Epilogue.

"You are such an asshole, Michel!"

"Watch your mouth," Catrina said as the car came to stop.

"Leave my shit alone, Catherine. I won't tell you again."

"Slow the fuck down, Michel," Dante shouted after his nearly seventeen-year-old son. "Cazzo, you're working on the last nerve I have left, son."

The words weren't even completely out of his mouth before the SUV door slammed shut, drowning out Dante's warning. Glaring into the backseat where his teenaged son had vacated with all the attitude that kid could muster, Dante sighed harshly.

"Give him a break, bello," Catrina said, unbuckling her seat belt. "I think he's having a rough time with all of this."

"Can I get out?" Catherine asked, her years of learned sarcasm oozing all too sweetly. "Or does someone feel like yelling at me, too?"

Dante's frustration climbed a notch as he regarded his thirteen-year-old daughter. Teenagers were the worst invention mankind ever created. Or God, whatever. There was no satisfying those little monsters. Rudeness and insolence were commonplace daily. The constant defiance was a battle Dante had yet to win.

He was mob boss, for Christ's sake, controlling hundreds of men, yet he couldn't manage to calm the hell his children were.

God knew Dante loved his son and daughter. Oh, he adored them. Catherine and Michel were his pride and joy. Everything he had that was good inside his soul was put into those children. They wanted for nothing, which may have been part of the problem, and their parents doted on them every single day of their lives.

They were a true principe and principessa.

But that didn't mean he had to like them all of the fucking time.

"Catherine Cecelia ..." Dante warned, giving his daughter a look he hoped voiced his displeasure of her disrespect loud and clear.

"Yes, Daddy?"

Sweet as sugar, Catherine smiled like an angel. She looked stunningly like her mother but with his green eyes and dark hair. Dante knew better than to fall into his daughter's seemingly innocent trap. She was her mother through and through. Catrina couldn't deny that girl if she tried. Spit from her mouth, that's what Catherine was. Dante felt awful for whatever sorry fucker fell in love with his daughter.

May God save that poor man's soul because Dante sure as hell wouldn't. As long as he was a good man, Dante planned on willingly handing Catherine over.

"Daddy?" Catherine asked again.

"Get out of the damn vehicle, Catherine," Cat snapped, rubbing circles into her forehead.

Catherine did as she was told. No matter how angry the girl made her father, she was never frightened of him. Her mother, however, was an entirely different story. Catherine and Catrina were too alike for their own good.

Once the door slammed shut, Catrina huffed in the passenger seat. "They're turning me gray."

Dante scoffed, eyeing his wife from the side. "You're just as red as you always were."

"Thanks to my monthly trip to the salon. Why did we agree to have a child after Michel?"

"You love her."

Just like he did.

"Maybe so, but I don't have to like her a whole lot."

"If you two weren't so damn alike, you might not butt heads as often."

"I doubt it. When does this nonsense end?" his wife asked quietly, her beautiful features pained.

"According to my mother, never."

Catrina gasped in mock horror. "No."

"Sorry, kitten. You asked."

"Can we lock them in their rooms until they turn eighteen and then kick them out into the wild like other animals do with their young?"

Dante chuckled. "Social Services says no."

Despite his wife's agitation with their daughter, Dante knew Catrina loved Catherine with every fiber of her being. From the moment their daughter took her first breath, Catrina was smitten. Catrina had taught Catherine the same independence, fierceness, and confidence she had from the moment the girl learned to talk and walk. It was only the last couple of years that a distance had been put between the two and a wall kept getting built higher and higher.

Dante understood exactly why it was happening, even if Catrina didn't like to talk about it. His wife hadn't been in the business for a long time-not her own in a direct manner, anyway. Sure, she still stood at Dante's side in the Marcello crime family, but Catrina had long since passed on her crown in her trade to someone else.

Really, he was grateful she had. Over the years, Catrina had gained more enemies in her business than she had friends. People seemed trustworthy and friendly enough until they wanted to become competition. Catrina never stood for competition. She was still Queen, though. Behind the scenes, running women she trained and groomed to be beautiful ghosts in the market like she had once been.

Nevertheless, Catherine was curious. Hiding who you were to your children when they had every access to your past with just a click of a button on their phones was an impossible task. Dante didn't hide things from his children, he never had, but he expected them to understand their place, too. Sometimes that meant pretending you didn't know a thing.

No, it wasn't Catherine building those walls and putting distance between her and her mother. It was Catrina. Because if she couldn't curb her daughter's curiosity in their business, her next best effort was to close off the very idea completely. Unfortunately, that meant closing off herself to her daughter, as well. Whether she liked it or not, Catrina would always be Queen. Maybe a different kind, but still a queen.

In a way, Dante knew his wife was protecting Catherine from something she didn't want her daughter involved in. Sometimes, their lifestyle just didn't give them a choice.

"She's been texting with a Donati boy, hmm," Dante said, tilting his head to the side so he could gauge his wife's reaction to his news.

