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This is real.

Shaking my head, I don’t focus on what Marco did. What he almost did. Briar is alive. He’s in my hands, warm and firm. He smells of citrus and sage, comfort and love.

“I thought you were dead,” I say, voice hoarse.

“I was,” he admits. “It was part of the plan. I couldn’t tell you⁠—”

I rear back, slapping his arm over and over. He faked his death! I saw his body—the blood! I’m going to kill him. He practically destroyed me!

Gently, he shifts, grabbing my hand, and presses a delicate kiss to my rings.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “For everything. But it had to look real.”

“It was my plan,” Maeve explains, signing. She points her gun at Marco. “Make up later. We’ve got dead bodies to clean up and a New York capo choking on his blood. What’s the plan here?”

Her eyes, so damn similar to the man in my arms, drill into me. “It’s your right.” She holds the gun out to me.

I wave my hands. “No. I can’t.” I may want his death, but taking it doesn’t feel right.

I’m not her, a known killer. I’m not someone who revels in the agony of others. As badly as Marco hurt me—planned to do worse—killing him feels like it would take more from me than give back.

Licking her lips, she leaves Marco’s gasping body, tilting her head to scan me. She sees something—a flash of a shadow, a memory—before she softly touches my elbow.

“It’ll help keep the nightmares at bay,” she says quietly. “And there will be nightmares after this. Get ahead of them now.”

She places the gun into my hand, exiting the room. I didn’t notice until now that she’s covered in blood.

“What happened out there?” I ask, lip trembling, the gun a horrible weight. I don’t like it—don’t want it staining me.

Briar rubs his thumb over my lip, soothing me. I can’t believe he’s here—alive. My heart soars, adrenaline drifting away. I’m dizzy with relief, though I’d very much like to shoot him for the scare.

“War. No one was stopping me from getting to you.”

He takes the gun from me and fires three sure shots. Two hit Marco’s chest, and one hit the center of his forehead. My mouth drops, and he then carefully places the weapon on the bar behind us.

At my confusion and relief, he holds my face.

“I would kill for you, Sunshine, and have. I would set fire to anyone who touched you, harmed you, and would stand in the flames if it made you happy. I would do anything you ask of me, and more, if it kept you right here, next to me. That was not your kill. That was not your burden to bear. It was mine.”

“If you die, I die,” I repeat, clinging to his waist.

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, holding strong. He’s not letting me go, and I melt into the embrace. “If you die, I die,” he vows.

EPILOGUE

VALENTINA

ONE WEEK LATER

Wrapping my arms around my middle, Briar’s heavy hand rubs soothing circles on my back. I lean into his warmth, his stability, choosing to inhale his familiar scent rather than the bitterness of this room.

O’Brien's interview rooms were whispered about in my family. Bruno and De Luca might have been the older of the two established families in Boston, but no one tortured the way the Irish did. They were the boogeymen, and if the option was death or the basement, the guards chose death.

Standing behind the two-way mirror, I watch Maeve enter the space room, Hayes on her heels. While she and Briar fought to get to me, the Reaper and the De Luca capo fought to break out Ello and Hayes. All of Roman’s guards were killed, and he was captured during the struggle.

They informed me that Marco locked them in Hayes’s old room. I expected him to regress or to fall into the dissociation I witnessed in our youth. Hayes didn’t, at least outwardly. He’s retreated to his room more than normal, requesting only Collins’s presence, but he’s not a ghost. Seeing him now lightens a weight on my chest.

The Reaper enters our room, leaning against the window. Dressed in all black, he feels as welcoming as death, and just as cold. His furrowed brow is the only emotion on his face as he looks on, eyes tracking the captain.