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“It’s not me who wants the hotel, just like I’m not the one who’s running this city,” she hissed, waving her gun at me. “Think bigger! Once upon a time, your grandfather’s ambition connected him with Barbieri. The hotel was the perfect place to launder money. Then along came your father with his conscience.” She scoffed and offered an eye roll. “Santana had taken over after Barbieri by then, and he let your father’s insolence slide, in exchange for a monthly payout. He wasn’t thinking long-term. So weak and lazy, with no vision. Now that Santana’s behind bars, a man named Alessio has taken his place. He was Santana’s right-hand man, and he’s working to build the empire back up to what it once was, to its original glory.”

“So? I don’t get how you’re involved.”

She growled in frustration. “He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants, and in this case, he wants this hotel—and I won’t be the one who fails him.” She gulped, her eyes wild. “If I don’t get this done, he’ll kill me.”

I knew nothing about this Alessio guy, but I could see she was genuinely afraid for her life. Afraid enough to kill? Maybe.

“You never should’ve gotten involved with the mob in the first place,” I said, shaking my head in disappointment.

“Haven’t you ever heard about survival of the fittest? Nice guys really do finish last—and that’s only if you live that long.” She looked haggard, and seeing her now, it was impossible to believe she was ever as poised as she’d been when she walked in just minutes ago.

I’d had just about enough of this conversation. She’d said enough to incriminate herself, as well as this Alessio. If she knew anything else important, she could work that out with the feds. It was no longer my problem.

She whimpered, trying to wrestle her composure back into place. “I’m just one branch of a much larger tree. This goes far beyond me, beyond this city, even beyond the east coast.”

“Well, consider this branch pruned,” I said, feeling a vicious grin stretch across my lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The hand holding the gun dropped to her side as she searched my face for answers. “What have you done?” she hissed.

Before I had time to answer, the door behind me burst open, and FBI agents spilled into the room, their guns trained on her. She began to raise her gun but must’ve thought better, faced with an arsenal. The lead agent who’d introduced herself as Amy Abadi stepped forward. “Put your gun on the ground! Eva Ward, you are under arrest.”

“Have a nice time in prison,” I muttered to her, looking dumbstruck, before I untucked my shirt and pulled off the mic. I handed it to an agent on the way out the door.

The entire lobby was in chaos, between the agents and the crowd of onlookers who were gathering to see what was going on. There was only one person I wanted to see right now, though.

Roland was waiting for me just around the corner, and he threw himself at me as soon as he saw me. His tight grip on me had me sagging against in him relief. I buried my face in his neck and breathed him in. It was over. Eva wouldn’t bother us ever again.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered in my ear, fingers raking through my hair, and I nodded. There was nothing I wanted more.

23

Roland

As soon as the car came to a stop, I shoved open the door and made to heave myself out of the seat, but Emerson scolded me quickly. “Don’t you dare get out by yourself. Wait for me.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t say a word in complaint as he hopped out his side and ran around to help me out, little white clouds puffing from his mouth with each breath. His fussing over me had reached ridiculous heights, in direct proportion to the size of my stomach, but I secretly loved it. After so many years of pretending to ignore each other, I relished the constant attention. It made me feel loved, adored, cherished.

“Here, give me your hand,” he offered. I took his hand, and while he pulled from the front and I pushed off the seat from behind, we managed to heft my body upright. He didn’t let go of me yet, though.

“We’re going to have to do something about this ice. This is downright dangerous,” he muttered, frowning as he wrapped an arm around my waist as best he could, considering I was significantly wider than I used to be—and that was before you took the puffy winter jacket into consideration. “Shuffle your feet, that way you won’t slip.”

I did as instructed, and we made our way up the curving sidewalk, one inch at a time. My heart gave a little pitter-patter as we approached. It was official—we were homeowners!

The house was absolutely adorable, blue with white shutters, a wide porch, and a garden bed buried under the snow. I had no idea what would sprout from the soil in the spring, but I couldn’t wait to see. It was gifted to us from my new father-in-law, Reinhold. Seeing as he had three million dollars from the sale of the hotel, and no more payoffs to make, thanks to us, he figured it was the least he could do. Besides, it was a wedding gift. He was still a little sore we hadn’t invited him.

Emerson was still planning on a second wedding. He’d wanted to have it as soon as possible, but I had reasoned that it would be easier once the babies were born and I could fit into a normal suit and wouldn’t waddle down the aisle. He had relented, but only if I agreed to let him go way over the top. I was doing my best to compromise.

“Easy… careful…” he said, guiding me up the three steps to the porch, then without letting go of me, he worked the key in the lock and got the front door open. “Welcome home.” He made to pick me up to carry me over the threshold for the second time, but I speared him with a look, and he wisely decided against it. The last thing we needed was for him to throw his back out trying to hoist me up.

I stepped into the entryway and immediately fell in love. I hadn’t been allowed to see the house while Emerson and some of my coworkers painted the walls, moved in the furniture, and hung photos and artwork, but it was exactly what I would’ve done myself. “Ohhh,” I gasped, clutching my hands at my chest.

Emerson wrapped his arms around me from behind, and we rocked together for a moment, just taking in the scene. “Happy Valentine’s Day, omega mine,” my husband murmured into my neck, his nose and lips like ice, and his tongue very much not.

“It’s not Valentine’s Day yet,” I reminded him.

“Valentine’s week, then,” Emerson replied, while helping me with my coat. He knelt at my feet to help wiggle the boots off my swollen feet. The babies were growing fast and fierce inside me, my bursting stomach the first part of me to enter any room, sometimes by a whole ten seconds. And I was only at six months! It was hard to imagine how much bigger I would get. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

I laughed. “I’m always hungry.” My stomach gave a gurgle as proof, and I followed it up with a yawn; I was also always sleepy.

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