Chapter 7 - Balance RestoredTwo years later.
The sun was shining brilliantly over Lake Como, Italy, casting a warm, golden glow across the stone terrace of a secluded, sun-drenched villa nestled against the hillside.
There were no ledgers here. No shipments of industrial lye, no cartel bosses, and no federal warrants.
Inside the villa, the soft sound of classical piano drifted through the open French doors. On the patio, sitting at a wrought-iron table overlooking the sparkling blue water, I was busy reviewing a very different kind of spreadsheet—profit projections for our newly established European vintage bookstore and art gallery.
Footsteps approached softly from behind.
Strong, familiar arms wrapped around my waist, and a warm chin rested gently on my shoulder.
"Are you working again?" Larkin murmured into my ear, his voice rich and relaxed, entirely free of the cold, lethal tension he used to carry in Manhattan.
"I'm balancing the books, Mr. Steves," I smiled, leaning back against his chest, feeling the steady, comforting beat of his heart. "And for the record, our bookstore is actually making a legitimate profit. No money laundering required."
Larkin chuckled, kissing the side of my neck. "Good. Because Thomas sent a postcard from federal prison yesterday. He says he misses my spreadsheets."
I laughed, turning in his arms to face him. Larkin looked incredible—dressed in a casual linen shirt, his dark hair touched by the sun, looking every bit the free man he had fought so hard to become.
Across the terrace, the heavy oak doors opened, and our golden retriever bounded out, followed by a nanny carrying our six-month-old baby girl—who had inherited her father's dark hair and, much to Larkin's quiet amusement, my stubborn, unyielding stare.
Larkin scooped our daughter into his arms, lifting her high into the air as she giggled delightedly, before pulling me into his side with his free arm.
We stood together on the terrace, watching the boats drift lazily across Lake Como.
My friends had thought sending me to the Continental Hotel would ruin me. They had expected the ordinary secretary to crumble under the weight of the underworld.
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Instead, I had stepped into the dark, stared the devil in the eye, and taken over his entire kingdom.
And as Larkin pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my lips against the Italian sunset, I knew the balance of power had finally been restored. Permanently.
