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Epilogue: Tori

Sunlight pours through the wide bay windows, scattering gold across the living room floor. It’s a lazy Sunday morning—the kind that used to feel like an impossibility. The scent of fresh coffee drifts from the kitchen, a warm invitation pulling me out of sleep, even as tiny feet kick gently against my ribs.

Three years and one very stubborn toddler later, and somehow, this is our life. Quiet mornings. Warm coffee. The low murmur of conversation drifting through the halls, punctuated by laughter that's become as familiar as breathing.

I run a hand softly over the gentle swell of my belly, already feeling the stirrings of another impatient child. This one is Blaze’s—a secret thrill he tries and spectacularly fails to hide every time he glances my way. I'm pretty sure he's already mentally bought out half of the local bookstore, determined to raise a tiny genius.

“Mommy!” a little voice calls, right before chubby fingers press sticky Cheerios into my palm. “Breakfast!”

I glance down into bright blue eyes—eyes so unmistakably Ryder’s that he loves to tease Blaze and Thorne about their "inferior genetics."

“Thanks, buddy,” I say, lifting the soggy cereal and pretending to eat. Ryder Jr.—RJ as we all call him—giggles, pleased with his culinary offering. His little blond curls bounce wildly as he climbs onto the couch beside me, jabbering excitedly about dinosaurs and something that sounds suspiciously like Blaze taught him quantum mechanics again.

The guys swear up and down that RJ’s cuteness comes from me, but with that mischievous behavior and devilish charm, there’s no denying he’s Ryder’s clone. God help us all.

“You shouldn’t be eating cereal in here, RJ,” Thorne says, appearing from nowhere like the health-conscious ninja he’s become. “Mommy needs real breakfast, not your leftovers.”

RJ giggles again, unfazed by Thorne’s serious dad face, scrambling from the couch to latch onto his leg. Thorne scoops him effortlessly, lips twitching with a suppressed smile as he shakes his head. “You’re trouble, little man.”

“Daddy’s trouble!” RJ counters, pointing straight at Ryder, who emerges from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of coffee. Blaze trails behind him, carrying a plate of pancakes with enough fruit to satisfy even Thorne’s exacting standards.

“Kid’s got a point,” Blaze murmurs, setting the plate down carefully on the coffee table. Ryder scowls playfully, handing me my coffee and ruffling RJ’s hair before sitting beside me. He kisses my temple, lingering just long enough for me to feel his lips stretch in happiness.

RJ reaches for Blaze, bouncing impatiently until Blaze relents and scoops him from Thorne’s arms. Blaze pretends to grumble about sticky fingers and crumbs, but the look on his face gives him away completely—soft, gentle, and more open than I’d ever dared to imagine.

“You good?” Thorne asks softly, settling beside me, one hand gently coming to rest against my belly.

I cover his hand with mine, leaning into his warmth. “Never been better.”

Thorne nods quietly, the small crease between his brows telling me he’s still worried—always worried—but getting better at trusting that things will be okay. Pregnancy hasn’t been easy for him, even though the last one was a piece of cake. I know he still carries his fears, even if he won’t voice them.

“Hey, Thorne,” Ryder calls casually from my other side, nudging my shoulder gently. “Relax, man. You’ll wrinkle that pretty face of yours worrying about something that’s not gonna happen.”

Thorne snorts, relaxing fractionally, his thumb gently brushing over my stomach. “You’d know all about pretty faces, Ryder.”

Ryder flashes him a cocky grin, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “Damn right. RJ gets it from me.”

Blaze groans from across the room, making RJ giggle again. “Stop reminding me. I’m still holding out hope this next one has Tori’s brain.”

I laugh softly, relaxing back against the couch, the warmth of Ryder’s arm around me and Thorne’s quiet strength anchoring me in place.

We’ve built something here—something none of us ever dreamed possible. Marcus, Juan, and Keagan are thriving in the security company. Legitimate, profitable, and somehow exactly what we needed. Even Gabe found his own place, managing operations with a quiet confidence that has the others finally calling him by his name instead of “new guy.”

There are no more shadows, no more hidden daggers, no more waiting for it all to crumble.

It’s solid. It’s safe.

It’s ours.

A year ago, we got news about Diablo—gunned down by some newer, hungrier gang trying to carve out their place. It was strange, hearing the boogeyman of our past was suddenly just...gone. But by the time the news reached us, it felt distant, like an echo of another life. We toasted to his memory, not out of sadness or triumph, but in quiet acknowledgment. We’d moved on. The world he’d ruled with fear and bloodshed was no longer ours. And that felt right .

I watch RJ shriek with laughter as Blaze flips him upside down, Thorne unsuccessfully fighting a smile, and Ryder leaning into me, lips brushing softly against my ear. “You think we’re ready for another one, KitKat?”

I squeeze Thorne’s hand, draw Blaze’s gaze to mine, and feel Ryder’s smile against my skin. “Absolutely not,” I tease, even as the truth shines plainly on my face. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Because we’re good at that—figuring it out. Loving fiercely. Protecting what’s ours.

We’re messy. Complicated. Completely unconventional.

But damn if it isn’t perfect.

This is your happily ever after, Tori. Enjoy every minute.