Chapter 42

The room was dim, steeped in the hush that follows a storm. The bedside lamp cast a soft amber glow over the sheets, catching the slope of Orm's bare shoulder where it met mine. Her skin shimmered faintly with sweat, her chest rising and falling in sync with mine. The blanket barely covered us—twisted around our legs, exposing the length of her thigh draped across my hip, the smooth line of her back as she lay curled against me.

Her fingers were idle, trailing along the edge of the linen, occasionally brushing against my thigh. I turned my head to her, heart still pounding from everything—rage, need, regret tangled together in a knot beneath my ribs. The ache in my collarbone flared again, sharp and pulsing.

I glanced down. A faint smear of red. The cut had opened somewhere between her mouth on my skin and my hands gripping her too hard.

Orm noticed.

"Don't move," she murmured, her voice hoarse but tender now—smoothed out by the heat we'd poured into each other. She pushed herself up on one elbow, her body peeling from mine, and for a breathless moment all I could do was admire the curve of her form—the slope of her waist, the gentle bounce of her breasts as she reached for the nightstand.

Even now, her nakedness undid me.

From the drawer, she pulled out a small first-aid kit. I'd seen her use it on others a hundred times, with that calm precision only doctors have. I never imagined I'd see it this close, naked in her bed, marked by her passion.

She leaned over me, the soft weight of her breasts brushing my chest as she dabbed at the cut. Her touch was featherlight, reverent almost, like she was trying to erase the sting she'd caused. The scent of her was all around me—clean sweat, sex, faint citrus from her shampoo—and I closed my eyes, dizzy from it all.

Her brows drew together in concentration, and I watched her—every detail. The flick of her lashes. The way she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. I could've drowned in her quiet focus.

Orm cleaned the cut with such care, I almost forgot it was from her. The irony wasn't lost on me—the woman who brought the sting was now soothing it like only she could. Her fingertips brushed over my collarbone with a tenderness that softened something buried deep in me. Something I never let anyone see.

When she finished, she discarded the gauze and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the newly cleaned skin. The heat of her mouth softened the sting in a way antiseptic never could. Then she slid down, folding herself against my chest like she belonged there. Her bare skin against mine, warm and familiar, settled something wild in me.

I wrapped my arms around her without thinking, palms splaying across her back, feeling the delicate ridge of her spine, the softness of her hip. She tucked her face into the curve of my neck, her hand resting over my heart, feeling the steady beat of a heart that only felt like mine when she was near.

I exhaled slowly, brushing my nose against her hair. "You know what this is?" I murmured, voice low and raw from everything we'd just been through. "This right here... you in my arms after all that fire and fury... this is the best feeling I've ever known."

Orm didn't answer with words. She didn't need to. Her hand curled tighter around my side, her body pressing closer, sealing the silence between us with meaning.

I looked up at the ceiling, mind racing even in the stillness, then let the words tumble out before I could stop them. "I'd die to marry you someday," I whispered. "Maybe even have kids. A family. Something that isn't made of smoke and blood for once."

Orm's head lifted slowly, her amber eyes searching mine.

"I mean it," I said, brushing a thumb along her soft cheek. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense. And I want... more of this. More of you. Every day."

She shifted, rising just enough to rest her forearms on my chest, bare legs still tangled with mine. A smile tugged at her lips—teasing, wicked, familiar.

"This isn't the first time you've brought up marriage," she said, voice lazy and amused. "Are you always this sentimental after sex, or is this a pattern?"

I laughed under my breath, caught off guard, but damn if she didn't know how to unravel me even when I thought I was in control. "Maybe I'm just trying to wear you down," I said, arching a brow. "Slowly. Strategically."

Orm leaned in, brushing her lips barely over mine. "Mm. Strategy, huh? That sounds very mafia of you."

I grinned against her kiss. "So what if it is?"

Her hand slid up my side, settling at the curve of my jaw. The way she touched me—soft and certain—made me feel like something sacred in her healing hands.

