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Chapter

Thirty-Three

NEW YEAR BLUES

Madden

“The magic of this season can’t compare to the magic in his eyes.” — W

I t’s been a week. A week since I last had a hot cooked meal and the warmth of a family around me.

Now I’m all alone while the streets of Philadelphia are alive with the electric buzz of New Year’s Eve, but I feel like a ghost wandering through the crowds. The air bites at my skin, sharp and cold, making me shiver as I pull my jacket tighter around me.

The lights strung across the towering buildings twinkle like stars, but I can’t find any magic in them tonight. Maybe not ever.

With pain in my stomach, I pass by a few vendors selling hot dogs and pretzels. A pit of hunger gnaws at me, sharper than the cold. I touch my stomach but that doesn't make the pain go away. It only reminds me of how fucked I am.

The smell and warmth of the nearby food reminds me of my time with the O’Sullivan family.

I remember the way Mrs. O'Sullivan’s home cooked meals would fill the house with a cozy smell, how she’d always ask if I wanted seconds. I can almost hear her soft and gentle voice, full of kindness for an angry boy, but she's just a ghost now, fading with every step I take away from their lives.

As I keep walking the streets, my mind drifts back to the laughter of the O'Sullivan’s home, how they made me feel like part of their family, even if it was only for a little while. I squeeze my eyes shut against the angry tears that threaten to spill. Leaving them feels like I’m losing something I can’t get back.

Something precious.

I glance up at a digital clock on a nearby building, its hands creeping closer to midnight, each tick echoing in my chest like a reminder that a new year is fast approaching and I have nothing— no one. I wish I could just disappear into the crowd, leaving thoughts of Willow and the home I had for a short while—the place where I found safety and warmth. Now all of that is gone.

I shuffle along the snow-covered sidewalk, my shoes soaked from the slush, and I think about where to go next. The streets I’ve known all my life feel foreign now, each corner a reminder of what I’ve lost. I can’t ever go back to the O' Sullivan’s; I know that. But standing here, alone and hungry, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever find that warmth again.

I don’t think so…

As I walk, the chill of the night wraps around me, freezing not just my body but my heart. With each step, thoughts of Willow’s smile— the way it would light up whenever she saw me— become more distant, more painful, like a memory I can’t hold onto.

I can’t hold onto the magic of her.

Because that magic shattered when my miserable brother found me—found them. My stomach twists with that never fading anger at the thought of him, the way he threatened Willow and her mother. He didn’t care about the warmth they gave me, the way they treated me like family. All he saw was a chance to control me, to drag me back into the same shitty life where he could beat on me and starve me all he wanted. The bastard only thought of himself, his power over me, and it makes my blood boil. I should have been able to stay with my fairy, to feel safe, but instead, I’m all alone on these freezing streets, haunted by what could have been.

I could’ve had a real family.

A shot at a good life.

Now all of that is gone.

I want to scream, to make Milton understand how much he ruined everything, how he took away my chance at happiness.

But that would be useless, all I can do is keep walking while bitterness takes hold of my heart.

As I trudge down the street, the glow from a nearby Italian restaurant catches my eye. I pause, peering through the frosted glass. Inside, a family of six sits around a table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Everyone inside the restaurant is smiling, clinking their glasses while their faces are flushed with joy.

My stomach grumbles as I watch them savor their meals, and the sight of their appetizing food makes my mouth water. I can almost taste the roasted chicken, the buttery mashed potatoes, the tres leches cake.

I’m so hungry.

I look at the TV inside the restaurant and notice it’s almost midnight.

While my heart becomes cold and harsh, the atmosphere around me grows electric. The laughter and the cheer just mock me. When the clock strikes twelve, the dark sky erupts in a burst of color, fireworks lighting up the night. People cheer and embrace, their joy ringing through the air while feeling excited for the new year.

But instead of celebrating, I keep my head down while walking. I have to keep moving, find a place to escape the cold night and my next meal.

I think about where to go—maybe a warm alley, somewhere that protects me from the cold. Somewhere I can curl up and pretend I’m safe. I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, my breath visible in the cold air as I move further away from the laughter and light and toward the lonely, and painful dark.

