THE MAFIA BOSS NOTICED BLOOD ON THE WHITE ROSES HIS MAID WAS ARRANGING—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE CAUGHT HER HAND IN THE FRONT GATE,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHAT HAPPENED. I had almost finished arranging the flowers when the first drop of blood landed on a white rose.

One Year Later.

The afternoon sun poured through the massive bay windows of the sprawling lakeside estate just outside Chicago. The air smelled of fresh pine and the sweet scent of baking bread coming from the kitchen.

It was a world away from the dark, imposing mansion in the city.

I stood in the center of the bright living room, humming softly as I arranged a massive bouquet of flowers on the dining table.

There were no white roses. I hated white roses now.

Instead, the vase was filled with vibrant yellow sunflowers, bright pink peonies, and lush green ferns. They were messy, wild, and incredibly beautiful.

“Mom! Look!”

I turned around. Elias came sprinting into the living room, completely covered in mud, holding up a small, wriggling golden retriever puppy.

“Elias!” I laughed, dropping the scissors and rushing over. “You’re getting mud all over the rugs!”

“Dad said the dog could come inside if it was raining!” Elias argued, a massive, gap-toothed grin on his face.

He was six now. The quiet, terrified boy from the orphanage was gone. In his place was a loud, happy, wildly energetic child who loved dogs, baseball, and staying up entirely too late.

“I said the dog could come in if it was raining, monster,” a deep voice chuckled from the hallway. “It’s perfectly sunny outside.”

Adrian walked into the room. He was wearing faded jeans and a soft gray sweater, his sleeves rolled up to reveal a smattering of sawdust on his forearms. He had spent the morning in his workshop, building a treehouse in the backyard.

The feared mafia boss of Chicago was now a dedicated, fiercely protective father who built treehouses and argued with a six-year-old about muddy paws.

Elias giggled and ran toward the kitchen with the puppy, yelling for Margaret.

Margaret had moved in with us six months ago. She refused to live in the city anymore, preferring to bake cookies and spoil her grandson completely rotten.

Adrian walked over to me, wrapping his strong arms around my waist from behind. He rested his chin on my shoulder, looking at the flowers.

“No white roses?” he asked softly, placing a gentle kiss on my neck.

“Never again,” I smiled, leaning back against his solid chest.

The scar on my shoulder still ached on cold days, a permanent reminder of the night our lives shattered and reformed. But it was a small price to pay for the peace we had found.

Adrian had kept his word. The syndicate was entirely gone. He had surrendered the illegal assets, cooperated fully with the authorities, and walked away clean. Julian was serving a life sentence in a supermax prison, and Vanessa was locked away, entirely forgotten by the society she had tried to murder to impress.

We were just a family now.

“The lawyers called this morning,” Adrian said, turning me around to face him. His dark eyes were soft, filled with an overwhelming love.

“About the adoption papers?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.

Adrian smiled, a wide, genuine expression that lit up his entire face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy gold pocket watch. The same watch Elias had clutched in the orphanage.

Adrian flipped it open.

Inside the cover, he had added a new engraving beneath his own initials.

Elias Moretti-Bennett. Officially our son.

Tears immediately welled in my eyes. I covered my mouth with both hands, letting out a choked sob of pure joy.

I had raised him as my own for the last year, but to see it official—to know that no one could ever take him away from us—was a weight completely lifted from my soul.

“He’s ours,” Adrian whispered, pulling me tight against his chest. “Officially.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in his sweater.

“I love you,” I cried happily.

“I love you more,” Adrian promised, kissing the top of my head.

We stood there in the sunlight, holding each other in the quiet peace of the home we had built together. The dark days of the city, the violence, the secrets, and the fear were a lifetime away.

I looked over Adrian’s shoulder toward the kitchen, where Elias was laughing hysterically as the puppy licked his face, and Margaret was playfully scolding them both.

I wasn't a maid anymore. I wasn't hiding.

I was Olivia Moretti. I was a mother, a partner, and a survivor.