Chapter 7 - Epilogue — The Kingdom We BuiltThe upstairs hallway echoed with the sounds of shouting and the unmistakable clack-clack of tactical gear moving up the stairs.
I bolted down the corridor toward Zach’s room, slammed the door shut, locked it with shaking fingers, and pushed a heavy mahogany dresser against the door.
Zach sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes, looking terrified in his superhero pajamas. “Aurora? What’s happening?”
“Hide in the secret panic room behind your bookcase right now, buddy,” I whispered fiercely, rushing over and pulling open the hidden panel. “Don't come out for anything. Understood?”
“Are the bad guys here?” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes.
“I’m going to make sure they never bother us again,” I promised fiercely, kissing his forehead before shoving him gently inside and sealing the panel shut.
Just as I turned around, the bedroom door exploded inward. Splintered wood flew across the room as two massive men in tactical vests and black balaclavas forced their way past the dresser.
Tony’s men. Survivors of the Brooklyn purge, looking for bloody revenge.
The first enforcer lunged forward, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back. I screamed out in pain, kicking backward with all my might, catching him square in the shins. He cursed, drawing a heavy hunting knife from his belt.
“The boss wants the girl alive,” the second thug snarled, stepping closer with a wicked grin. “He didn't say anything about her being in one piece.”
I braced myself, my heart pounding in my throat, ready to fight to my last breath.
Crash.
The remaining glass of the bedroom window shattered into a million glittering shards.
A dark, imposing figure vaulted through the second-story window from the balcony like an avenging angel.
Michael Moretti.
Before the thugs could even turn around, Michael moved with terrifying, lethal speed. He slammed his fist into the jaw of the man holding the knife, sending him crashing backward through the drywall.
The second man raised his weapon, but Michael caught his wrist, twisted it with a sickening crack, and drove his knee upward into the man’s chest. The enforcer collapsed like a sack of potatoes, unconscious before he hit the carpet.
In less than ten seconds, both armed mercenaries were neutralized.
Michael stood amidst the debris, his chest heaving, his suit jacket torn, and blood dripping from his knuckles. His gray eyes scanned the room wildly until they locked onto me.
“Aurora!”
He crossed the room in a blur, pulling me into his arms so hard I thought my ribs would crack. He buried his face in my neck, trembling slightly—the first time I had ever seen the invincible Michael Moretti show actual fear.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, pulling back to inspect every inch of my body. “Did they touch you?”
“I’m fine,” I gasped, tears finally spilling over my lashes as I grabbed his lapels. “Zach is safe in the panic room. But... Michael... it was Elena. She gave them the security codes. She’s working with Tony’s men.”
Michael’s face didn't register surprise. It registered a cold, dead fury that made the air in the room freeze.
“I know,” Michael whispered darkly. “My men detained her downstairs. She’ll never see the light of day again.”
He cupped my face in his hands, his gray eyes shining with fierce, unbreakable devotion. “You saved Zach.”
“He saved me first,” I whispered, smiling through my tears. “Remember? In the storage room.”
Michael chuckled, a rich, deep sound of pure relief, before pulling me into a fierce, passionate kiss right there in the ruined bedroom.
Two years later.
The sun was setting over the Manhattan skyline, casting a golden glow across the sprawling lawn of our new estate in Westchester.
I stood on the back porch, wearing a simple white sundress, watching a six-year-old boy in a custom little tuxedo run across the grass chasing a golden retriever, shouting that he was the fastest superhero alive.
From behind me, two strong arms wrapped around my waist, and a familiar chin rested comfortably on my shoulder.
“He’s going to exhaust the dog,” Michael murmured into my ear, his lips brushing my neck.
“He gets his stubbornness from his father,” I smiled, leaning back against his chest and resting my hands over the gentle curve of my five-month pregnant belly.
Michael smiled, turning me around so I was facing him. He slipped a heavy, diamond-encrusted platinum band onto my ring finger—matching the wedding band we had exchanged six months ago in a private ceremony surrounded by the people who actually loved us.
“Do you ever regret walking into that Italian restaurant in Brooklyn?” Michael asked softly, his gray eyes filled with a lifetime of love.
May you like
I smiled, looping my arms around his neck.
“Only that I didn't find your son sooner,” I whispered, before pulling him down for a kiss that made every terrifying, dangerous road we had traveled worth every single step.
