I inhale, my fingers flexing and curling over her hand on my blanket.

  Her breath catches, and she freezes.

  Her luminous gray eyes, framed by tear-tipped lashes, snare mine.

  “Elias,” she lets out a tremulous smile, the first rays of sun breaking through twilight, “you’re awake.”

  “How long was I out?” I rasp, my throat aching and raw.

  “Two days.” Tears spill as she throws her arms around me. “Oh my God, you’re finally awake. I was so scared.”

  “Lana, I can never leave you. Even if I die, I’ll be haunting you the rest of your life.”

  She lets out a choked laugh and sob, pressing her forehead to mine, trembling against me. I shush her, smoothing her frail frame with my hand.

  Too delicate—her ribs press against my fingertips.

  When we get home, I’m feeding her properly. Then I’ll haul her over my lap and—

  I stiffen. Home.

  Will she even want to go home with me?

  Edon and Agron are dead—that much I remember. The others are probably scattered to the wind. She doesn’t have the evidence that could take down The Association. And I took care of a big problem for Gabriel Caruso by taking out the Berishas.

  The threat is gone.

  Except for the biggest one—me.

  “What?” Lana lifts her head, a furrow creasing her brows. “What are you thinking?”

  I swallow, failing to dislodge the lump stuck in my throat. “I love you, Lana. I may be an unfeeling bastard, but I know this wasn’t what you signed up for.”

  Her lips twitch, brow arched high.

  “Fine. ‘Signed up’ may be stretching it.” I lift my hand and trace her cheek, watching it bloom pink. “If you want to go home to your family…”

  I draw in an inhale. “I won’t stop you.”

  Her eyes flare and lips part in obvious shock. Then fury. Hurt.

  Desperation surges as I press my lips to her ear. “But I’m a damn bastard, because I won’t give up that easily—”

  She shoves me back. A little growl rips out of her. “My home is with you! If you weren’t recovering, I’d climb onto the bed and strangle you for saying that. Actually,” her eyes narrow, “I might do that anyway. Because how dare you take the choice away from me again! Try that one more time and I’ll chain you inside that dungeon of yours and show you what corporal punishment really means.”

  Warmth floods my veins, waking up all parts of me. I fail to bite back my smile.

  My fierce, merciless queen.

  “Really now,” I rasp, gaze trailing over her soft skin, her pouty lips, the delectable swells of her chest straining against her thin shirt. “I won’t mind.”

  “Oh, hell no!” Rex hollers, bolting out of his chair. “Not here for this. Definitely no sexy shit in front of me.”

  My gaze flicks to the audience at the foot of the bed.

  Fuck.

  Totally forgot they’re here.

  Ignoring them, I train my gaze back at Lana. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known better. You’re the strongest person I know, and I love you and respect you. Will you continue being my wife?”

  My zemër smiles, a devious glint in her eyes.

  She drags her finger down my cheek, lingering on my scar like she’s claiming it.

  “Only if,” she whispers, leaning close, “you let me climb you later.”

  “That’s it.” Rex mock scowls. “I’m texting the others that you are all fine and well…” He glares at me. “…apparently.” He storms out, muttering obscenities.

  Lana laughs.

  Maxwell steps forward and clasps my shoulder. “Glad to see you’re alive, my friend.”

  I freeze. “Am I…still?”

  His throat works, gaze softening. “Definitely.”

  He nods at Sofia and Sebastian standing in the corner. Rafe pokes his head in.

  “I’ll leave you to reunite with your friends. They were worried,” Maxwell murmurs, and leaves the room.

  Rafe pulls up a chair, fingers tangled in his rosary. “I prayed for you.”

  My lips curve up. “I expect nothing less. Although I’m surprised it worked on me.”

  He rakes his fingers through his dark hair and smiles. “Prayers always work…even if not in the way you hoped for.”

  “Bloody hell, I’m not here for a sermon,” Sebastian mutters. “Although with what happened in Sri Lanka—”

  “We don’t talk about Sri Lanka,” Sofia smirks, “and you love Rafe for it.”

