Page 40 of Saint's Preciosa
Epilogue: Luna
Five weeks after my rescue, I stand in front of the mirror in what's now officially our bedroom at the clubhouse. I barely recognize myself. The bruises have faded, leaving no trace on my skin. My hair, washed and styled by Sophie, falls in soft waves down my back. The dress I'm wearing—a white dress with red embroidered flowers—is the same one my mother wore on her wedding day. The one that Abuela brought with us to America and kept preserved in our closet like a sacred relic.
"Are you ready, mija?" Abuela asks, appearing in the doorway looking healthier than she has in years. The treatment from Doc worked wonders, and she’s regained strength beyond expectation.
"I think so," I reply, smoothing down the front of my dress for the tenth time. Nervous energy makes my hands tremble slightly.
Abuela steps behind me, her reflection joining mine in the mirror. Her eyes are bright, her smile gentle as she places her hands on my shoulders. "He is a good man," she says, the words still sounding strange coming from her. "Not the man I would have chosen for you, but the right one nonetheless."
The transformation in my grandmother has been almost as remarkable as my own. From throwing shoes at Saint to grudging respect to genuine affection—it's been a journey none of us expected.
"What changed your mind about him?" I ask, curious about her dramatic reversal.
Abuela's expression grows serious. "When they brought you back that day—broken, bleeding—I saw something in his eyes I recognized." She pauses, lost in memory. "It was the same look your grandfather had when he pulled me from the river during the flood in '76. The look of a man who has found his other half.”
She cups my cheek with her weathered hand. "That man would burn down the world to keep you safe. There is no greater love."
Tears prick my eyes, threatening to ruin the makeup Sophie so carefully applied. "I love him too, Abuela."
"I know," she says simply. “You two have a strong love. The rest is just details."
A soft knock at the door interrupts us. Angel pokes her head in, grinning widely. "It's time. Everyone's waiting. And Saint is about to wear a hole in the clubhouse floor with his pacing."
I take a deep breath, one last glance in the mirror, and follow Angel into the hallway. The club has been transformed for the occasion—the main room cleared of its usual chaos, replaced with rows of chairs and an improvised altar. Flowers brighten every surface, their sweet scent mingling with leather and motor oil—a combination I've come to associate with home.
Through the windows, I see guests milling in the compound courtyard where tables have been set up for the reception. Club members and their families, a few trusted friends, even Doc and his wife. The Shadow Reapers have become my family.
Angel’s eyes rake over me appraisingly. “You look gorgeous.” She checks her watch. "Two minutes. I'll tell them you're ready."
As she disappears down the hallway, I turn to Abuela. "Will you walk with me?"
Her eyes widen in surprise. "Me? But traditionally, the father?—"
"I have no father," I interrupt gently. "You're all the family I had for so many years. You raised me, protected me, sacrificed for me. There's no one else I'd rather have by my side."
Abuela blinks rapidly, her own composure wavering. "It would be my honor," she says, her voice thick with emotion.
The music starts—not the traditional wedding march, but an acoustic guitar version of "Can't Help Falling in Love," played live by one of the clubs members.
Angel returns, gives me a reassuring smile, and a nod, signaling it’s time.
The clubhouse falls silent as we appear in the doorway. Every head turns, every eye finds me, but I see only one person—Saint, standing at the makeshift altar in his full cut, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that steals my breath. Beside him stands Ghost, solemn and proud in his role as best man.
As Abuela and I walk slowly down the aisle, I take in the faces of those who've become so important to me—Sophie, beaming with happiness; Blade, his arm around her waist; Hawk, grinning like a fool; even Cipher, his usual stoic expression softened for the occasion. And in the back, standing slightly apart from the crowd, Rose. While the other women rescued from the container were all reunited with their families, Rose had nowhere to go and has been staying at the clubhouse. She gives me a shy smile as I pass.
When we reach the altar, Abuela places my hand in Saint's, then shocking us both, rises on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Take care of my treasure," she whispers loud enough for me to hear.
"With my life," he promises, his voice rough with emotion.
I barely register the details of the ceremony that follows—something about love and commitment, spoken by a club member who got ordained online. All I can focus on is Saint's hand holding mine, his eyes never leaving my face, the slight tremor I can feel in his fingers betraying his own emotion.
Then comes the moment I've been waiting for. Ghost steps forward, a leather cut draped over his arm—not Saint's well-worn one, but a smaller version, clearly made for me. With ceremonial solemnity, he hands it to Saint.
"An ol' lady's cut is sacred," Saint explains, his voice carrying through the silent room. "It marks you as mine, as part of this family, as protected by every member of this brotherhood." He holds up the leather vest, and I see the patches—the Shadow Reapers logo on the back, and below it, in bold lettering reads, “PRECIOSA” and below that, “PROPERTY OF SAINT."
Saint helps me slip it on over my white dress, the weight of it settling on my shoulders like a mantle of belonging.
“By the authority vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife, brother and ol' lady, united in the eyes of this club and all who stand witness."
