“Stop talking.” Mal stared at me like he was about to shatter into pieces. “Just listen.”
“What are you doing?”
He dropped to one knee and opened his hands.
It was a ring box. Black and simple.
My fingers flew to my lips. “What are you doing?”
“I love you,” Mal said. “Carmine went to my gran’s a few weeks ago. He got her ring and had it reset. I hope you like it.” He opened the box. “Capri Balestra—”
“Mal!”
“Will you marry me?”
My heart raced in my throat. I stared at the beautiful ring with its simple diamonds and white gold. It was perfect. So perfect. Because it meant something to Mal, and it symbolized our love.
Marry him. Be his wife. I’d only ever thought I’d be one person’s wife, and that was Carmine. But that was never because I wanted it.
This I wanted. I wanted it so badly it made my body shake and tremble. Tears flowed and spilled down my cheeks and I nodded.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He grinned like a lightning bolt and slid the ring onto my finger.
I held it up. It fit perfectly.
He stood, wrapped his arms around me, and we kissed. We stood in the middle of our bar and kissed, and I kept crying because I couldn’t help myself, and Mal laughed like he’d never laughed before, and we kissed some more.
“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you right here and now?”
“Mal,” I said, hitting his chest, grinning like an idiot. “Did Carmine know the whole time?”
“He’s known for weeks. The second I woke up after the fight I told him I wanted to marry you.”
“You’ve been waiting this long?”
“Been agony. But this is perfect.”
“I love you. Take me home now.”
“Yeah? Now?”
I nodded and kissed him. “Right now.”
Epilogue: Carmine
The desert was hot as hell.
Texas heat. Dry and heavy. It got humid at night, but that wasn’t too bad. I grew up in this place. I was used to it.
I leaned against the hood of my truck. Mal leaned next to me, not talking. Three big, fat duffel bags sat on the ground at our feet like massive slugs.
“Think they’ll show?” he asked.
“They’ll show.”
He shrugged and went quiet. That was Mal. Not a man of many words, but a man of action. Rolando hadn’t made it out of that attack on Balestra’s house, and I knew better than to ask Mal about it. He scared the shit out of me sometimes, the way he wielded that terrifying baton of his, but he’d softened since he and Cap fell in love.
I could still hardly believe it. Cap and Mal, but it was real, and I had to admit it was good. They were happy. I was happy for them.
As happy as I could be.
I scowled as waves of heat made the distant scrubby bushes shimmer. I hated waiting. I hated a lot of things these days.
Ever since Mauro Balestra took my family away, I’d been a shell of the man I once was.
I liked life. I enjoyed being alive. I liked fucking, and fighting, and drinking, and running my mouth. Before my parents were murdered by a backstabbing piece of trash, I considered myself a happy person.
Violent, but happy.
Now, that happiness had been leeched out of me. I’d been sucked dry, and whatever was left was a dry, dead husk. The joy was replaced with hate, and I was afraid I’d never find myself again.
Cap noticed. She saw through my facade. Mal might’ve figured it out too, but I wasn’t sure.
It didn’t matter.
Revenge consumed me. I’d kill Mauro and take back my territory. I’d cut the throats of anyone that hurt my parents. I’d burn this whole damn state to the ground if that was what it took.
I was rage and hate and anger. I was violence and death.
I grinned when three trucks came into view, bumping along over the uneven terrain.
“Told you they’d show.”
Mal only grunted.
The trucks were black. They parked twenty yards out and the doors popped open. Six men came out, five of them carrying big rifles. The last guy was dressed in a slick suit, probably Armani. He wore dark sunglasses and his black hair was slicked flat against his skull. A scar bisected his mouth, making it puckered.
Alejandro Suarez strode forward with a slight limp. His men fanned out, their guns aimed at the ground but held at the ready.
“Brought some muscle,” Mal commented.
“They heard you’re a scary bastard and came prepared.”
He grinned and tapped a finger against his baton.
I pushed off the truck and walked forward. I picked up one of the duffels and carried it ahead, stopping a few feet away from Alejandro. He smiled at me and spread his hands.
“My friend, I am sorry we are late. It is sometimes hard to get into the desert, yes?”
“I understand, my friend,” I said in reply. “I’m only glad you’re here at all.”