My pregnant sister looked me in the eyes and said, "Your seventeen-year-old son won't survive the night unless you give me what I want."

Two weeks later.

The sun was shining brightly through the window of the private hospital room.

Vincent was sitting up in bed, looking paler and thinner than I had ever seen him, but his eyes were clear. The heavy, dark shadow that had clouded his expression for the last seventeen years was gone.

He was holding a small silver spoon, trying to eat hospital Jell-O, and glaring at it as if it had insulted him.

"This isn't food, Evelyn," he grumbled. "This is an insult to my Italian ancestors."

I laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and took the spoon from him.

"You'll eat it and you'll say thank you," I teased.

He smiled softly, reaching out and taking my hand. His thumb traced the silver bracelet on my wrist.

"I never thought I'd see you wear that again," he whispered.

"Mom gave it to me," I said gently.

Vincent's smile faded slightly. "Evelyn... about your mother. I’m so sorry I couldn't tell you she was alive. Dominic was watching both of us. If you hadn't mourned her genuinely, he would have known she survived, and he would have hunted her down."

"I know," I said, leaning forward and resting my forehead against his. "I know why you did it, Vincent. All of it. Celeste told me everything."

He closed his eyes, releasing a long, heavy breath, as if a mountain had finally been lifted off his chest.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered. "When you slapped me in the ballroom... God, I wanted to tell you the truth so badly."

"I'm sorry I hit you."

"Don't be. I deserved it for letting Claire into your house."

The door opened, and Anthony walked in, carrying a large cardboard box. My mother was right behind him, carrying a bouquet of sunflowers.

"Hey, Dad," Anthony grinned. "We brought you actual food. Grandma made baked ziti."

Vincent’s eyes lit up. "Thank God for you, Rosa."

My mother smiled warmly, setting the flowers on the windowsill. "You took a bullet for my daughter, Vincent. You get ziti for life."

As we sat around the hospital bed, eating pasta off paper plates and laughing, I realized something beautiful.

For the first time since I married Vincent, there were no bodyguards outside the door. There were no hushed phone calls in the middle of the night. There was no fear lingering in the shadows of our home.

The syndicate was gone.

Dominic was behind bars.

The FBI had seized the illegal assets, and the legitimate businesses had been legally transferred to a blind trust for Anthony's future.

Vincent was legally a free man, having fulfilled his deal with the Bureau.

"So," Vincent said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Celeste brought the finalized witness protection documents this morning."

The room grew quiet.

"Where are we going?" Anthony asked.

Vincent looked at me, pulling a fresh, crisp envelope from his bedside drawer.

He opened it and pulled out three brand new passports.

And three plane tickets.

"We aren't going into hiding," Vincent smiled. "The Bureau agreed to let us relocate internationally."

He handed me the tickets.