Nine hours and fifty minutes. That’s how long it took me to get here. To my past.

I’m sitting in my car, staring at the mansion. Not the angry boy I used to be, but a man who’s actually made something of himself. Doesn’t matter how much I’ve accomplished, though—this place, it still holds some kind of power over me. Every inch of it still takes my breath away, like it did back then.

The mansion hasn’t changed one bit. The ivy’s still creeping up the stone walls, stubborn as hell, like it’s never going anywhere. If you follow those vines, they’ll lead you straight to the garden where I spent way too many goddamn hours as a kid.

The O’Sullivan Mansion.

Willow’s home.

Sunlight dances off the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, each flash of light reminding me of the magic this place held in my childhood imagination.

The magic Willow brought back to my life.

I glance at the gates, where two men—thugs in every sense of the word—guard the entrance. They size me up the second I pull into view, like I’m some kind of threat. I couldn’t care less. I’m not some kid anymore. I’m a man. Not a boy. And that means I don’t flinch at their scrutiny.

One of them opens his mouth. “State your business.”

I don’t even blink. “I’m here to see… the Godfather.”

They glance at each other, probably trying to figure out if they’ve seen my face before. I don’t give them the satisfaction of speaking up. After a beat, one of them asks, “Your name?”

“Madden,” I mutter, hands in my pockets. “Madden Hunt.”

The bigger, meaner one pulls out his phone. No doubt calling their boss. He probably wants to double-check if it’s safe to let me through.

It feels like I’m waiting for a century, but eventually they step aside. The gates creak open like an old door that’s been stuck shut for far too long, and I drive through.

The mansion brings back a flood of memories but I push them back as I focus on the man standing at the entrance. Willow’s father. The Godfather himself.

He’s got his tattooed arms crossed over his chest, a permanent scowl carved into his face. He hasn’t changed a damn bit. He’s still as imposing as I remember, radiating the same kind of power that had me second-guessing every move I made in his home as a kid. The man doesn’t need to say anything. Just standing there, looking like he could rip you apart with a glance, is enough.

It’s ironic how the face I love most in the world is an exact replica of this man. Willow might have her mother’s curls, heart and personality but that face of hers is all her father.

I turn off the engine and step out of the car, the gravel crunching under my sneakers. I pause for a second. More memories flood in—me following Willow through the gardens toward her mother’s greenhouse, watching her giggle while looking up at me as if she thought the world of me.

Although a sweet memory, that was years ago.

Now, here I am. Facing the man who runs this place. All for his daughter.

Riagan locks eyes with me, and I feel it—the weight of his hard stare, like he’s peeling back layers, searching for the kid he allowed inside of the walls of his world. Maybe he’s trying to find out if I’m the same angry little shit, or if I’m someone different. Hell, I don’t even know what he sees. I don’t really care. I’m just here for his daughter—the woman who owns my soul.

“Why are you here?” His voice cuts through the air, low and sharp, each word a challenge, like he’s daring me. There is no doubt in my mind about the power this man holds over not only his home but the city.

“I come to talk about Willow.”

“No,” he spits out, without a second thought, like her name falling out of my mouth offends him.

“I’m not leaving her until you agree.”

His eyes—the same shade as Willow’s— narrow harshly, and I can see the gears turning in that thick skull of his, calculating. “Agree to what exactly?”

“To give me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

That shuts him up for a second. His stare doesn't break. It’s like he’s trying to see into my very soul. Good luck, man. The only one who’s ever gotten that far is his daughter. No one else. And no one ever will. Only my Wild One.

His scowl deepens, his lips pulling tight into a line like he’s holding back from using his gun on me. From all the way here, I can feel the protectiveness radiating off him. And I get it. I get it more than most. He's been guarding her since the day she was born. Willow and her mother are this man’s heart.

"I’ve loved her since the moment she wrapped her little hand around my finger the day she was born," he mutters, voice soft but hard. "I'd give that girl my whole heart if she needed it."

I don't flinch. No way in hell. I stand my ground, meet his stare, and say it, like I mean every word of it.

“I’ll take care of her,” I say, my voice low and firm. "I’ll never stop. She’s my heartbeat."

