“What did she do?” Dante asked.
“What didn’t she do?” Morana scoffed, leaning back against Tristan’s thighs, and started counting off her fingers. “She made a shady call to an unknown number that I tried to track but it kept bouncing. Then, she left the compound and bought herself a ticket to Los Fortis, and had a meeting with a one-eyed man whom I had a hard time identifying because the missing eye, you know, but he’s-”
“Alpha,” Amara spoke, surprised.
“-Alessandro Villanova, also known as Alpha.”
Dante and Tristan exchanged a hard look at the name.
Dante focused his dark gaze on her, the heaviness in them not of her lover’s but the leader of the Outfit. “How do you know him?”
Amara looked at the seriousness on his face. “He came to see me after I moved to the city. Said the city was his and he monitored anyone coming from certain places, like Shadow Port. I got flagged because of my fake passport.”
“Where did you get a fake passport?”
Amara felt her heart sink. “Nerea.”
Dante nodded, turning to Tristan. “Call for a meeting of the Outfit leaders. It’s time.”
The other man nodded, brushing his hand over Morana’s arm. She looked up at him, and Amara marveled at the way they communicated silently. They’d always been able to do that, just look and have entire conversations nobody in the room was privy to. That was some serious telekinetic shit. Had she not had an amazing man of her own, she would have been envious of that connection.
“Okie dokes,” Morana turned to Amara, a smile on her face, “The big guy wants to go and I have to help him with some stuff, so I’ll see you soon. We’re staying in Tenebrae for a week before flying out so let’s do dinner one night? Hopefully, not as tense as last time.”
Amara hesitated, looking at Dante. Though he had found her, she didn’t know what was going to happen now. Logistically, was she staying on the compound with him or what?
“We’ll do a dinner Saturday night at the mansion,” Dante stated. “Just the four of us.”
Amara felt a breath she’d been holding whoosh out of her, as suddenly something hit her. “Lulu? Oh god, is she okay?”
“She’s at the compound,” Dante told her.
“Who’s Lulu?” Morana asked at the same time.
“My cat.”
“You have a cat?” Morana blinked. “That’s adorable. Can we get a cat?” she looked up at Tristan.
“No.”
Amara laughed at the expression on his face and the huff Morana gave, before they left.
“She’s good for him,” Dante noted, his eyes coming back to her, his lips tilted up.
“She makes him alive,” Amara told him, stroking his hand with hers. “You didn’t tell them about the baby.”
His fingers brushed over her scars, his eyes going to her still-flat stomach. “I don’t want to share her yet.”
Her heart fluttered. “We don’t know the gender yet.”
He just shrugged, bending to press his face to her gown, right over the baby. “She’s a fighter, a survivor like her momma. Aren’t you, princess?”
Amara melted as he spoke in low, soft tones to her stomach. “Is it odd that I feel sad for the one we lost, even if I’m happy we have one?”
He shook his head. “You just feel as you feel, Amara. A part of me is broken for the baby we lost, but it’s the most beautiful feeling to know one of them survived, that she clung through that hell and came out with us. Sometimes, mourning and celebration are two sides of the same coin.”
She nodded. He was right. If they focused on the loss, it would be unfair to their child who had made it. They could be happy. They deserved to be happy. After everything they had been through, together and on their own, they deserved this little slice of joy.
“You ready to come home?”
Home.
She was finally going home.
Eyes wet, Amara nodded, and he kissed her hand, the man who had slain demons and men alike to bring her back.
She had missed this place – the rolling green hills, the winding roads, the giant mansion that dominated the view as the car climbed up. It felt odd, coming to the grounds knowing they belonged solely to the man driving her up, the king of the castle himself, and not to the man whose reign of terror and power had permeated the air. As an adult, it looked different than it had as a teenager – the hills were prettier, the roads were narrower, and the mansion less scary.
“My father’s stuff at the house is being stored up in the attic,” Dante said from beside her, dressed in a dark suit that he had one of his men bring over, along with a beautiful floral dress for her in blues and greens. Hair slicked back from his face, highlighting that impeccable bone structure she secretly hoped their child inherited, the dangerous scruff shrouding his jaw, eyes hidden behind dark shades, Dante looked formidable.
“Are you moved in?” she asked, tugging at the neckline of the dress, her boobs sensitive without a bra.
Dante’s neck turned to see the movement, before he turned back, nodding at the guards to open the gates. The huge metal gates swung open and he drove into the compound. “I was more focused on finding you than moving. Although I did get the process started during my father’s funeral, it’ll take a few days more for it to be entirely complete.”
Pulling up in front of the mansion, Dante got out, walked around to her side, and opened her door, giving her a hand. She took it, alighting from the vehicle, and looked up at him.
He cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her exposed neck scar. “Go see your mother,” he said softly. “She’s waiting for you at my old place. I’ll get some stuff done here.”
“Okay,” she agreed, a zap of excitement going through her at the thought of meeting her mother.
His lips tilted up before he swooped in, crushing their mouths together, the kiss deep and wet and over in seconds.
Amara panted, blinking up at him. “What was that for?”
“Because I can kiss you whenever, wherever, however I want now,” he stepped back. “And nobody can do shit about it.” He gave her a light slap on the ass. “Now go.”
“Bossy bastard,” she muttered under her breath, a smile on her lips as she turned and started to walk quickly to his building in the distance. She saw a few patrolling guards stop and give her a look but she ignored them, barely containing the urge to run.
Standing on his porch, Amara lifted her hand and knocked on the door twice, bouncing on her toes in contained excitement.
The door opened and her mother, whom she hadn’t seen in years, stood there, staring up at her.
“Mumu,” her eyes filled and Amara went into her arms, snuggling in the crook of her neck in a habit that she never got over, her nose filling with the same familiar scent of citrus and sugar and warmth that she knew in her bones.
Her mother’s arms tightened around her, holding her close for long minutes as they both just cried, the reunion sweet after years of torment. Amara pulled back, noting the wrinkles on her face, the greys in her hair, the softness of her skin.
They went in to Dante’s living room and for hours, talked – about the babies, about what had happened, about everything. Her mother was overjoyed that Dante knew about the pregnancy and that she’d be a grandmother; she was heartbroken that one of them had passed away. Amara asked her about everything she had missed on the compound and her mother told her everything – about Mr. Maroni’s funeral, about Dante’s brother not wanting to return, about the change in management. And looking at her talk, Amara felt herself fall deeper in love with the man who had not just saved her time and again but protected the one person who was important to her with respect.