The mountain quiet settles around us. Inside these walls, there is only the sound of our breathing and the beat of our hearts. The ring on her finger glints in the moonlight—a small, steady flame in the dark.
We are the Costas. We are the survivors. And we are just getting started.
I lay her down on the sheets, my body following hers, my hands mapping every inch of her skin as if I’m learning a new language. She meets me with equal fervor, her voice whispering my name. There is no war here. There is only this connection.
The night is long, and finally, I’m not waiting for the dawn to bring a new threat. I’m just waiting for the dawn so I can see her face again.
Mine. In the light. In the mountains. Forever.
29
AMARA
The platinum band is a constant,cooling pressure on my finger, an anchor for a woman who has spent a decade treating her life like a series of layovers. Alessio’s hand stays locked with mine, his thumb tracing the ridge of my knuckles as the family erupts.
Shouting brothers and laughing wives fill the air, their voices competing with the sharp, pine-scented wind. The Chicago grime has been washed away by the altitude and the sheer force of the Costa brothers claiming this ridge as their own.
Dominic barks orders about the trucks, his voice booming over the hemlocks. The natural light carves deep lines around his eyes, but the tension that usually hitches his shoulders to his ears has finally frayed. Beside him, Sienna points toward the main house, her hands moving in arcs as she envisions gardens where there is currently only wild brush.
The structure is a massive collision of stone and cedar, something that grew out of the mountainside rather than being built upon it. It’s a fortress, but the iron bars and reinforced concrete of the city are gone, replaced by wood-burning stoves and the promise of a long winter.
"You're shaking," Alessio murmurs. His voice is a low vibration, intended only for me. He doesn't look away, ignoring Matteo’s attempt to clap him on the shoulder. He is a wall of heat at my back, a solid barrier against the world.
"The altitude is thin, and your family is a riot," I snap, though my heart beats a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
He huffs a laugh. "They’re quiet today. Wait until the wine comes out. This is the first time in twenty years they haven't had to scan for snipers. They don't know what to do with the silence yet."
The ring’s amber stone catches the light, clear and deep. It’s a piece of my brother, a fragment of the grief I once carried like a jagged stone in my pocket, now polished and set into a future. Alessio didn't just give me a piece of jewelry; he gave me a way to carry Curtis without the weight of a vendetta dragging me into the dirt.
The move is a blur of coordinated precision. Boxes are hauled and furniture is shuffled, but the talk isn't about perimeter sweeps or dead zones. They’re arguing about bedroom views and where the professional-grade oven for Matteo should go. The silence of the great room is too loud, a sharp contrast to the sirens and gunfire that usually soundtrack my life. My nylon bag sits at my feet, a scuffed reminder of a life lived out of a trunk.
"Amara."
A woman stands by the massive stone hearth. She has the dark, striking features of the Costa line, but a wildness in her eyes suggests she’s seen the edge of the world and decided to live there. She’s dressed in rugged clothes, her boots dusted with mountain soil.
"Lucia," Alessio says, stepping forward to pull her into a brief, fierce embrace.
The sister. The one who left. She pulls back, her gaze sliding to me, measuring me against a standard I didn't know existed. Then her face softens, a small smile tugging at her mouth.
"The one who brought down Vane," she says, her voice rich and steady. "I heard you were fast on your feet."
"Fast enough to stay ahead of the ghosts," I say, my voice more stable than I expected.
Lucia steps closer, a calm center in the middle of the family’s storm. "The moving doesn't stop because you run out of road. It stops because you find a reason to stay. I thought the only way to be safe was to be alone, to keep moving so the shadows couldn't catch me. But then I found this place. I found men who didn't want to cage me, but who wanted to be the ground I stood on."
She looks toward the window, where the sun begins to dip behind the jagged peaks. "You’re the reason my brother is finally breathing. Look at him."
Across the room, Alessio talks to Enzo, his posture relaxed. The guarded mask he wore in Chicago has cracked, revealing the man underneath—the healer who finally has nothing left to hide.
"It takes time to trust the walls," Lucia continues, her voice dropping. "To realize that the doors are unlocked because you choose to stay, not because you're trapped. If you ever need to just walk until your legs ache, come find me at the MC compound. We have plenty of space for people learning how to be home."
She squeezes my arm before disappearing back into the chaos of her brothers. She is living proof that a woman can survive the Costa legacy and come out the other side with her soul intact.
"What did she say?" Alessio asks, reappearing at my side and picking up my bag.
"She offered to take me hiking if you get too annoying."
"She’s a bad influence," he grumbles, though there’s no heat in it. He leads me up the wide timber staircase to a room at the end of the hall. It’s massive, with a wall of glass looking out over the valley and a fireplace already stocked with wood.
