"No." I lean into his warmth. "This is exactly where I'm supposed to be."
He's quiet for a moment, then: "Sofia's going to be okay. Whatever the Russians have planned, we'll protect her."
I think about Alexei Volkov's pale eyes, the way he looked at Sofia like she was already his. "She's stronger than she seems."
"She'll have to be." His voice is grim. "But that's tomorrow's war. Tonight, we're just a family on a boat, pretending to be normal."
"Is that what we're doing?"
"Trying to." He turns me in his arms, and I see the city lights reflected in his green eyes. "Thank you. For saving me. For staying. For becoming Emma Rosetti even when I gave you every reason to run."
"Alessandro—"
"No more lies between us. Ever. No more manipulations, no more hidden truths. Just us, as we are."
"Forever," I add.
He chuckles then leans in to kiss me on the lips, murmuring into my mouth. "I should probably mention that refunds are not available on this marriage. You've been using the husband for several months now, clearly past the return window. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."
Behind us, Nico has started an argument about who's the better shot, which has Valentina demonstrating knife throws using breadsticks as targets. Ana is teaching Sofia a lullaby in Italian while Dante holds Antonia. Marco watches over them all with the satisfied expression of a king surveying his kingdom. Faith and Luca sit apart, her reading to him from a book of Renaissance poetry, his hand possessive on her thigh.
"Come on," I tell Alessandro, taking his hand. "Our family's being weird without us."
As we rejoin them, Sofia catches my hand, squeezing once. A promise, an apology, an acceptance all in one gesture. The yacht cuts through the dark water toward home, toward whatever comes next, and I realize I'm not afraid.
The Rosettis chose me. More importantly, I chose them back.
Even knowing what's coming for Sofia, what shadows the Russians will bring to our door, tonight we're untouchable. Tonight, on this yacht beneath the stars, we're just a family.
Tomorrow, we'll be monsters again.
But tonight, we're home.
32 - Emma
The federal release facility looks nothing like I imagined.
I expected gray concrete, razor wire, armed guards with dead eyes. Instead, Tommy walks through a simple metal door into afternoon sunlight, blinking like a mole emerging from underground. He's thinner than I remember, shoulders hunched in a way that makes my chest ache, but he's alive. He's free. He's here.
Alessandro's hand finds the small of my back, steadying me when my knees threaten to buckle. "Go," he murmurs against my ear. "I'll wait."
I'm running before I make the conscious decision to move, my heels sinking into grass, designer dress be damned. Tommy sees me and freezes, his expression cycling through confusion, disbelief, and something that looks terrifyingly like hope.
"Em?" His voice cracks on the single syllable. "Emma, is that really—"
I crash into him hard enough to knock us both off balance, my arms wrapping around him like I can physically prevent anyone from ever taking him away again. He smells wrong—institutional soap and stale air—but underneath it, he's still my brother. Still the boy who taught me to find Orion from our fire escape when the world felt too big and too cruel.
"I'm sorry," I sob into his shoulder, words I've been holding for months finally spilling free. "I'm so sorry, Tommy. What I did, the lies I told, you don't know—"
"Hey." His hands find my face, tilting it up the way he used to when I was small and scared. His eyes are older now, haunted in ways I'll spend years trying to understand, but they're clear. Present. "Whatever you did, you did it for me. I know that. I've always known that."
"You don't understand." I pull back, needing him to see me clearly. The diamonds at my throat. The wedding ring on my finger. The black SUV idling behind us with armed guards and a mafia prince who's killed for me. "I married someone, Tommy. I became someone else entirely. I'm not—I'm not the person you remember."
Tommy's gaze travels past me to where Alessandro waits, leaning against the car with that predatory stillness that used to terrify me. His expression doesn't change, but I see him cataloging everything: the expensive suit, the barely concealed weapon, the way Alessandro watches me like I'm the only star in his sky.
"That's him?" Tommy asks quietly. "The Rosetti?"
"Yes."