For a moment, his face softens—just a flicker, just long enough for me to see it. The father behind the Godfather. The protector. The man who would rip the heart from his chest if his daughter ever asked for it.

But then, just as quickly, he shields it again. The mask goes back on, all hard business. The Godfather of this city is back. And me? I’m still standing here, asking for what’s mine. My heart. My light.

And I won’t leave without it.

As Willow’s father glares at me, silent as stone, a soft rustling catches my attention from the side, where the garden sprawls in its untamed beauty just like I remember. There, emerging from between the wildflowers that Willow loves so much, is Mrs. O’Sullivan—dirt-smudged hands, her yellow apron stained, but still, somehow, the very picture of grace.

The moment her unfocused eyes land on me, they widen in surprise, and for a brief, fleeting second, I’m a kid again—standing in her kitchen, surrounded by the warmth of her kindness as she stacked my plate with her famous waffles.

Before I can even react, she crosses the space between us, and then, without a second thought, she wraps me up in a hug so tight, it nearly knocks the breath out of me.

Fuck…

At first, I freeze, stiff and caught off guard by the unfamiliar touch, but I remember her soft laughter filling the air, the way she used to call me sweet boy, and that gentle smile of hers that never seemed to fade. This kind and lovely woman birthed the person who owns me fully.

Slowly, I relax into her warm embrace, my arms finally wrapping around her small frame.

When she pulls back, her green eyes are soft, sparkling with something bittersweet. “I always wanted to do that,” she says, her voice soft, almost wistful. Her smile lingers, but there's a sadness to it too.

I don’t know what to say. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice a little rougher than I intend.

She smiles again, but this time, it’s brighter. Her eyes flicker to the ground for a moment before she looks back up at me. “Give you a big hug.”

A…hug?

That’s what she always wanted to do?

My chest tightens. I still can’t find the right words, the flood of emotion catching me off guard. Then, as if instinctively, she taps my chest three times—just like Willow has done.

“You love my girl?” she asks, her voice light but knowing, like she already knows the answer.

I swallow, trying to steady myself before I reveal my heart’s secrets. “With my life.”

“Sweet boy,” Her eyes glisten, and in that moment, I can see everything she’s ever hoped for Willow, all the love and the longing wrapped up in that one look. She nods slowly. “It was always you for her,” she whispers, so quietly it feels like the world itself has stopped to listen. “I’m glad she’s the one for you…” She steps back and I feel a wave of gratitude crashing into me. Relief too.

I had to get her parent’s blessings because I knew it was the right thing… for her and for them.

I’m a man used to getting everything he wants but her hand couldn't be something to be taken. I need their blessing.

I glance over at Riagan, and the sight of him pulling the love of his life close makes something in my chest tighten. He wraps a large arm around her, pulling her in so naturally, so protectively, and leans down to kiss the top of her head. The tenderness of the gesture hits me harder than I expect. It’s a sharp contrast to the cold, ruthless world they live in—a world where you wouldn't think love has a place, but here it is, thriving and lasting.

Mrs. O’Sullivan smiles up at him, her face lighting up with love.

To some they might not look conventional. Him with that hard look and all those tattoos and her so small and gentle.

Such a lovely and kind woman captured the heart of a known criminal.

It’s a reminder that love has a way of softening even the hardest edges, turning them into something beautiful.

Just like that, my thoughts drift to Willow—my fairy. The first time I saw her, her enchanting laughter filled the empty space in my soul like music. Her kindness pierced through the walls I’d built up over the years. She did to me what her mother did to her father—she softened the hard edges of my heart and brought it back to life in a way I never thought possible.

She’s my sunshine after a long, harsh winter. She melted every barrier and made my heart hers.

Still looking at them, I take a deep and slow breath. There’s so much I want to say but the words feel heavy on my chest. I let them out, one by one, with more sincerity than I even knew I was capable of. How that woman has changed me. “You offered me a home when everyone else gave up on me, even my own family. You never gave up, even when I didn’t make it easy on you. Even if it only lasted a little while, you gave me a home. Your daughter is my home now. Thank you... for her.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I watch Riagan’s face shift. His expression softens, a flicker of understanding passing between us. It’s subtle, but it’s there—like he sees more than just my circumstances back then. For a moment, the air between us feels thick with emotion, like something important has just been shared between the three of us.

