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Darcy is asleep near my pillow, Sir Pounce has claimed the foot of the bed, and Murder Mittens is sitting squarely on Enzo's chest, staring down at him like a tiny furry executioner.

Enzo opens one eye.

"Your cat is threatening me."

"That's how he shows affection."

"He weighs four pounds."

"And he's fully prepared to use every ounce."

Enzo laughs, carefully lifting Murder Mittens onto the pillow between us before kissing my forehead.

"Morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, bossy."

My phone is back on the nightstand, recovered from beneath the couch last night. It lights up with a message from Elise asking how I'm doing. I answer her first, then open Daniel's contact.

Enzo notices but doesn't comment.

I stare at the screen for a moment before typing an apology for missing our date and explaining that I was kidnapped before I could leave my apartment. I thank Daniel for contacting Elise and tell him I need time to sort out my feelings before I can consider dating anyone.

His answer arrives a few minutes later.

I'm just glad you're safe. You don't owe me an explanation about us. Take care of yourself, Bridget.

I smile, relieved that at least one part of my life can end without somebody needing bail money.

When I set the phone down, Enzo looks at me.

"Everything all right?"

"Yeah." I settle closer, careful of my sore shoulder. "Everything's going to take some work, but I think I'll be okay."

He kisses my hair. "Whatever you need."

I look around my little bedroom, at the mismatched furniture, the cats occupying most of the mattress, and the man who finally understands that loving me means giving me a say in my own life.

I don't feel like I'm living in a fairy tale anymore.

Fairy tales are full of perfect princes and promises that never get broken. What Enzo and I have is messier, and there's a lot we still need to figure out.

But for the first time, I know exactly who I'm choosing.

And I'm choosing to find out whether we can make something real.

EPILOGUE

ENZO

I've faced dangerous men, negotiated deals worth millions, and spent most of my adult life making certain people understood exactly who they were dealing with.

None of that prepared me for sharing a home with five fucking cats.

Murder Mittens has destroyed two pairs of Italian leather shoes, Sir Pounce has claimed my favorite chair, and Darcy refuses to sleep anywhere except between Bridget and me. Poe has developed an unhealthy obsession with my suits, while Salem considers knocking expensive objects off shelves a competitive sport.

My once-immaculate penthouse has become a feline amusement park, complete with scratching posts, cat trees, and enough toys to supply a small pet store. There's even a battered old couch in the reading room because Bridget couldn't bear to part with it.