other end of the phone as I take a moment to consider what could be as important as Cassie. “It’s the literal end of the world and I am the only person who can save it.”

Replacing the phone, I notice something I’d forgotten next to the pens and broken keyboard.

“I was going to ask you something before you tried to quit.” I pick up the box and return to where Cassie is still holding my come in her pussy like a good girl.

I return to her, and sink to one knee. Opening the velvet box towards her, I watch her beautiful face blank with surprise as she realises what I’m doing and gasps.

“Marry me.”

The ring is excessive. I bought it over the weekend, torn apart by love and despair and hope. It’s a pale-blue sapphire the colour of her eyes, set in a platinum band.

“Yes.” She grins, propels herself forwards, grips me with both hands as she nods and hides her face in my shoulder. “Yes. Always, yes.”

EPILOGUE

CASSIE

Five years later

“It’s ridiculous,” says Anwyn. “The heroine is too stupid to live.” She waves her paperback copy of the romance book we’ve all been reading for the London Mafia Smut Club.

“You’re being way too harsh.” Jenna Voronov shakes her head. “People don’t make perfect decisions in the heat of the moment. They don’t think of other things that might be obvious in hindsight.”

“Yes!” Lina says, pulling out her eReader. “See, I agree with Jenna. Listen to this bit.” And proceeds to read aloud about the part where the heroine of the fantasy romance is riding a dragon to get to her enemy or friend or lover, depending on where abouts in the book you are and how you look at it. “Not stupid. At all. She’s in love.”

“At that point?” Anwyn scoffs. “Too early, see she says?—”

“Unreliable narrator.” Lina shrugs happily. “She loves him, just doesn’t know it.

I don’t get involved with these arguments. Ella Blackwood and I tend to hang out on the same sofa and watch withamusement as the more opinionated members get involved. The funniest times are when some of the husbands read along, and join in the debate. Lambeth and Mayfair once nearly came to blows about a disagreement over the realism of a cowboy romance.

One of the advantages of being the wife of a mafia boss is the club. You’d think that the London Mafia was all rivalry and drive-by shootings, and sure, there is still some argument with the Greek mafias that I haven’t fully understood.

But when I stepped into the bar on the night Vito and I got together, I longed for family and friends. I remember looking at the group of women and being jealous I didn’t have that. Now, I have Vito, our two daughters, Gabriella and Isabella, and as much female companionship as I like with the other London Mafia Syndicate wives.

“I know we’re supposed to be talking about the book,” whispers Ella next to me, “but do you want to go to the waterpark next Saturday? I was thinking of taking the kids.”

“Sure,” I reply. You’d think that hanging out with the wife of a man who looks almost identical to your husband would be awkward, but Ella and Sev’s wife have become some of my best friends. And the three Blackwood triplets are easy to distinguish if one of them is your lover. I’d know Vito anywhere.

“Am I invited?” a sinfully delicious voice rumbles behind us, then bristles rasp on my cheek. “I love wet fun,” Vito murmurs into my ear, low enough that only I hear.

I flush and look up at my husband. He gives my hair a playful tug and leans down to kiss me. It’s a soft and lingering kiss, not filthy and open-mouthed, but a clear enough sign of possession. His lips on mine make a thought rise in me again that I’ve been having more and more, recently.

I think I’d like to be pregnant again. I’d like my husband to breed me. I want that solid, rounded belly that Vito can’t keep his hands off.

Well. Even more than usual. My husband is happiest when we’re touching.

He draws back and drags his gaze over my face and shoulders in a carnal sweep so hot I’m instantly chargrilled.

“Ready to go back to our brood?” he asks, smiling.

I swear I thought I was marrying a black cloud. But nope. My husband is pure sunshine about… Okay, only about fifty per cent of the time. And he’s the best with the kids. He has infinite patience for everything they want to do, and every mistake.