“Good morning,” he says.
The sky is still black outside. I check the time on my phone and see it’s 3:30 a.m.
“Good morning to you too,” I say. “You should be asleep still. You need to rest.”
“I know.” He lifts his hand and strokes my cheek. “I heard that you’ve started the arrangements for the funerals. Thank you for doing that.”
“It was what you would’ve done if—”
“If I hadn’t been hopped up on pain meds?” he asks. “You’re right. And that’s what makes you such a good partner for me—you know me, know how I operate, what I would do in certain situations.”
I laugh. “And you think I’m always going to do what you would do?”
“I didn’t say that.” He pats my hand. “You do the right thing, though. And that’s always what I try to do.” Gabriel smiles gently. “I’m proud of you, Alexis. You’re going to make a great queen.”
My cheeks flush, and I glance away. I’ve spent so long trying to gain Gabriel’s trust, and now that I have it, it feels even sweeter for having worked so hard to earn it.
“Thanks,” I say, because what else can I say to that?
Gabriel tips my chin back toward him. “I love you so much more than I ever thought I could love anyone,” he says in a gravelly voice. Will you marry me?”
I nearly choke on my own tongue.
With everything going on with the Irish and the Cartel and the purple heroin, I guess I never thought about the next step in our relationship. It always seemed more important to focus on making it through the day without losing life or limb. But now…Now I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to be Gabriel Bellucci’s wife.
I nod so hard that my neck hurts, tears gathering in my eyes. “Yes, of course!” I rush to lean over and kiss him, brushing my hand over his chest in the process.
Gabriel flinches, but when I try to pull back, he grabs the sides of my face and pulls my lips hard against his. It’s such a joyous, victorious kiss. It’s a kiss that yells from the rooftops that we have vanquished our enemies and that the best years of our lives are ahead of us.
It’s a kiss of hope.
When we finally come up for air, Gabriel grins at me. His left cheek dimples, and the sight of his rugged features taking on that boyish tilt makes my heart flip flop.
“Come up here,” he says, shuffling to the side of the bed.
I eye the tiny sliver he has freed up skeptically. “Gabriel, I don’t think there’s room.”
“There will always be room for you at my side,” he says sagely.
“I see the drugs are still doing their job,” I remark. “Literally, I don’t think I’m going to fit.”
Gabriel’s eyes meet mine, and his stare is full of authority. “Alexis, get on the bed.”
A little thrill goes through me, and I do as he says, wedging myself against his side and hoping that in doing so I’m not causing any further damage. It feels good to feel his body against mine. I lean my head on his shoulder.
“We should get some more sleep,” I say.
Gabriel kisses my forehead. “Not yet. Let’s talk for a bit.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“The future,” he says. “Our future.”
37
Alexis
The officer leads me away from the waiting room, and I cast one last look at Gabriel before I go. He is sitting on one of the shabby chairs and smiles reassuringly. I see him wince as he lifts his glass to take a sip of water. It’s been several weeks, but his injuries are taking their damn time to heal. At least we don’t have another battle to fight anytime soon, so he has a bit of time to rest.
Not another physical battle, at least. A legal battle, on the other hand…
I am led through to a chilly interrogation room, where I take a seat on a cold metal chair. The officer leaves, and a second later, Derek Windsor, the detective investigating the slaughter at the penthouse that night, sweeps into the room, holding a folder.
I should have known that the criminal investigation into Gabriel would resurface again. I suppose the penthouse full of corpses didn’t help things, though at least this time, the police haven’t formally pressed charges. And that makes it all much easier to fight. The police have nothing, and they know it, and without that rabid dog Ruby Flint biting at their ankles, their case is about to blow away like a straw house in a tornado. They’re hoping I’ll flip since without a witness’ testimony they’ve got zero concrete evidence. Good luck, folks.
“Ms. Wright,” Windsor begins, pulling out the chair opposite with a loud metallic shriek. “What were you doing in Mr. Bellucci’s penthouse on the night of the attack?”
Straight to it, then. Not a pleasantry in sight.
“We were hosting a dinner,” I reply.
“And who attended this dinner?”
Some of the most dangerous men and women in the city.
“Gabriel’s family friends.”
Windsor flips the file open on the table, and I try not to look too interested.
“Have you ever seen any of these family friends meet with Gabriel in private prior to this encounter?” he asks.
I cock a brow. “As far as I know, that’s sort of what you do with friends.”
“Of course.” Windsor laughs at himself, but it comes out tinny and fake. “What I meant was, does Gabriel conduct regular meetings with all of these family friends?”
I cross one leg over the other. “It was the first dinner I’d attended or heard about. And it would have been absolutely lovely if not for the party-crashing gunmen. Why are you in here interrogating me about Gabriel’s social habits when you could be out chasing down the Cartel?” I hit him with the full force of my displeased frown.
Windsor buckles a little, and I have to hide a smile.
“Right, yes,” he mutters. “Well, it’s just that some of Gabriel’s business dealings leave a few question marks. It seems like he might be involved in some illegal trading at a few of these properties.” He pushes a few pages from the folder toward me, showing exterior shots of a pizza parlor, a laundromat, and Fiamma. “Plus, there don’t seem to be any Cartel members left to track down…”
Ah, Fiamma. Where it all began. My gaze lingers on the picture of the nightclub, and Windsor sits forward excitedly.
“You know that one?” he says. “What can you tell me about Gabriel’s business there?”
I laugh bitterly. “I know that one because I’ve had a dance there once or twice. I have no idea what you’re talking about with all this illegal trading garbage, and frankly, I think this is all a massive waste of my time.”
Windsor frowns. “Okay. Then tell me in your words, what happened the night of the attack on the penthouse?”
That’s easy. I barely even have to lie.
“Gabriel saved my life is what happened,” I tell him, holding his gaze steadily. “We were having a nice dinner with Gabriel’s family friends, and then the Cartel attacked. They told us themselves why they were there—they were unhappy with his charity work because it had been impacting their drug trade. They wanted to make an example out of Gabriel.” I drop my hand to my belly, making sure Windsor sees. “And of his family.”