This is a bit of a conclusion for the last five chapters so you might want to catch up on those before reading this.

Enjoy! 😄

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The purr of the Porsche commanded attention as it glided to a stop outside of the club. Donovan threw it into park and grabbed his phone. As he glanced at the screen, he noticed the date and swore under his breath. Shoving the issue aside, he stepped out and buttoned his suit jacket. A valet rushed forward, almost bowing to him in greeting.

"Scratch it and I'll take one of your fingers," Donovan said with a calm that contradicted the threat.

The valet paled and nodded, taking more caution than was necessary as he climbed into the driver's seat. As Donovan stepped onto the curb, the line of waiting patrons all watched his progress. Everything about him screamed money, the Armani suit cut to accent his lean build. The Rolex on his wrist winking in the glow of the neon sign. His Italian leather shoes polished to a shine. Dressed in over a few hundred thousand dollars of attire, Donovan wore it all with an air that this was his casual outfit.

The bouncer at the front door nodded and pulled back the velvet rope allowing Donovan entrance without a single hesitation. Inside the bass pounded against him, demanding that his heart match the beat. The dim lighting was cut with the lights that crisscrossed on the dance floor, flashing over the bodies that were pressed together in an
indistinguishable mass.

Donovan cut through the mayhem as if he were the owner, people stepping out of his way without realizing that they were doing it. As he passed by, eyes followed him, wanting to know more.

He stopped at a back door guarded by two men that would never find a shirt in their size or never attempted to. One of the men stepped forward and Donovan held out his arms. As he was patted down, the other guard stared at Donovan as if he could see into the innermost depths of his thoughts. Donovan stared right back without wavering.

Finished, the guard backed away and the other opened the door. With a nod, Donovan swept through. As the door was shut behind him, the din of the club was muffled. Before him was a quieter and small bar, with only one bartender behind it.

A girl in a tight dress walked through a set of drapes at the far end of the room and motioned for Donovan to enter. He did and on the other side was a cloud of cigar smoke and a poker table already filled with men.

Though all varying in sizes, shades, and suits, they all had one thing in common, they believed they were in control. They were above the law. They were unstoppable.

The man across the way from Donovan who could only be described as the heir to the bunch, younger by decades and smug his in place in the world. He took the cigar out of this mouth and blow a cloud into the already clogged air.

Donovan fought down his surge of emotions when he saw the man, seeing all too clearly the bruises that had been put on Carter's body because of this man's father. Instead, he smiled.

"Ricky Stone," Mickey Castello said, smiling.

Donovan held out his arms and returned the gesture with a devilish grin.

"In the flesh," he said.

The round-faced man waved his heavily jeweled hand towards the only empty chair.

"Sit, we were just starting," the man said.

Donovan took his spot with a confidence that almost said he had been the one to offer these men a place at the poker table. The girl from the doorway strode over to him, smile at the ready.

"Anything to drink," she asked.

"Single malt whiskey," he said winking at her.

She pressed her lips together, trying not to be pleased with his attention. Silence descended as the dealer shuffled and dealt the cards. Donovan lounged back in his chair, took his cards but instead of looking at them, he eyed his companions, taking in their expressions at seeing their own hands. Though most kept emotion from their faces, he had played with them long enough to register the subtle tells.

Knowing enough, he assessed his cards. His whiskey was placed beside him and he sipped at it, savoring its taste.

After a few rounds had been played and Donovan was up by a few hundred dollars, Mickey spoke.

"Ricky, I heard you're in the export business," he said, glancing at Donovan.

"There is none better," Donovan said.

Mickey nodded and examined his cards.

"I might be in the market for a man of your talents," he said.

Donovan raised his glass and drank. "I don't come cheap."

Irritation flickered across Mickey's face before he banished the response.

"I'm not a man strapped for cash."

Donovan cocked his head, pretending to regard the man across from him with mild interest. Mickey was a few years older than Donovan, but Donovan's gaze said he was the one in charge. It was a look that put Mickey on the defensive.

