Page 59 of A Bride for the Mafia King

She laughs softly, pulling back enough to look up at him with silent admiration. “You’re bossy, dramatic, and annoyingly protective. You’ll be perfect.”

He huffs out a sound that could almost be called a laugh. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Her eyes fill with quiet relieved tears. “Me too.”

They stay like that for a moment, siblings reunited, the wounds of the past few days beginning to scab over. I don’t say anything. I don’t interrupt. And a part of my heart aches with yearning for the sort of bond that they have. I just watch, one arm still wrapped around Eva’s back as she lies halfway between us.

This, right here, this was our family now. An odd configuration but we would each fight for one another.

Eventually, Nico clears his throat and stands. “I’ve got to go take care of a few things. I just wanted to see for myself that you were… you know, alive.”

“Alive and healing,” Eva says with a cheeky grin, despite the bruises shadowing her face.

He glances at me again, something unreadable flickering beneath his expression. But all he says is, “Guess I’ve got some baby shopping to do.”

He heads for the door, and just before stepping out, adds over his shoulder. “I’m going to spoil that kid rotten. Just so you know.”

Epilogue

Tolya

Tolya’s Country Estate

The boardroom is filled with the usual suspects—the Bratva, the Italians, and the Albanians, all gathered under one roof in what has become a normalized show of unity.

Since Nico has taken over the house, there’s been no more bloodshed. No shouting. Just sharp eyes, sharper words, and cigars burning low in thick glass trays beside tumblers of whiskey on the longest of nights.

I sit at the head of the table, relaxed in black-on-black, one hand on a lowball glass of alcohol, the other resting just beside my phone on the table. Just in case.

Nico sits across from me, leaning back in his chair, smirking through most of the meeting with the cocky self-assurance of a man who now rules the second largest syndicate in Chicago.

It’s been six months since we had put an end to De Mello’s sex trade and rearranged the hierarchy. Six months since Eva had been kidnapped. I’ll never forget that night, being so scared to lose her, getting her back whole. Finding out she was pregnant with my child.

Peace had come at a cost, but it was worth it. Yaro was dead. The traitors were buried. Chicago’s underworld is no longer at war and under new management.

And for once, I don't feel the need to grind my teeth through every conversation. Right now I have other things to worry about. Like the woman currently stealing every ounce of my attention even when she isn’t in the room.

Before the meeting had begun, Nico had shot me a pointed look, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve gone soft, Tolya. Ever since Eva started showing, you’ve been looking like a damn lovesick puppy. Why, you’ve even started smiling in meetings on occasion!”

I’d shot him a glare, but he knew the truth—since that night in the penthouse, when Eva had whispered for me to stay, nothing else had mattered. The ice around my heart had melted.

The door cracks open just as the Albanian delegate is running his mouth about some security tariff. And every head turns.

Eva entered, glowing. Literally glowing. Her dress hugs her gently swelling belly, and even in flats and a ponytail, she looked like a queen. The soft sheen on her skin caught the light, her cheeks flushed with pregnancy.

I stand the second I see her. A reflex. Every instinct pulls me to her side like gravity.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, urgency in my voice.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," Eva says sweetly, placing a hand on her stomach as she looks around the room. "But I need to steal my husband. Immediately."

A flare of worry shoots down my spine until I catch the wicked little wink she gives me as she turns away from the table.

My brows lift as the other men chuckle. She hasn’t left the penthouse without me by her side in months. Not since Yaro. Not since she was nearly taken from me.

I cross the room to her in three strides, ignoring the amused looks of the men sitting around the table. Behind me, Nico laughs. "Jesus Christ, Tolya. She's got you wrapped around her little finger. Go on. We’ll finish up without you. Go take care of your queen."

I don't argue. Just grin, bend to kiss her temple, and take her hand to lead her from the room and toward the garage.