"If we get married," she whispered, "and have kids... they're not learning to throw knives from you. Period."

I groaned playfully. "It's character-building."

"You'd have them running extortion rings in the sandbox."

"Please. I'd wait until they're at least seven."

She giggled, the sound warm and breathy as she collapsed against me again. Her laughter rolled across my skin, and I held her tighter, breath caught in the sheer rightness of her in my arms.

Then, quietly, she said it.

"I love you, Lingling."

Not like it was a revelation—but like it had always been true.

I pressed a kiss to her temple, eyes closing as the last bit of tension drained from my body.

"I love you too, baobei. More than anything."

Outside, rain blanketed the city in silence.

The chaos could wait. Tonight, in this bed, with the woman I loved wrapped around me, all I could feel was peace.

After a long stretch of silence, I let the question slip out, voice low and thick in the hush between us.

"If I ever proposed... how would you want it to happen?"

Orm shifted against me, the soft slide of her bare skin against mine enough to steal my breath. Her cheek was still warm where it rested on my chest, her fingers idle, tracing lazy circles over the spot just above my heart.

She looked up with a glint in her eyes—amused, teasing. Dangerous.

"Oh?" she purred, her voice dipping into that maddeningly sweet register that always made my pulse skip. "So you're asking for tips now, Miss Mafia Queen?"

I grinned, brushing a sweat-damp strand of blonde behind her ear, letting my fingers linger just a little too long along the curve of her jaw. "Just doing a little reconnaissance," I said. "Call it... fieldwork."

Orm gave a soft laugh, the sound brushing over my skin like silk. Then she tilted her head thoughtfully, her fingers drifting lower, down the line of my collarbone. She found a scar there—the one she'd touched so many times like it told a story only she understood—and traced it with a featherlight touch that sent a shiver through me.

"Definitely not in a crowd," she said slowly, almost to herself. "I don't want a bunch of strangers recording it on their phones and plastering it all over the internet."

"Okay," I murmured, biting back a smile. "No flash mobs. No skywriting. No Jumbotron at a boxing match."

She smacked my stomach lightly, her palm warm against my bare skin. I caught her wrist and pulled her hand back up, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before letting it rest over my heart again.

"No clichés," she added, voice softening. "I want something real. Something just... us."

I turned my head to study her, my hand sliding down her spine, fingertips tracing the dip of it until she arched subtly against me. "And what does 'just us' look like?"

Orm paused, her teasing edge melting into something quieter—more vulnerable. She shifted so she could see me fully, her thigh slipping higher over my hip, her breasts brushing against my side as she moved.

"Somewhere quiet," she said. "Maybe at home. Or somewhere that means something. Where we first met. Where you first kissed me. I don't need the world watching. Just you. No guards, no chaos. No guns."

Her voice dropped.

"Just peace."

I let the silence settle again, her words sinking deep. The irony of it—her asking for something I spent my life destroying—wasn't lost on me. But the way she looked at me, curled against me in our sweat-damp sheets, bare and trusting and unafraid... it made me want to believe I could give her that.

I smiled, though there was a weight in it. "You're asking for a lot," I whispered, brushing my lips across her temple. "Peace is hard to come by in my world."

Orm's eyes didn't waver. Her fingers slid up the side of my neck, grazing the tender skin just behind my ear. "Then I guess you'll just have to fight for it."

I kissed her—deep and slow, mouths pressed together like a promise. My hand slipped into her hair, holding her there, needing her closer, needing her anchored to me. Her body shifted again, chest pressing flush against mine, and I felt the tremble in her breath as our kiss broke.

"I already am," I murmured against her lips. "Every damn second."

Her smile was soft, but her amber eyes were sharp—like she saw through all the layers I hid behind. She nestled into me again, head tucked under my chin, bare limbs tangled with mine like she'd always been there, like she belonged.

She felt like both war and sanctuary.

