Chapter 7 - The Family We ChoseSix months later.
The Greenwich estate looked entirely different.
The massive iron gates were still secure, and the security cameras were still active—because the underworld didn't just vanish overnight—but the inside of the mansion had been thoroughly reclaimed by life.
There were family photographs lining the grand hallway walls now. Fingerpaintings hung on the refrigerator. And the sound of children laughing echoed through the vaulted ceilings instead of breaking glass and screaming guards.
Down in the private garden overlooking the Long Island Sound, a wedding arch made of white roses and green ivy stood bathed in the golden afternoon sunlight.
Standing beneath the arch in a simple, elegant ivory dress was me.
And walking down the stone pathway toward me, holding a small velvet ring box while grinning from ear to ear, was best man Evan—with Caleb, Noah, and Luke trailing behind him in matching miniature tuxedos, arguing loudly over who got to carry the rings.
At the altar stood Adrian, wearing a sharp charcoal suit, his graying temples catching the sunlight, and an expression of such profound, unconditional love on his face that it made all the pain, the fear, and the dark nights feel like they had happened in another lifetime.
As I stepped up beside him, taking his warm, strong hand in mine, a bright, joyful cheer went up from the small gathering of friends and family—including Maya, healthy and smiling brightly in the front row.
Adrian leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as the minister began to speak.
“You survived the seventy-two hours, Nia,” he whispered, a warm, wicked smile touching his lips.
“Only because your sons gave me a C-minus on my first day,” I whispered back, resting my head against his shoulder.
It wasn't the fairy tale anyone in Chicago or Greenwich would have predicted for the ruthless mafia boss and the stubborn Boston social worker.
It was better.
May you like
It was real.
And for the first time in our lives, we were finally home.