"I run a tight operation," Donovan said. "I don't deal kindly to men who can't handle themselves in business."

The men around the table exchanged glances as Mickey bristled with indignation. Donovan had hit a nerve. A nerve he had known was there.

Mickey was new to the position his father had left when Donovan had taken down Tony Castello after Carter had been taken. Mickey was only a couple months in and Donovan knew challenging Mickey's control on his father's legacy was the place to hit.

"You will never feel any heat coming from my end, I can assure you of that," Mickey said.

Donovan shrugged. It was an action so careless it said that he could live just fine without taking Mickey's business. Again Mickey burned with the need to prove himself.

"A man can say words, but he's only as good as he shows himself to be," Donovan said, not even looking at Mickey he spoke.

The disregard was a slap to the face.

"You want proof I can handle my own?" Mickey asked.

Donovan looked at him then, though his expression said he was slightly bored with this hot-headed boy. The look galled Mickey and he rose.

"Men this game will have to be placed on hold. It seems my word is challenged."

Donovan leaned back in his chair as if he didn't want to move at all.

"You want to do this now?" He motioned to his stack of chips. "I'm five hundred up."

"Now," Mickey said. He gestured the bodyguard by the doorway.

After a moment, Donovan stood and buttoned his suit jacket, completely unconcerned. "If you insist."

Donovan nodded to the other poker players as if he was the one dismissing them. He followed the bodyguard out the back of the club and into an alley, climbing into the back of a waiting SUV. As he settled into the back, he was handed a black cloth bag. He looked to Mickey in the front seat. Mickey narrowed his eyes.

"I have to protect my business, I'm sure you understand."

Without question, Donovan draped the bag over his head, turning the world dark. The SUV pulled out and he sat in silence, feeling each stop and turn of the car. He didn't worry about tracking each direction they went, there was no point.

After half an hour, the car stopped and the hood was lifted off Donovan's head. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the brightness around them. The bodyguard on his right exited and Donovan followed. He stepped down into a warehouse. The space was crowded with wooden crates. Mickey moved to the closest one and hauled open the top. From inside, he pulled out a top-grade handgun.

"Technically, this warehouse doesn't exist," Mickey said, proudly. "Neither do the men that work here. This place is as clean as my grandmother's kitchen counters."

Donovan gazed around, with a nod of approval while in his mind he was letting out a breath of relief. It was the final puzzle piece they had failed to locate when they had arrested Tony Castello. Now he had it.

"Impressive," he said. He walked to the open crate and peered in. "This is what you need exported?"

"Yeah, will that be too hard for you?"

Donovan shot him a cocky grin. "No one will ever know they left this building."

As they talked about arrangements, Donovan mentally counted the time, waiting. Just as he was shaking hands with Mickey, the door to the warehouse burst open and FBI agents rushed inside.

"FBI! DOWN ON THE GROUND! DOWN ON THE GROUND!"

Shots rang through the warehouse, pinging off walls. Donovan snapped his head back to Mickey as Mickey was yanking out his loaded gun and aiming it at the closest agent.

"You set me up!" he shouted and punched Mickey in the jaw.

Shocked, Mickey staggered, but Donovan grabbed the front of his suit and slugged him again.

"You will pay for this! Mark my word, you won't make it to jail alive!"

A man tackled Donovan, but he fought back, kicked the man in the knee and elbowed his chin. Another agent joined the fray and they pinned Donovan down as he yelled profanities at them. Cuffs were locked on his wrists even as he struggled against their hold. As they began to drag him towards the door, Donovan spun back to Mickey, eyes burning with hatred.

"You're going to regret this," he snarled.

Even surrounded by FBI agents, it was Donovan's words and searing gaze that made Mickey blanche. One of the agents yanked Donovan's arm, forcing him to keep walking. Outside, the wind was cool and blow across Donovan's face. He was led to a patrol car and stuck in the back, the door shut on him.

The car pulled away from the scene and Donovan sighed and removed the cuffs from around his wrist.

