Page 25 of Mated to the Kingpin

“Then why?—”

“Because I needed you,” he says, voice low—not ashamed, not meek. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. There’s no apology in him, no regret for the line he crossed to bring me back. His heartbeat thuds beneath my palm, not a rhythm of remorse, but of resolve.

“I didn’t think you’d hear me out. And I wasn’t willing to walk away without trying something you couldn’t ignore.”

The woods are quiet around us, the leaves whispering above like they’re afraid of interrupting. The weight of what he isn’t sorry for settles heavier than any apology could. I stare at him, my jaw locked tight with the sting in my chest; rage and relief colliding like a hurricane.

“You lied to me,” I say quietly. “You threatened me.”

His grip on me stays firm. Not cruel, just undeniably his. Possessive. Grounding. “I did what I had to,” he replies, his voice rough sandpaper against my skin. “I won’t pretend it was justified or the right thing to do. Things that matter this much don’t come without sacrifice.”

His words wrap around me like barbed wire. They should cut. And maybe they do. But that pain feels honest in a way nothing else has been for years.

“I’m not promising I won’t do it again, if it means keeping you,” he continues. “Not when it comes to protecting what’s mine. Loving you isn’t something I can make soft or safe. It’s not tame. And it never will be.”

He’s not asking for mercy. He’s telling me who he is. A man made of sharp edges and darker intentions. A man who would rather break the world in two than lose the one thing he believes was meant for him alone.

“But I’ll try to do it better,” he adds, and this time his voice wears the edge of something scraped raw with effort. “That much, I can give you.”

No apology. No flourish.

Just truth. The Liam O’Reilly kind of love—dark and unrelenting, steady as a vow burned into flesh.

I don’t reply right away. I’m still not sure what this kind of promise means. Still trying to decide if I can survive the kind of devotion that doesn’t ask, only takes.

But I find myself shifting closer, resting my hand just over his heart, because it’s beating like it’s been waiting for me to touch it again. I don’t know what we look like from the outside,naked and covered in dirt and scratches, but I think we look like two people who were circling this inevitability for ten years.

“I can accept that,” I whisper into the curve of his throat.

His breath catches, just for a beat. “Thank you.”

When I tilt my head back and look into his eyes, I see the storm behind the vows he made me, the part of him already calculating what he’d sacrifice to keep me. But I believe it when he says he’ll try, because promises given from someone like Liam might as well be deals signed in blood.

“You’ll let me have a say in our future?” I ask, and I’m not teasing.

This is the only condition I need. I may be marked, claimed, filled—but I need to know I’m not powerless inside it.

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t hesitate either. He lowers his mouth to my bare shoulder, lips brushing below his mark. Then he speaks low and close.

“You’re the one who decides our future,” he says. “But don’t expect me to ever play tame. Especially if it’s to keep you safe.”

I hum in response, something between approval and warning. “Good,” I say, voice soft but sure as my fingers find their way back to his hair. “Because I don’t want tame.”

His cheek brushes mine. I feel the words he doesn’t say settle between us like iron: promises forged not in tenderness, but in need.

The forest parts ahead of us as he carries me through the final stretch of trees, his bare footsteps silent against the moss and leaves. Moonlight pools in quiet threads along the grass, painting the world in silver. The sky remains heavy with true night, not yet bruised by morning, as though time itself holds its breath in the aftermath of everything we’ve become.

The manor looms in the near distance, a dark and elegant silhouette against the quiet skyline. Where there had been noise and laughter, now silence reigns. The golden wedding lanterns have been snuffed out. Even the wildflowers scattered along the ceremony path have begun to slump, their vibrant edges wilted like the final breath of a dream exhaled. No guests remain. No chatter. No movement in the windows. The event is over, the performance has ended, leaving behind nothing but a darkened courtyard garden.

I feel everything. I feel him, dripping from me with every slow, measured step, warmth slipping down my thighs, proof of what he poured into me. The bond sings like a second pulse in my bones, humming raw and new beneath the arch of my ribs. My skin throbs where his mark spreads across my throat, the shape of his fangs still sharp beneath the stitched magic of ourconnection. I feel open in places I can’t name, claimed in ways no one else will ever reach.

When I close my eyes, it isn’t because I’m exhausted, although I am. It’s with the relief that only comes when the hurricane is over, when you’ve fought the gale force winds, swam the rising floods, and still wake up with yourself in one piece. In his arms, I close my eyes with a smile because for the first time in seemingly endless years, something in me finally settles.

This choice, chaotic and brutal, stitched in blood and lust and layered with things I still haven’t fully reckoned with, is mine. And even with its teeth, I trust it now.

I trust what I chose.

And I trust that he chose me just as fiercely.

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