Orm's breathing had slowed to that soft, steady rhythm she always slipped into when the storm had passed—when the fire between us had burned so hot it almost consumed us, and then left behind this: a warm, golden stillness. Forgiveness. Return.

Her cheek was still pressed against my bare chest, skin to skin, her body stretched against mine in a slow sprawl of limbs and heat. I could feel the weight of her watching me, not with suspicion, not with fear—but with something worse. Something better.

Patience.

The kind that knew me, even when I didn't want to be known.

I shifted slightly, careful not to break the fragile gravity between us, and ran my fingers through her tangled hair, still damp with sweat. My other hand held her tight at the waist, fingers splayed over the small of her back, where her skin still radiated that pulsing warmth from everything we'd just done. The sheets were a twisted mess at our thighs, barely covering the curve of her hip. Her thigh still draped over me possessively, like she didn't intend to let me go.

I'd never believed in things like this. Not really. Not after the life I'd lived.

Because love? Love didn't belong to people like me.

I was raised on the streets, raised on silence and scars. I remember the first winter after my mother's death. After that, it was fists and hunger, alleys and ash. People beat me because they could. Because no one would stop them. Because I was no one.

I never thought I'd be touched gently again.

And yet—here was Orm.

Touching me like I was something fragile. Looking at me like I wasn't broken. Holding me like I was hers.

Outside, the rain fell in a hush. The city was asleep. But here—in this bed, with her bare against me, with the scent of sex and surrender still thick in the air—I realized there would never be a more perfect moment.

No rings. No audience. No fanfare.

Just Orm. Open. Real. Mine.

I tilted her chin up with two fingers, slow and deliberate, and when her eyes met mine—soft, sleepy, still smoldering—I whispered the words like a secret I'd been afraid to speak until now.

"Marry me."

Orm blinked. The words landed somewhere between her ribs, I could feel it—like they echoed inside her chest before they reached her lips.

Her mouth opened slightly, but I kept going, my voice trembling for the first time in... hell, maybe ever.

"I don't have a ring yet. I didn't plan this." I let out a breath, heart thudding, exposed in more ways than one. "But I want to spend every morning with you. Every night. I want to come home to you. I want to fight beside you, build peace for you. I want you to yell at me when I screw up, and patch me up when I bleed. I want it all."

I brought her hand to my mouth, kissed the knuckles slowly.

"And I want you to be the last thing I see when I close my eyes. Every night, for the rest of this bloody life."

Her lips parted, but still no words.

"I'm not asking for a perfect life," I said. "I'm asking for a life with you."

The moonlight spilled through the windows and wrapped around her like silk, casting her bare skin in silver, her breasts rising and falling gently against me. She looked like a fever dream—ruined and divine.

And for the first time in years, I was terrified—not of death, not of betrayal, not of war.

But of this. Of her. Of this moment.

Because she was the only thing I've ever really wanted.

"...Will you marry me, Orm Kornnaphat?"

Her eyes flooded—fast, unstoppable. A tear rolled down her cheek, then another. Her laughter bubbled up, soft and broken, as she covered her mouth with her hand, clearly overwhelmed.

I sat up, holding her face with both hands now, catching every tear with my thumbs. She was trembling, glowing, naked and crying in my arms.

"I didn't imagine it like this," she whispered, voice cracking. "Not right after we... not like this. Not in bed, naked, with the smell of sex and sweat still in the air."

I smiled, eyes burning. "Yeah, well. I don't do proper."

Her hand moved to her chest, palm pressed over her racing heart. "But you—" she laughed through the tears—"you make me feel like I belong. Even when you're being a stupid, reckless, mafia idiot."

I kissed her—her cheeks, her jaw, her mouth. Her tears were salt and fire against my lips.

"And this," she said, breath catching, "this moment is perfect. Because it's us."

Her hand slid down to mine, squeezing tight. Her whole body quaked as she leaned in close, forehead to mine, her breath hot against my mouth.

"I love you," she said, the words shaking. "So damn much I could die for you."

My heart shattered.

