I hated that, while the drama of Nixon, Chase, and Mil was all solved, my puzzle had just gotten more difficult. Scratch that. The pieces had been freaking mailed to the Seven Wonders of the World, and I’d been left trying to put together a puzzle without a stupid box to look at for guidance.

I froze, letting the ball drop to the floor. It bounced toward the door. Mo would be coming through that door any minute. I could feel it.

I knew she was following the food because the minute the smell of pasta dissipated, the smell of her apple perfume filled the air. I closed my eyes. I just had to smile. Smile and pretend like I’m careless. Play the part, be Tex — fun-loving, idiotic Tex — who doesn’t have a care in the world.

Right.

I could play dumb.

I’d been doing it all my life.

I got off the floor and started helping Mil take the food out of the boxes. My hand touched a few paper plates and was instantly covered by one I’d memorized for hours.

Her hand.

I knew every crevice, the arch of her palm, the feminine curve of her thumb. Damn, I memorized things for a living, and I’d done a fair share of memorizing her. I could tell from the softness of her skin if she was out of lotion, or if she’d gotten less sleep by the darkness of circles under her eyes. I knew exactly how many eyelashes she had on any given day, give or take two.

Obsessed? I was a man living for one thing. Monroe Abandonato. And she hated me. She wasn’t alone in that. I hated me.

“Tex?” Mo chewed her lower lip. She had purple circles under her eyes, and her hand was clammy.

“Are you sick?” It was out of my mouth before I could do anything about it. I felt her forehead. She didn’t feel warm, but something about her was off. Her eyes looked glassy like she’d been crying, and her body looked frail. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“Stop.” She forced a smile. “Stop analyzing me.”

I’d forgotten how much she hated that. “Sorry.”

“Come with me for a second?”

“Sure.” I followed her out of the hospital room. I told myself it was wrong to watch her hips as they swayed — it would be better if my memory wasn’t so photographic. I’d be replaying images of her ass in those jeans all week long. Damn it.

Mo stopped at one of the abandoned waiting rooms and sat down, leaning forward so her elbows were on her thighs.

I knelt down so I was on eye level. “Mo? What’s wrong?”

Tears streamed down her face; she wiped them away with shaking hands. “I just had to be sure. I mean, I had to… be sure, you know?”

“Sure of what?”

“Because it happens all the time to girls. They get stressed and—”

“Mo—” I took her face in my hands. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Her eyes closed. She wouldn’t even look at me. “I’m pregnant.”

My world stopped. Not what I expected. My stomach rolled, and my heart started hammering against my chest. We’d always, and I do mean always, used protection. I’d never put her in that position. Logically I couldn’t explain it.

“I need you to pretend it’s yours,” she whispered, and then fell into full-on sobs against my chest.

“Pretend?” I choked out. “What do you mean pretend?”

“It was one guy!” She shook. “One guy, one night. I was mad at you, too drunk. I was so angry you’d left me. So, so angry—” She started trembling in my arms and I knew. I would protect her until my dying day. But first? I had a bastard to go kill.

I shouldn’t have given in so easily. But love has a way of making you do crazy things. So in that hospital waiting room, with the love of my life in my arms, I said in a choked voice, “Okay.”

Epilogue

Nixon


“Admit it.” I kissed the top of Trace’s forehead. “It was romantic.”

She turned in my arms, her naked body sliding against mine as she straddled me, her hair falling in a current across her face. “Fine. I’ll admit it.”

“All you have to do is say the words.” I put my hands behind my head and smirked.

“You suck.”

“Say it.”

“You’re a romantic sex god with mafia mojo.”

“And that…” I smacked her ass. “…is what you get for saying I lacked in the romance department when I hired Luca to marry us.”

“He tried to kill you,” she said through clenched teeth. “I apologize if I don’t find your killer marrying us romantic.”

“It’s pretty bad ass when you think about it.” I shrugged. “Like your husband.”

“This marriage isn’t big enough for you and your ego.”

“Guess that means you’ll have to go…” My voice died off.

Trace smacked me in the arm then reached for her gun on the nightstand.

“Have I ever told you how hot it is when you point a gun at me? No?”

She put the gun down and kissed me instead. Much better. We’d decided to honeymoon in Vegas for the next week and plan an escape vacation in another month, once things had settled a bit with Tex and his situation with the Campisi family. The way it looked was that one of us was going to have to go to Sicily for an extended stay.

At the sharp pounding on the door, I clenched my fists and yelled, “Go away!”

They knocked harder.

Grumbling, I got out of bed, threw on a bathrobe, and pulled open the door. Chase was standing there as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Tex and Mo.” He shook his head. “They’re gone.”