  “What’s love?” The psychopath shrugs. “I don’t want to kill him. I suppose that’s a win.”

  Lana settles on my bed, her fingers lacing mine.

  I shift closer, ignoring the pain spearing between my ribs. I need her to feel her warmth, her vitality—proof she’s real, alive, and finally…mine.

  “See what I had to deal with when you were out? Now that you’re awake, they’re yours. I need a nice long bath and a good book. Maybe one of Scarlett’s magical drinks with chocolate.”

  I move to the side and pull her down next to me, savoring the perfect way she fits in my arms.

  My zemër.

  “I love you,” I murmur, eyes feeling heavy.

  The antiseptic air burns. The hum of the overhead lights reminds me of the sprinklers and smoke when I was bleeding out.

  I thought I’d die. I thought Kian would never get to love his Elise again.

  “I love you,” I repeat, clutching her tighter, afraid I’ll lose this feeling.

  “We’ve lost the rook,” Sebastian declares, shaking his head. “He’s overcome with these…‘emotions.’ Tragic.” He lifts his hand and walks out. “I’m checking on Ren. Be back later.”

  My chest tightens, gaze snapping to my sister’s.

  She gives me a sad smile. “He’s in recovery. Agron shot him too. Long story, but he had a heart transplant after his ticker gave out. Surgery’s successful, but we need to wait and see.”

  I nod, flashes of that day barreling into my mind, finishing the puzzle I was putting together before the blood loss rendered me unconscious.

  Aleksei’s betrayal. His attempt to stop Agron. Me taking the bullet meant for him. Him fleeing because I forgive him. Perhaps that’s Lana’s impact on my life.

  Empathy.

  Then I remember Ren storming in to save my life.

  He must’ve discovered Aleksei’s motives. That’s why he was MIA.

  “He’ll recover,” I murmur, voice thick. I can’t lose anyone again. “He has to.”

  “Aria’s fiancé.” Lana’s lips tremble, and she brushes the hair off my forehead. “Blake wasn’t so lucky. He wrapped up a surgery and walked into a gunfight. He didn’t make it. To think that could be you…”

  “I’m here,” I reassure her.

  Someone knocks on the door, snaring our attention.

  Navy suit. Perfectly combed hair. Brown eyes.

  Tristan Clarke.

  “You’re alive and well,” he murmurs, his gaze inscrutable.

  Lana stands, fists clenched, ready to defend me with her bare hands. My queen.

  “What are you doing here, Special Agent Clarke?” Sofia spits out and blocks the man from entering, her hand on his chest.

  The FBI agent stiffens, gaze turning icy, and stares at my sister. “A little too familiar, aren’t we? I could arrest you for assaulting a federal officer.” He swipes her hand off his body.

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  The tension crackles. The two eye each other with clear disdain and distrust.

  “How can we help you, Tristan?” Lana plasters a smile on her face—ever the PR professional. “It’s not the best time, as you can see—”

  Another suit appears in the doorway—an older man with salt and pepper hair and a grim face. “Special Agent Clarke mentioned a confession,” the man begins. “This better be good because you buried us in paperwork, Kent.”

  I arch my brow, my mind roving through the faces I’ve met over the years.

  And it clicks.

  “Deputy Director Ferguson,” I murmur, “coming out of retirement? I thought you were above all of this…‘noise.’”

  The man scowls. We’ve had a few run-ins in the past. It didn’t end well for him.

  “I’m here to witness your downfall, Kent. Murder in broad daylight. Risky even for you.”

  Lana stiffens, her hands on her hips. “If this is that type of visit, you’ll talk to our attorneys—”

  “I just need a statement,” Tristan cuts in, holding up a recorder. His jaw tics.

  “Mr. Kent, why were you in the hospital to begin with?”

  Lana starts to answer.

  Tristan stops her. “The question’s for Mr. Kent.”

  I growl, “Don’t you disrespect my wife.”

  He ignores me. “Were Edon Berisha and his son responsible for the ambush?”

  I freeze, gaze colliding with his cold ones and glance at Lana, who’s frowning with obvious confusion.

