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“We just got back from the hospital!”
Shiloh shrugs. “And you’re still outside. Not inside, already helping her.”
“Ugh, that woman’s going to be the death of me,” Sky scoffs and gives me a quick, loving kiss before he rushes into the house, leaving Raylan, Shiloh, and me laughing our asses off.
Epilogue II
Ariana
Happiness is fleeting. Merely a temporary emotion, a rush of dopamine that soothes one’s soul, but that’s it. I want to be at peace, always. I want to be able to get out of bed every morning and look forward to the day.
Fortunately, it’s precisely the kind of life I’ve been living ever since we fought and defeated the Black Hand. There were plenty of ups and downs in between, however. There were moments when I thought I might not make it all the way through. Moments when I was so overwhelmed that I almost gave up.
But Sky was there to keep me focused. Raylan was there to keep me smiling. And Kendric was there to keep me safe. I still am all of the above and more, and it’s been one hell of a ride ever since.
Everton City is as clean as it’s going to get, and that’s good enough for now.
It’s been two years since the Black Hand was destroyed, and most of its members are currently serving ten to twenty years in prison for a slew of crimes, ranging from bribery and racketeering to conspiracy to commit murder and murder in the first- and second-degree.
I’m outside the Concord Correctional Institute, staring at the plain, beige building and trying to gather the nerve I need to go in. My father is expecting me. It’s my third visit since he was sentenced for his share of crimes, and it’s not getting any easier for me to do this. But I have to. I owe it to myself and my family to face this man and finally move on.
I think I finally have what it takes.
Cradling my baby bump, I take a deep breath. Expecting kiddo number two kind of puts things into perspective, especially after my business went national. It’s funny how one’s mindset can change once affairs are in order and their troubles are in the rearview mirror.
Finally, I go in and patiently walk through every step of security checks before I’m allowed into a private visiting room. My father is already there waiting for me, clad in an orange jumpsuit and looking ten years older as he stands up to greet me.
“Ariana!” he exclaims, his face lighting up.
The room is mostly empty, with the exception of the table between us and two plastic chairs. The door closes behind me with an annoying clang, and I know the guard is ready to intervene if I need him to. I won’t. My father is a lamb among wolves in this place. I can easily tell that prison doesn’t suit him.
“You’re getting thinner,” I mumble.
“They keep me in a caloric deficit,” my father chuckles humorlessly. He motions for me to take a seat at the table while he does the same. “You, however, look wonderful. Pregnancy looks good on you.”
“Thanks. I almost never became a mother because of you.”
His joy fades. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I am in here, atoning for my sins,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “Hoping that someday you’ll forgive me.”
I have a hard time believing him. A man like my father doesn’t change. He doesn’t suddenly see the fault in his ways, nor does he genuinely repent for his crimes. He’s simply serving a sentence handed down to him by a judge.
“The forgiving part is easy for me. It’s the forgetting part that I have trouble with.”
“I know I don’t deserve any of your kindness.”
“You absolutely do not,” I shoot back. “But I am here, nonetheless, just to remind you that you failed to get what you wanted.”
My father sneers and I am reminded of the real him again. The face behind the lie. “You’re here to torment me. To punish me some more.”
“You’re quite good at punishing yourself.”
“I know I’ve made some terrible mistakes. I can never take them back. I got involved with the wrong people. Made the wrong choices at every turn. It got my wife killed, and it almost got my daughter killed, too. I’m paying for all of it now.”
“You are, yes,” I calmly reply.
