“PUT THAT PEN DOWN! HE DOESN’T EVEN REMEMBER HIS OWN SON!” THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 48-YEAR-OLD NURSE FOR HELPING HIS ELDERLY FATHER SIGN THE FAMILY GUESTBOOK—BUT WHEN THE OLD MAN SCRATCHED THREE WORDS ACROSS THE PAGE, DOMINIC ROMANO STOPPED THE MUSIC. “CELESTE… WHAT IS IN THE BLUE BOTTLE?”

The muffled explosion shook the ground so violently I was thrown backward against the heavy steel door of the bunker.

Heat radiated through the brick walls of the tunnel. The incendiary gas had ignited, instantly vaporizing the server room and sweeping through the first floor of the estate.

The gunfire from above stopped immediately.

I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding in my throat. The ventilation fans kicked into overdrive, sucking the smoke out of the tunnels.

I hit the release button for the bunker. Julian and Lily rushed out, followed slowly by Salvatore and Dr. Harris.

“Is he alive?” Lily asked, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision.

Julian led the way, his gun drawn, as we cautiously moved up the hidden staircase toward the study.

The hidden panel was jammed from the blast. Julian kicked it twice, and it splintered open, revealing the devastation.

The grand estate was a smoldering ruin. The priceless rugs were ash. The walls were scorched black. The bodies of Carlo D’Amato’s men lay scattered across the foyer, caught in the flash-fire of the server destruction.

But the study, isolated by Salvatore’s override, was relatively untouched.

Standing in the center of the room, leaning heavily on the mahogany desk, was Dominic.

His face was covered in soot, his shirt ruined, and he was bleeding from a new cut on his forehead, but he was alive.

At his feet lay Carlo D’Amato, unconscious and zip-tied.

“Dominic!” I cried out.

He looked up, his exhausted eyes locking onto mine.

I ran across the room, ignoring the debris, and threw myself into his arms. He caught me, burying his face in my hair, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe.

“You did it,” Dominic rasped, his voice rough from smoke. “You burned it all down.”

“I had to,” I sobbed, gripping his shoulders. “I thought I lost you.”

Dominic pulled back, framing my face with his soot-stained hands.

“You will never lose me, Grace. Never.”

He kissed me. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was desperate, fierce, and filled with the promise of a man who had stared death in the face and survived only to come back to her.

When we finally broke apart, Julian walked into the room, kicking Carlo D’Amato’s unconscious body.

“It’s over,” Julian said. “The police sirens are coming up the driveway. But they’re our cops. They’ll clean this up.”

Dominic nodded. He walked over to his father, who was standing in the doorway.

“The servers are gone, Dad,” Dominic said softly. “The blackmail, the leverage, the illegal accounts. It’s all ash.”

Salvatore smiled, a genuine, peaceful smile.

“Good,” the old man said. “We don’t need it anymore. We build something clean now. For him.”

Salvatore patted Julian’s cheek. The young man looked stunned by the affection, his tough exterior finally cracking.

Arthur Bell was dragged up from the bunker by two surviving guards. He looked at the ruined house, his face pale with defeat.

“You have nothing left, Dominic,” Arthur spat, though there was no venom left in it. “You’re king of the ashes.”

“I have my family,” Dominic said coldly. “Take him away.”

The guards dragged Arthur out into the night.

As the sun began to rise over the Chicago skyline, casting a golden light through the shattered windows of the estate, the nightmare finally ended.

Celeste was arrested miles away, trying to flee the state. Arthur would spend the rest of his life in a dark hole Dominic owned. Carlo D’Amato’s empire was broken beyond repair.

The truth about my husband David was given to the authorities. His name was officially cleared. He wasn’t a criminal; he was a hostage who died protecting his family.

For the first time in three years, I felt the crushing weight of grief lift off my chest.

Dignity had been restored to my family.

I stood on the back terrace, watching Lily sit on a stone bench, wrapped in a blanket, talking quietly with Julian. She was safe. She was smiling.

Dominic walked out onto the terrace, two cups of coffee in his hands. He handed one to me. His arm was in a fresh sling, stitched up properly by Dr. Harris.

“What happens now?” I asked, leaning against the stone balustrade.

“Now, I rebuild,” Dominic said, looking out over the gardens. “Legally. Cleanly. I promised my father, and I promise you.”

He turned to me, his dark eyes softening.

“You’re still wearing the bracelet,” he noted, a small smile playing on his lips.

I looked down at the emeralds. “Your father said it meant I was the head of the family.”

“He was right,” Dominic said, stepping closer. He reached into his pocket. “But if you’re going to run this family with me, you need the matching set.”

He pulled out a stunning, simple diamond ring.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Grace,” Dominic whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved my father. You saved my nephew. You saved my life. I don’t want you as my nurse anymore. I want you as my wife.”

Tears spilled over my cheeks, but this time, they were purely of joy.

“Yes,” I breathed, throwing my arms around his neck.

Everything was perfect. The war was won.

But as Dominic slipped the ring onto my finger, a sharp, piercing ringtone broke the morning silence.

It was coming from the pocket of Arthur’s discarded suit coat, which had been left draped over a patio chair.

Dominic frowned. He walked over and pulled the burner phone from the pocket. He answered it, putting it on speaker.