"Yes," she whispered, and I barely heard it over the thump in my chest. "Yes, Lingling Kwong. I'll marry you."

Tears hit my knuckles before I even realized they were mine.

I wasn't supposed to cry—not me, not Lingling Kwong.

Not the woman who survived her mother's death.

Not the girl who was beaten into leadership and carved into power.

Not the crime boss who took a bullet and stitched herself back together.

But Orm...

Orm was the first person who made me feel everything I thought I'd buried. And now she was here—in my arms—saying yes. Saying forever.

I cradled her face like it was something sacred, something breakable and burning all at once. My thumbs stroked her cheeks as I pressed our foreheads together, both of us shaking with the weight of it all.

"You really said yes," I whispered, voice raw. "You said yes to me."

Orm's hands were warm against my ribs, her fingers tracing the scars she knew better than anyone. She nodded, smiling through tears. "I said yes to you, Lingling. All of you."

I let out a sob I didn't recognize—deep and guttural and full of disbelief. I kissed her nose, her cheeks, her lips, anywhere I could reach while the tears kept coming. My grip on her face was desperate, like if I let go, she'd vanish into smoke and dreams.

"I've never cried like this," I admitted, my voice crumbling. "Not when I was bleeding. Not when they tried to break me. But with you..."

I swallowed hard. "With you, everything is real. And it's too much—because I love you so damn much I don't know where to put it."

Orm's lips quivered, her eyes locking into mine like anchors in the storm. "Then don't put it anywhere," she whispered. "Let it live here—with me. Let it fill the space between us until there's no more fear, no more distance. Just you. Just us."

And I did.

We held each other like a vow. Bare, breathless, broken open.

Her tears soaked my shoulder. Mine soaked her pillow.

But we stayed like that, tangled in limbs and promises, until the dawn reached through the windows and spilled light over the bed where she said yes to becoming my wife.

And in that soft golden light, I knew—I'd never let go of her.

Not even in the next life.

...

The sky outside Orm's bedroom slowly shifted from night to a gentle, lavender-blue. The world was waking, but inside that room, time had stopped. We were still curled into each other—skin warm, hearts full, legs tangled under the sheets like ivy that never meant to part.

Orm's fingers traced idle patterns on my chest, soft and slow, like she was memorizing me all over again.

Her voice, hoarse from crying, broke the silence. "You really didn't plan that proposal, did you?"

I huffed a quiet laugh, brushing her damp hair away from her face. "I planned it a thousand times in my head," I said honestly. "On the roof of the loft, during those nights you fell asleep on my chest. At the clinic, when you were wearing that white coat, looking like an angel with blood on your gloves. Even at the warehouse... when I thought I might lose you to everything—your father, this life..."

I swallowed hard and cupped her cheek again. "But when I saw you tonight—angry, beautiful, alive... all mine—I couldn't wait anymore."

Orm's eyes shimmered with something too deep for words. She leaned in and kissed me softly, like we weren't already fused into each other. She kissed me like she wanted to say yes again, like her mouth needed to make that promise over and over.

Then she pulled back, a teasing smile creeping in. "You know... I'm still mad at you for that Alisa stunt."

I groaned, hiding my face in her neck. "I know. I'm sorry. I was stupid."

Orm chuckled. "You were hot. Stupid and hot."

We both laughed—a tired, lovesick kind of laugh that only happens after everything has burned down and somehow left you whole.

Eventually, her smile faded into something softer. "What happens now, Lingling?"

I looked at her, brushing my thumb across the slope of her jaw. "Now? We take it one day at a time. You go save lives. I keep mine intact until you come home. We try to not kill your dad." I smirked. "And maybe... we start thinking about the rest of our forever."

Orm nodded, her hand slipping down to rest gently over my heart.

"I want it all with you," she whispered.

I tilted my head down and caught her smile, the kind that made my heart clench in the best way. "Alright, future doctor-wife," I murmured, brushing my knuckles against her cheek. "Where would you want it? The wedding."