"Did you hit the club?" he asked the agent driving.

"We did. Got the rest of the thugs in the back," Nelson glanced at Donovan in the rearview mirror. "You think Mickey bought your little act?"

Donovan rubbed his wrist even though the cuffs hadn't been all that tight.

"I do. Gives us an opening if I ever need to get thrown in the same prison and need to make him talk."

As he settled back in his seat, his mind drifted away from the case and back to the real problem at hand.

"What time is it?" he asked, Nelson.

"A quarter past three, why?"

Sighing, Donovan ran a hand through his hair. "There aren't any open stores at this time of night, are there?"

Nelson frowned at Donovan. "Why? You do something to mess it up with the missus?"

"Something like that."

Nelson chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of Carter. She's scarier than a mobster with a gun."

The edge of Donovan's mouth lifted. "That she is."

They pulled into the FBI parking garage and Donovan shook his head.

"I'm guessing the report can't wait?"

Sympathetic, Nelson shook his head. "Sorry, Townsend's orders."

Donovan swore and rubbed his face, knowing there was no way around it. Nelson let him out of the back and the pair walked into the headquarters, splitting ways as Donovan directed his path to the office he shared with Carter. As he walked he tried to decide how best to apologize and how to make it up to her.

His thoughts were halted when he pushed through his office door and found Carter passed out on the couch.

Sitting on his desk was a bottle of champagne and two glasses. His guilt doubled as he knew she had waited here for him so they could celebrate.

Removing his suit jacket and draping to over his chair, he sat on the edge of the couch. She stirred as he brushed aside her hair and ran his fingers down her cheek. He kissed her forehead, making his way down her face to her lips. She sighed and blinked up at him.

"Hey," he said.

She gave him a sleepy smile. "Hey. How'd it go?"

Donovan buried his hands in her hair. "We got him. Everything. The whole organization."

Carter pushed herself up, eyes bright.

"Really?" she asked.

He cupped her face. "Really. Your work wasn't for nothing."

A remembrance of pain dimmed her expression.

"Hey," he said, bringing her back to the present. "It's over. You're okay. We did it."

She nodded at this.

"Also, look," he said. "I'm really sorry."

She frowned in confusion. "For what?"

"I forgot our anniversary and it's our first one. This case had me so wrapped and I missed it. I'm sorry." He gestured to the champagne. "You even waited here for me to celebrate and I completely forgot.

A wrinkle formed between Carter's brows. "Donovan, that champagne is to celebrate the end of the case. Our anniversary isn't for another week or two."

It was Donovan's turn to frown. "Carter, it was yesterday."

"Really?"

Donovan laughed and kissed her. "Now I don't feel so bad that I didn't get you anything cause you didn't either."

At this Carter pulled back. "That is where you are wrong."

"But you just said you didn't realize it was yesterday."

"I still got you something."

Donavon raised his eyebrow. "Oh? If you say it's you that's not going to work, that was already my birthday present. Though I wouldn't complain if it was."

Laughing, Carter rose, her knees digging into the cushions.

"No, I got you this."

She raised the edge of her shirt until she was revealing her ribcage on her left side. Newly inked into her skin were the words Semper Fi, the motto for the Marines Corps. Donovan placed his hands on either side of the tattoo, staring in disbelief. Finally, he lifted his gaze to her. She kissed him and cupped his cheek.

"Proof that I am and forever yours," she said. "Happy anniversary."

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I'm coming for you!
(Wait, I've totally done that one before, I wonder why I never caught you. Strange.)

Alright let's here them thoughts! 🗯💭💬

I'm going to be honest with you, I don't know how I feel about this. I saw it and so I wrote it but I'm not sure that really justifies it's existence. If you didn't like me then don't tell me, I can't bear the pain and it might rip us apart forever.

On a side note, who knew Carter got a tattoo! That's something!

If you were going to get a tattoo what would it be?

Vote, comment, follow but only if you really really really want, I won't accept anything less.