For the first time since my father's death, I can breathe freely.
I walk to the panic room and quickly unlock the door.
Hannah looks up when I enter, reading my expression immediately. "It's done?"
"It's done. They’re done. Your father’s name is cleared. And I'm out."
"Out?"
"Out. Alexei takes over. We're free, Hannah. All of us."
She stands slowly. "Free," she repeats, like testing the weight of the word.
"Free to build the life we want. Free to raise our children without this hanging over us. Free to be a family."
Tears stream down her face, but she's smiling. "Are you sure?"
"More sure than I've been about anything." I pull her into my arms. "I told you—you're not my weakness. You're my reason to fight. And sometimes, fighting means knowing when to walk away."
She kisses me, promising me the world with the press of her lips to mine. When we pull apart, Mila is watching us with curious eyes.
"Papa, are the bad men gone?" she asks.
"Yes, the bad men are gone."
"Good. Does this mean Hannah can stay forever?"
I look at Hannah, seeing my whole future in her eyes. "Yes."
EPILOGUE
HANNAH
Three Days After the Council Meeting
The car pulls up to my father's house—the same modest home in Lincoln Park where I grew up—and for a moment, I can't move.
"Take your time," Dante says from beside me. He's been patient through all of this, giving me space to process while making sure I never process alone.
"I don't know what to say to him." My voice comes out small, uncertain. "He lied to me my whole life."
"He protected you. There's a difference."
"Is there? He knew what you were. He knew and he never warned me. And then when you took me—" My voice breaks. "He couldn't even save me himself."
"He tried," Dante says quietly. "He came to my office ready to trade his life for yours. I turned him down."
I stare at him. "You never told me that."
"It wasn't my story to tell." Dante takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "Your father loves you, Hannah. He made impossible choices, and not all of them were right. But every choice he made was trying to keep you safe."
I think about it. Really think about it. My childhood was happy—soccer games and science fairs, family dinners and bedtime stories. Would any of that have been possible if I'd known the truth?
"No," I admit quietly. "I wouldn't have wanted to know."
"Then maybe you can forgive him for making the same choice you would have made."
I squeeze his hand and open the car door.