She laughed softly, a sleepy sound. "Are we really doing this now?"

"Hell yes," I said, with the stupidest grin on my face. "Let's plan a whole damn future like reckless teenagers."

Orm rolled her eyes but that crooked smile didn't leave her lips. "Somewhere warm. Beautiful. Not too crowded." She paused, her gaze softening. "Somewhere it can feel just like this. Like we're the only people in the world."

I nodded, already picturing it. "Amalfi Coast," I said instantly. "Overlooking the sea. Sunset wedding. Wine flowing. Mafia friends half-drunk and trying to behave for once."

Orm burst into laughter. "Oh my god. You'd really invite all your mafia friends to our wedding?"

I pulled her in closer, lips brushing her temple. "Baobei, I'm not walking down any aisle without my chaos crew watching. You know Jiang's going to cry. Like, sob. He'll pretend it's allergies, but—"

"—it'll be your vows that break him," Orm said, laughing harder.

I kissed her smile. "And your dad won't be there, obviously. Unless I put him on trash duty in the back alley."

She gave me a look. "Ling."

"Fine," I smirked. "He can Zoom in from whatever locked basement he's still in."

She swatted my shoulder, giggling. "You're impossible."

"But I'm your impossible," I whispered, wrapping her tighter in my arms. "Imagine it—white dress or no dress, flowers you hate, guests who shouldn't legally be allowed in most countries. But you and me... dancing under stars, barefoot, a little drunk, stupidly in love."

Orm's voice dropped into something soft and full. "You really want to marry me that bad?"

I nodded, no hesitation. "Like breathing."

She kissed me slow then, her palm pressed to my cheek like she was holding something sacred.

"Then it's Amalfi," she whispered against my lips. "Sunset. Chaos. And us."

Us.

God, that word had never sounded so perfect.

She hummed, cheek pressed to my chest. "We'd need a planner," she murmured, already slipping into that thoughtful mode she always got after surgeries—methodical, precise, soft-spoken. "Someone who knows how to plan chaos."

I grinned, fingers sifting through her blonde hair. "I'll have Jiang reach out to his cousin. She organized that underground poker tournament in Dubai last year—same energy."

Orm laughed, a low and delighted sound. "Lingling, absolutely not."

"You're right," I said. "That one ended in fire."

She pushed herself up slightly on one elbow, her hair falling across her bare shoulder. Her smile was tired but radiant. "I want the ceremony to be small. Not your kind of small. My kind of small."

I raised a brow. "Define that."

"Less than fifty people. No machine guns. No illegal trades on the buffet table. And no showing up in bulletproof vests."

"You're really taking all the fun out of it."

She leaned forward and kissed the corner of my mouth. "But you're getting a wife."

I melted instantly, sighing into her lips. "Fine. Fifty. But I get to pick the music."

Orm smiled and let herself collapse back into my arms. "Deal. I want the dinner outdoors, fairy lights everywhere. And I want to walk down the aisle to something not traditional."

"Can it be that French song you hum in the shower?"

She flushed. "You heard that?"

I nodded against her hair. "Every time. You sound like you're in love."

Her silence then was beautiful, like a held breath before a kiss. "I am," she finally whispered.

We both laid still again, the idea of a wedding beginning to take form in the space between us—flowers and vows and the impossible softness of two broken people building something sacred. Me, the criminal. Her, the doctor. Us, against the world.

"Ling?" she said, eyes fluttering closed.

"Yeah?"

"I want to wear white."

I kissed her shoulder. "You'll look like heaven."

"I want you to cry when you see me."

"I will. Probably before the ceremony even starts."

Her breath deepened, slower. "I love you."

I held her tighter, the woman who once patched my bullet wounds now stitching my heart together.

"I love you more than I knew was possible."

The room was quiet except for the distant hum of the city below and the rhythmic pulse of our breaths syncing like a promise sealed under moonlight. Orm had drifted off into a light, peaceful sleep curled into me, one leg wrapped over mine like she couldn't stand even an inch of space between us. I didn't blame her—I didn't want any, either.