  “I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” I say. Where is he going with this?

  “The cameras were blown, tapes destroyed. Three men died.” Tristan moves toward me, his strides measured. “Deacon Rafe Mancini testified there was an honor walk, and you were there to pay respects. But the Berishas were also there, armed and ready. Was this an ambush?”

  The room falls silent except for the beeping and hissing from the machinery. My gaze sweeps over the fed, taking in the stiffness in his frame, the hard glare in his eyes.

  His fingers twitch. A tell. A sign of guilt.

  “Yes,” I murmur, “it was a well-coordinated ambush. Self-defense. Barely escaped with our lives.”

  “Hm.” He clicks his recorder off and turns to his boss. “Consistent with Mancini’s testimony.”

  Deputy Director Ferguson’s gaze pinballs between the two of us. “This won’t be our last visit.”

  He storms out.

  Tristan lingers at the doorway, back facing us. “Get well soon, Kent.”

  He disappears.

  I exhale, confusion swirling. Why did he help me?

  It doesn’t matter. It’s all minuscule.

  All that matters is I’m alive, and she’s here with me.

  Glancing at Lana, I find her looking at me, her eyes wide and trusting.

  I lift our intertwined hands and press a soft kiss on her fingertips.

  “I wouldn’t change a thing,” I whisper, “if it meant I get to keep you.”

  Moisture glistens in her eyes, and she stretches up and kisses me softly on my lips.

  “You’ve never lost me, Elias,” she breathes, “not for one second.”

  I smile, my heart thudding a slow and steady rhythm.

  Underneath the pain, there’s happiness.

  Because with her…

  I’m finally alive.

  Epilogue: UMBṚELLA KEPT

  Three Months Later

  The coffee machine at Arcana & Bloom sputters, joining the soft rain tapping the awning outside.

  Cece meows as she sits atop a cat perch overlooking the street. She’s become a shared pet—staying in the shop for most of the week and coming home with me on the weekends. At first, I thought she’d hate it, but surprisingly—or not—she enjoys ruling over another territory.

  “Ah, shit,” Scarlett mutters, a frown creasing her forehead. She shakes the machine like it insulted her mother. Her thick red hair is twisted into a messy bun. “Why doesn’t the instruction manual ever tell you what to do when this happens?”

  “You know my answer.” I smile into my cup containing her latest concoction.

  The Blooming Heart.

  Rose petals drift along the scarlet surface, the sweet floral scent mixing with the tart pomegranate juice and a hint of rich chocolate.

  Whack!

  The machine purrs back to life.

  “Seriously? Really?” Scarlett snorts and shakes her head.

  “Works every time,” I tease, glancing at the cuckoo clock hammered to the wall—her newest prized treasure, a rare find, according to her.

  Five minutes to ten.

  My pulse flutters. Ren will pick me up soon to meet Elias for our date to celebrate our second marriage. We skipped the ceremony and went straight to the courthouse last week to re-register.

  My overbearing husband still insists on a Syndicate escort anytime he’s tied up with business.

  “That smile on your face, ugh.” Scarlett leans over the counter, laughter shining in her green eyes. “And to think how sad you looked when you first walked in. Married to a mobster, scared—”

  “I told you the scary ones have the best stories.”

  Aria slides onto the stool next to me.

  My heart squeezes painfully.

  She looks like she’s lost half her body weight. Dark circles rim her eyes. Her dark hair resembles a bird’s nest. Her blue scrubs are wrinkled and stained.

  She hasn’t been sleeping. Or eating.

  She hasn’t been taking care of herself.

  Blake would be crushed if he saw her like this.

  “Aria,” I wrap her in my arms, “I’m worried about you. You can’t keep pulling these hours at the hospital. You need to rest—”

  “I’ll go crazy if I rest!”

  She jerks back too fast, swiping at her wet cheeks.

  Her bloodshot eyes meet mine, a ragged exhale escaping her lips. “I-I’m sorry. A tough day at work. Lost a patient. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No.” I squeeze her hands. “Don’t apologize. Grief takes time. All forms of it.”

