I don't move. I’m paralyzed by the sudden shift in the world's axis. My mission is over. My leverage is gone. My father—the only reason I was ever in Rafael’s bed—is a memory. I look at Rafael and I don't see a sanctuary; I see a man I spied on. I see a man who just committed murder for a woman who has been photographing his life.
I wait for the coldness to return to his eyes. I wait for him to realize that now that the job is done, I’m just a De Luca liability with a head full of Brotherhood secrets. I’m waiting for the executioner to turn his gaze on me.
But Rafael doesn't reach for his gun. He reaches for his pocket. His phone is buzzing.
"Matteo," he says, his voice a low, gravelly scrape as he answers. He listens for three seconds, his eyes never leaving mine. "Confirmed? Good. Tell Enzo to burn the vehicles. Secure the perimeter of the Villa. The Irish are finished. I’m bringing the girls home."
He ends the call and tucks the phone away. The O'Rourkes are dead. The De Lucas are decimated. And Rafael Caruso is the undisputed King of the East.
He looks at Laura, who is peeking out from behind my leg. The little girl is staring at him with wide, wonder-filled eyes. She’s seen the violence, but she isn't crying. She’s looking at him like he’s the hero from my stories.
Rafael’s expression softens. He doesn't just look at her; he lowers himself, dropping to one knee so he’s on her level. He looks like a blood-stained king kneeling before a princess.
"Laura," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle, devoid of the gravel it usually carries. "You’re safe now. Do you know who I am?"
Laura takes a hesitant step forward, her small hand reaching out toward him. "You’re the man who saved Gia."
Rafael’s jaw hitches. He doesn't pull away when her tiny fingers graze the blood on his cheek. "I’m the man who’s taking you both home. I promised your sister I’d keep you safe, and a Caruso never breaks a promise. You want to see the gardens? I have ahorse named Vindice who would love to meet a girl as brave as you."
Laura’s face lights up with a fragile, beautiful hope. She turns to me, looking for permission. "Can we go, Gia? Can we go with the horse man?"
I nod, the tears finally breaking through. "Yes, Sweetie Pie. We can go."
Rafael stands up and walks toward me. He stops three feet away, his presence a physical heat that grounds me. He looks at the blood on my face, and then he reaches out. He cups my face with his good hand, his thumb grazing the tear tracking down my cheek.
"I told you," he whispers. "I’ve got you. Both of you. Always."
I collapse into him then. I bury my face in his chest, feeling the frantic, powerful beat of his heart through the ruined fabric of his shirt. Laura is caught between us, her small hands clutching both of our tactical vests. For the first time in my life, I don't feel like a ghost. I don't feel like a trade.
I feel like a woman who has finally found her way home.
The sun is beginning to rise over the jagged Atlantic coastline as we walk out of the compound.
The world looks different in the morning light—the orange and pink streaks in the sky making the grey stone of the De Luca fortress look like it’s finally crumbling. The Brotherhood has won. The O'Rourkes are gone—Matteo’s men already confirmed Enzo finished Killian in the courtyard—and the De Lucas are a memory.
Matteo and Enzo are waiting by the cars, their faces grim but satisfied.
"The summit is secured, Rafe," Matteo says, his gaze moving to Laura and me. "The territories are ours. Salvatore is dead. Killian is dead. The war is over."
Rafael doesn't answer. He just helps Laura into the back of the SUV, making sure she’s buckled in and handing her his own heavy jacket to use as a blanket. Then he turns to me.
"We're going home, little Gia," he murmurs, his hand finding mine and locking our fingers together.
"Yes," I say, a small, genuine smile tugging at my lips. "Let's go home."
As the car peels away from the ruins of my father’s legacy, I look at the man sitting beside me. The Butcher. The husband. The man who burned the world down just to give me a moment of peace.
The countdown is over. The ghosts are gone. And for the first time in nineteen years, the silence isn't heavy.
It’s full of a future I’m finally ready to write.
CHAPTER 40
GIA
The compound smells like a hospital that’s been built inside a fortress—all antiseptic, gun oil, and the lingering, metallic ghost of a war that ended only a few hours ago.
I’m sitting on the edge of a velvet armchair in the guest suite of Matteo’s estate, my hands folded so tightly in my lap that my knuckles are white. I’ve scrubbed the blood off my skin until it turned a raw, angry pink, but I can still feel the weight of it. Every time I close my eyes, I see the single red bloom on Salvatore’s forehead. I see the light leaving the eyes of the man who turned me into a ghost.