I stared at the ceiling for a while, my fingers still tracing lazy patterns across her bare back. The words we'd spoken echoed in my head: marriage, Amalfi Coast, fifty people, white dress, vows. It felt unreal—me, Lingling Kwong, feared mafia leader, imagining lace and soft lights and slow dances with the woman who could heal me with her hands and kill me with her eyes. I'd given people death. Orm gave life. And somehow, she had chosen me.

She stirred, her lashes fluttering against my skin. "You're not asleep," she murmured.

"I'm thinking," I whispered.

She looked up, her voice still husky with sleep. "About what?"

"You. The wedding. Us." I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I was trying to picture you in white, walking toward me."

She smiled sleepily. "Were you crying in your fantasy?"

"A little," I admitted. "But I'll blame it on the champagne."

"Mmhm." She smirked. "Sure."

We lay there, soaked in warmth and soft laughter. After a few minutes, Orm turned fully toward me, her hand slipping over my stomach, resting there as if claiming me.

"I want it to feel like we've escaped everything, just for a day," she said. "The mafia. The clinic. The past. Just... you and me. And light."

I looked down at her, kissed the tip of her nose. "Then that's what we'll have. Amalfi it is."

"I want you in a black suit," she added. "No blood, no weapons. Just... you."

My chest tightened at the thought. I nodded. "And you'll walk toward me in that dress, and I'll forget every war I've ever fought."

She didn't respond—she only looked at me, eyes glassy with emotion. We were quiet again, but not from the lack of words. It was the weight of the future we were dreaming together, the way it settled between us like a shared secret.

Eventually, Orm tucked her face under my chin again and whispered, "We're going to be so happy."

I held her close, fiercely, like I'd never let her go again.

"We already are."

I let out a soft sigh and nestled closer into Orm, my fingertips lightly tracing the curve of her ribs.

"Orm," I whispered.

"Mmh?"

I tilted my head to look at her, a rare vulnerability slipping past my voice. "Can I be the little spoon tonight?"

She blinked at me, then smiled, tender and slow. "You? Lingling Kwong? The lioness of Éclipse?"

"Even a lioness needs warmth sometimes," I murmured, nudging her with my nose. "Please?"

She didn't tease me, not this time. Instead, she gently rolled me over, slipping her arms around me from behind, her body molding perfectly into mine. Her breath was steady against the back of my neck, one of her legs wrapping over my thigh like she was keeping the world away.

"Anything else, boss?" she whispered against my skin.

I hesitated. "Will you... sing for me?"

There was a pause. "What?"

"That French song you always hum in the shower. I like it."

She chuckled softly. "You've really gone soft."

"For you," I whispered, "only for you."

And then her voice came — soft, a little hesitant at first, but steady. Her lips were near my ear, the warmth of her breath brushing my skin as she began:

"Je te laisserai des mots En dessous de ta porte En dessous des murs qui chantent Tout près de la place où tes pieds passent Cachés dans les trous de ton divan Et quand tu es seule pendant un instant..."

Her voice was honey-smooth, delicate as velvet, but each word carried something more — devotion, maybe. Or the weight of knowing how many nights we both spent alone, longing for something we didn't yet know how to name.

"Ramasse-moi quand tu voudras Embrasse-moi quand tu voudras Ramasse-moi quand tu voudras..."

I closed my eyes, tears stinging but never falling. Her voice, the way she held me, the way she made me feel like something beautiful, something worthy — it broke something open in me. Not in pain this time, but in peace.

She finished the song, her lips brushing my temple.

"You okay?" she whispered.

I reached back and laced our fingers together.

"You make me feel like I've never known loneliness," I said.

She squeezed my hand.

"You'll never know it again."

And with her warmth pressed into my back and her song still echoing in my mind, I drifted off — not just to sleep, but into a life I never thought I'd have.

A life that started right here, in her arms.