  Scarlett and I exchange a look. She gently hands Aria a mug—something fragrant and soothing, I’m sure.

  “If you need to talk—” Scarlett begins.

  “I’m fine.” Aria strains a smile. She rummages through her purse. “I’m a medical professional. Trust me, I know when to get help.”

  The bell over the door rings.

  Ren strides in, footsteps silent and lethal.

  Black half-mask. Black leather jacket. Black gloves. Black hair draped over his eyes. He’s recovering well, although he’s quieter than usual.

  Ren’s steps falter when he spots Aria.

  She looks up.

  For a moment, time stands still.

  Pain crosses his dark eyes. A sharp hitch of breath. His hand trembles, slowly rising to his chest, over his sternum.

  He curls his other hand into a fist at his side.

  Aria slides off the stool, seemingly oblivious to the strange tension crackling through the air. She barely seems aware of her surroundings lately, a raft lost at sea after Blake died.

  “I can’t find my badge,” she mutters. “Must’ve left it at work. I have to go back for it. Or report it missing.”

  Without waiting for a response, she brushes past a shell-shocked Ren—straight into the early summer rain.

  She doesn’t even have an umbrella or a jacket. Only grief.

  “I’m going after her—” I tell Scarlett, grabbing my trusty red umbrella.

  But when I turn back—

  Ren’s gone.

  A black blur darts past the window, sprinting into the rain with a dark umbrella in hand.

  And sitting on the counter near where he just stood—

  Aria’s hospital badge.

  My chest twists as I glance out the windows, their shadows long gone.

  He’s been looking after her. The silent assassin.

  Sometime later, the door swings open again.

  “Can’t rely on anyone anymore,” Elias grumbles.

  I turn.

  He’s dressed in his Shadow King attire—dark coat, three-piece gray suit completed with a green handkerchief tucked in the pocket. He rolls his silver lighter across his knuckles.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, gathering my things, and wave to Scarlett, who’s helping another customer.

  Elias scowls at his cell phone.

  “Ren had an emergency. He was supposed to pick you up. New heart. Completely unreliable.”

  My mind flickers back to the strange interaction—the pain and heartbreak in his eyes—and shake my head.

  Unreliable or finding someone to care for?

  I’m thinking too much.

  “Shall we?” Elias asks, his eyes soft.

  “Yes.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we share my red umbrella and walk through the wrought-iron gates to a place I haven’t entered in years. But it’s been waiting for us, waiting for the right time.

  Hollow Gardens.

  The rain softens into a silver mist, cleansing the world of soot and grime. Sunlight peeks out from the clouds, gilding the greenery and flowers in gold.

  Elias peels off his leather gloves and stuffs them into his pocket. He laces his fingers with mine and stops us in front of our elm tree.

  Piano notes drift in the air, and I look at him in surprise.

  Beethoven’s “Für Elise.”

  He smiles, holding up his phone. A lock of dark hair grazes his forehead, making him look younger.

  Slowly, he drops to his knees.

  A gasp tumbles out of me as I watch him pull out a small navy box.

  He flips it open. Nestled in a bed of black velvet is a large emerald and ruby engagement ring.

  A rose—just like our music box. But the emeralds? Just like the pendant around my neck.

  “I was late in giving you this,” he murmurs and takes my hand. “I thought I’d never have the chance.”

  “Elias,” I breathe.

  A soft smile ghosts his lips. Those brilliant eyes train on me. “Twenty years ago, I met a girl I knew I’d love for the rest of my life. I made a vow—only to kiss her in this lifetime. And the next.”

  My lips tremble as he slides the ring onto my finger above my wedding band.

  “Thank you for making that wish come true.” He presses a soft kiss on my fingertips, the heat searing deep into my soul. “You’re the only person I’ll ever kneel for.”

  “Elias,” I launch myself at him, “I love you.”

  Deep chuckles reach my ears. He pulls us up, brushes the tears off my face and turns us to face the tree.

  A cool breeze flutters its stately branches. A lark sings a beautiful melody nearby as orange butterflies cascade from the leaves.