I guess I have our entire life to help her through his mess. It’s a challenge loving her, but one that I don’t mind because the look on her face in utter bliss is priceless.
“This one is for you.” The attendant holds up a small gift.
“Me?” I cock a brow.
“Yup,” Aria replies mindlessly, peeling into a gift box from Papi wrapped with too much Scotch tape.
“Mami, you got me something on your birthday?” I shake my head, reaching into the green bag.
“Oh, wait!” Aria pops out of her chair as I grab on to something. “Don’t open―”
“What’s this?” I cock a grin, holding a picture frame close to me. I half expect to see the tit pic I was denied years ago.
“Well, what is it?” Roslyn asks.
Aria’s cheeks burn. “It’s nothing.”
“M-hmm, I definitely wanna see it!” Siobhan adds.
“It’s not nothing.” I gape at the image. “Papi, you did a great job with me. I hope I follow in your footsteps.”
I hold up the framed picture of an ultrasound. I know Papi wrestles with his parenting and disownment of Dario, but a smile speeds over his face as Aria burrows hers in my chest.
Voice muffled, she snaps, “I didn’t mean to spite my gramps this much.”
Her abuelo growls, “Negative one million. Baby before marriage.”
Yasiel cracks up. The nerves Aria holds on to fade as she laughs, and everyone else does too.
“I have all my life to make him like me, Aria.”
“He . . . likes . . . you, really,” she replies between laughter. “I honestly thought we were doing a me-and-you thing today. Also, I was going to give you the gift and beg you to elope.”
“You propose? To a Cuban man?” I squeeze her relentlessly.
“Sheesh, Dom, I was kidding. But as you can see, I’m the one in big trouble with Gramps. The vein in his forehead is pulsating.”
“No, mami. You’re not your abuelo’s trouble anymore. As I said, you’re my trouble now.”
THE END
Alternate Ending
I hope the Extended Epilogue offered all the closure and “Happily Ever After” you were looking for. Now, for my favorite part—I’m a big fan of twisty endings. So, this alternate ending is in El Santo’s point-of-view and takes place a little over a year later. Enjoy!
~ Amarie
El Santo
I open the driver door to my wife’s Range Rover, pulling in another lungful of fresh air. Most call it thick, muggy, but if you’ve been locked up and fighting death row for almost four years, this is magnifico. I run a hand along my buzz cut then place the baseball cap low.
“Are you ready?”
“Sí, mami,” I purr, reaching over to clasp the back of my wife’s neck. The kiss is passionate, offering all the emotion she needs. Her father’s money and power executed the perfect plan. Nina funded the gatherings of my followers over the years and broke me out of the supermax prison. While our tongues tangle, all that’s on my mind are the opportunities at the tips of her tiny, manicured fingers.
“I love you,” Nina murmurs. My mouth tips at the edges. She bought herself a ten-carat wedding ring when she married me on the inside. She can’t expect me to parrot her sentiments.
Nina opens a briefcase next to her expensive heels. “Which would you like, papi?” She pulls out a machete. Ignoring her, I’m out of the car while she brandishes a butcher knife.
We’re in the driveway of an affluent one-story home. My eyes sweep across the Spanish-style architecture. A lush oasis of palm trees provides precisely what I desire—a covering. The security system was disabled and masked by a dummy account, completed by one of my followers hours ago. This is what marriage and allegiance have to offer.
“Which one, Dario?” Nina pulls me out of my musing. A 9-millimeter rests in her palm.
I glance down. “None of them, mami.”
She squeals. “You’ll kill her with your bare hands?”
The fingers of my left hand encircle Nina’s throat. We spent many conjugal visits with me choking my dick down her throat, amongst other sweet places.
Her stilettoes scrape across the clay-tiled drive. My hold sends her reeling onto her tippy toes. Years of working out in solitary have made me a beast.
My lips caress her earlobe. “Now, why would I want to kill my LeAnna?”
“We-we . . .”
I loosen my grip on her throat so that she can respond. “You promised to kill them before we left the States for good, Dario. The window for us to leave will be closing very soon.”
“My followers said Dominic is at Chico’s record label in Hollywood, sí?”
“Yes.”
“He’s my enemy, sí?”
“Yes.”
“Bueno, you’re beginning to understand. I love LeAnna. Where I go, now that I’m out, she goes.” Though my declaration was a low murmur, I squeeze her slender neck tighter. My other hand, a tight fist, launches like a rocket. I punch her in the temple. Lights out.
Hand dominating Nina’s throat, I drag her unconscious body toward the rear of the car and pop the trunk.
I fold Nina inside, where the money she acquired for my escape is already in duffle bags. It’s my money now—mine and LeAnna’s. But Nina’s correct; we must move quickly.
A blueprint of Dominic’s home is ingrained in my psyche. I saunter around the one-story house to the courtyard. A turquoise tiled fountain and wrought iron seats are in the center. Along the perimeter are sliding glass doors. The nursery is opposite the living room, and at the rear of the courtyard is the sliding glass door leading to the master suite where Dominic fucks our amor.
I slide the tablet from my pocket to confirm the override for the security system was enabled, offering the security company the perfect illusion. One of my followers happens to be a digital security consultant like me. LeAnna’s in bed. My followers have shared how exhausted she’s been recently. Before I go to her, I jimmy the lock on the nursery. I’m drawn toward the baby—Dominic’s son.
I’m conscious of my every move while working the latch open. Soft music plays through wall speakers. Envy weighs heavy with every single step I take into the room decorated with tan colors, tigers, and burlap. His name is Gael, and he’s five months old, I believe. All the love I have in this world is for LeAnna. Her only. But if he looks like my hermano gemelo, will the love I harbor for LeAnna save his life?
An hour later, I’m standing at the sliding glass door to LeAnna’s bedroom, waiting for her to awaken from an afternoon nap. She lifts into a seated position, stretching wide. The top of her breasts spill over the plunging collar of her silk negligee, and her ass slopes perfectly. I groan deep in my abdomen, missing her like summer rain. Missing us.
She forks a hand through her hair, and mutters, “Oh shit, I overslept.”
I press the volume of the Bluetooth at my ear, which is connected to the sound system inside of her smart home.
She picks up the baby monitor from the nightstand and taps it on her palm. A silk robe slides from one of her shoulders as she grabs her cellphone and starts for the door. I press a button on my phone, which activates the sound system, allowing her to hear me too.