Chapter 7 - The Crown and the HearthThree months later, the spring sun was pouring through the massive bay windows of the Calder estate, casting a golden glow across the polished oak floors.
The federal trial of Julian Vance had concluded the week before, resulting in a swift, unappealed forty-year sentence in a maximum-security federal penitentiary. The Vance Logistics assets had been legally unfrozen, restored, and formally handed back to my father, who was currently living comfortably in a quiet coastal home in Maine, finally at peace.
And here, in Boston, the underworld had settled into a fragile, unbreakable equilibrium. The Rossi syndicate had quietly backed down after realizing that attacking a Moretti-Calder alliance was corporate suicide.
In the sunroom overlooking the private rear gardens, I stood adjusting the sterile dressings on a small, neat surgical scar along Rafe’s right ribs.
“Hold still,” I scolded lightly, pressing a piece of medical tape down over the gauze. “You’ve been lifting heavy crates at the shipping docks again, haven't you?”
Rafe sat comfortably in a leather armchair, wearing an open-collared linen shirt, looking entirely relaxed. He caught my wrist, stopping my hands, and gently pulled me down onto his lap.
“I was supervising, not lifting,” Rafe murmured, wrapping his massive arms securely around my waist, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “Though I admit, the temptation to punch one of the foremen was high.”
I laughed, resting my hands against his broad shoulders. “You’re incorrigible. You’re supposed to be a retired crime lord enjoying a peaceful morning.”
“I’m not retired,” Rafe chuckled darkly. “I’m just... domestic.”
Before I could retort, the heavy oak doors of the sunroom swung open.
June Calder walked in, holding a stack of wedding invitations embossed with silver lettering, looking radiant and entirely recovered from the chaos of the Hawthorne gala.
“Alright, you two lovebirds,” June announced with a bright grin, dropping the heavy stack of envelopes onto the coffee table right in front of us. “We need to finalize the guest list for the catering hall. And before Rafe tries to invite every armed enforcer from here to Providence, I’m putting my foot down: maximum three hundred guests, and absolutely no bazookas allowed at the reception.”
Rafe let out a long, dramatic sigh, resting his chin on my shoulder. “There goes my dream of an explosive entrance.”
I laughed, picking up one of the silver-embossed invitations and opening it.
Dr. Harper Vance & Rafael Calder.
Beneath the names, the date was set for early autumn—a season of crisp air, bright leaves, and a brand-new beginning.
I looked from the invitation up at June, who was smiling warmly, and then down at the massive, terrifying, fiercely devoted man holding me in his arms.
Four years ago, I had run away from Boston with nothing but a bruised heart and a shattered family name. I had thought my story was over.
May you like
Instead, standing here in the heart of the empire with the man who owned every beat of my pulse, I realized my story was only just beginning.
I turned my head, pressed a soft, lingering kiss against Rafe’s scarred cheek, and smiled as he pulled me tighter against his chest, ready to face whatever came next—together.