Catrina's brow lifted. "Oh?"

"They go to the same school. His family is solid, though. I'd rather a Donati than a Calabrese."

Catrina's lips drew thin. "Would you, now?"

"Not for business sake, if that's what you're asking."

"It was."

Yeah, Dante figured.

"Have you talked to her about it?" Catrina asked quietly.

"I have."

"And?"

"And nothing. I approve and that's what matters most."

"Not to me," Catrina murmured. "How old is he?"

"Just turned fourteen last month."

"Too soon to say, then."

"Too soon to say what, Cat?"

"Cosa Nostra."

Ah.

Dante blew out a heavy breath of air. "We were lucky with Michel, bella."

"I know."

"I don't think you do. Not really. We were so lucky with him, Cat. He had no interest in being even affiliated with la famiglia, never mind your end of the business, he wants to be a doctor, and he's a damn good kid. Focused, driven, and sure."

"Mmm."

"Catherine isn't Michel and you can't force her to be."

"I don't want her being like me."

"Are you sure?" Dante asked quickly. "Because you sure treated her like a reginella. That girl is you all over and you just can't stand it."

"It isn't that. It scares me. I worry."

"You're hurting her with this distance and her behavior is showing it more and more. That bitchy attitude and nastiness isn't the daughter we raised, Cat."

Catrina frowned, sadness coloring her hazel eyes. "Regardless of what it may look like, there is nothing glamorous about being a Queen Pin, Dante. She's only thirteen, and I refuse to feed into this ridiculous fascination she has with the things I do."

"Then maybe you should have hidden it better as she grew up, Catrina. Frankly, she's a teenager-the daughter of a mob boss and a Queen Pin, sure-and like any girl her age, the more you deny and shut down her interests, the more likely she is to seek it out on her own. That could be dangerous and you know it. Is that how you want her wading in to this kind of thing, by mistake and stupidity?"

"What am I supposed to do? What do you suggest, huh?"

Dante wasn't sure. But what Catrina was doing in regards to Catherine sure as hell wasn't working. "It's hurting you, too, Cat. I don't like it when you hurt."

Catrina smiled, but her sadness still remained. "You're right, bello. I hate it so very much when you're right."

Dante laughed, reaching over to snag his wife's hand with his own. "I've been telling you for years if you would just admit that fact more often, things would be so much easier. But what am I right about this time?"

"She's just like me, I think, but in a different way."

"It'll work itself out, Cat. Maybe her fascination is more about where she comes from than where she wants to go."

"I hope so." Catrina squeezed Dante's fingers. "I suppose I should get a start on that red wine we brought. It's going to be a long dinner if the car ride here and this conversation was any indication."

"Fucking teenagers driving us to drink."

Catrina smirked. "We made them this way, you know."

"Stop reminding me."

"Tomorrow is going to be-"

Dante cringed. "Let's not talk about it right now."

Dio save me, Dante thought as his wife glowered at him from her seat. He did not need Catrina pissed off at him right now, not considering everything. Even so, he had desperately hoped they would be able to make it through this damn day without at least one person bringing up his sentencing hearing tomorrow.

Yeah, the boss got caught.

There was absolutely nothing clean about living the way of La Cosa Nostra. There were no guarantees. Giovanni was right all those years ago when he told Dante the brothers were not like their father. They wouldn't always come out of things unscathed.

A year earlier, Dante's home had been raided by FBI agents under circumstances that had nothing to do with what they found in his home. A few illegal weapons, nothing serious. Misdemeanors at best. He should have been hit with a few costly fines and maybe some probation to kill time. It was just too damn bad this would be his fourth weapons charge over the span of a decade. The court system didn't look highly upon repeat offenders, never mind a Cosa Nostra Don like Dante Marcello.

Not to mention, Dante might have knocked out an agent for rifling through his wife's underwear drawer. That nice little assault charge sneaked right up on him.

Sick fucking bastard.

Dante was looking at four years max, and if given the highest penalty, he would spend that time in a prison, not a fucking jail. He hadn't pleaded guilty to the charges, but he didn't have to, either. The evidence against him was right there for the world to see. Guilty as charged.

There was a good thing about being a Marcello, though. Money. They had it in the bucketful, and for the last few months, Giovanni had been doing his job as both Dante's defense lawyer and his consigliere. Bribes were on the line, but it wasn't always a sure thing if a judge would take it or not.

Fuck, they were right down to the wire-literally, given tomorrow was the big day-and Dante's judge had yet to take the bait in promise of a reduced sentence.

"No more guns in our home," Catrina said, drawing Dante from his thoughts.

"I agree."

He got out of the car without another word.

"Give me that back, Cella!"

Dante moved out of the way just in time to miss the stampede of his nieces running past him.

"No!" Cella flicked her middle finger up at her sister, holding the tablet away from Lily's reaching grasp.

Lucian glowered at the ceiling. "I should have stopped at John, man."

Dante chuckled. "You love them."

"Sometimes," Lucian muttered under his breath.