Riagan clears his throat and speaks, his voice unexpectedly kind. “You did well for yourself, kid. You should be proud.”

The compliment catches me off guard, and for a moment, I just stand there, unsure how to respond. I didn’t know how to react to a compliment from him. I didn’t expect it, but it means more than I can put into words.

I nod, his unexpected approval settling in my chest. But just as quickly, the atmosphere shifts again. There’s something else in his gaze, something sharp and unyielding.

Riagan’s tone turns serious. “With that said,” he continues, voice low and measured, “you hurt my girl... I’ll bury you in my butterfly’s garden.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with threat. I meet his gaze without flinching, my own resolve hardening. “I’ll never hurt her,” I say, my voice steady, unwavering. “I’ll cut my heart out before I ever do.”

Mila’s hand tightens in Riagan’s grip, her eyes widening, but I can see it in her father’s gaze—there’s belief there, even if it's wrapped in a layer of caution. He’s testing me. Probing, as fathers do, to see if I’m truly worthy of the most precious thing in his world: his daughter’s heart.

“I’ll spend the rest of my days proving to her that I worship the ground she walks on,” I say, the weight of my promise settling between us like an unspoken vow. It’s simple, but it feels like the truth of me, the truth of how I’ll spend the rest of my life.

Riagan studies me for a long moment, his gaze sharp, measuring, but I can see the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. Finally, he nods once, slow and deliberate. “Good. Because she deserves the world.”

“And I intend to give it to her,” I reply, my voice steady, the resolve in my chest unwavering.

Mila, standing beside her husband, swoons at my words, her eyes sparkling. She looks up at her husband, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “I told you, Giant. That trip would change our baby’s life.”

Riagan smiles down at her with love. “You did, sweetheart.”

She beams at him. And then she turns to me. “Now she has her very own grump with a sweet heart.”

Her words make me smile, reminding me so much of her daughter. My Willow.

Relieved with how things turned out, I walk toward them, my hands a little shaky as I pull out a folder from under my arm. I hold it out to Mrs. O’Sullivan, my fingers trembling just enough for her to notice.

“What’s wrong?”

“For you.”

“What’s this?” she asks, her brow furrowing in confusion as she takes the folder from me.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Inside, there are papers stating that I’m giving you twenty-five butterfly conservatories in your name, all around the world.”

Mila blinks at me, her expression flickering between confusion and surprise. “Butterfly conservatories? W-what? Why?”

I feel a little awkward. I clear my throat again, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “You give butterflies a safe place to thrive and so much love and care,” I say, the words slow, deliberate. “Just like you did for me, for a while, before I had to leave. Now, I want to give that back to as many butterflies as I can. In your name, of course.”

Her eyes widen as she begins to process what I’m saying. The realization dawns on her slowly. “You mean... because of that? You want to help protect butterflies?”

I could care less about the damn bugs but they make this woman and her daughter happy so be it.

I nod. “You showed me kindness when I needed it most. This is my way of thanking you.”

Her expression shifts, the confusion fading to awe. I watch as she opens the folder, her eyes scanning the papers inside, and I see the exact moment it clicks for her. Her breath catches, and before she can say anything, tears start to well in her lovely eyes.

“Oh, sweet, sweet Madden… this is incredible,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. “You didn’t have to do this. I never expected anything back.”

I clear my throat suddenly feeling shy under her moving gaze. “I know but you’re giving me my heart. This is the least I can do.”

Her eyes lock with mine, and in that moment, it feels like everything I’ve been through—every moment of sadness, every punch, everything ugly—has led to this.

“This is the most beautiful gift anyone has ever given me. Thank you, truly.” Her words land deep in my chest, the sincerity of them wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

I never had a mom but Mila O’Sullivan is all I ever could’ve hoped for if I did have one.

Riagan stands quietly beside his wife and doesn’t speak at first, but I see the pride in his eyes. A proud smile spreads across his face, and that little flicker of respect passes between us once more. In that look, I know I’ve earned something from him—maybe not the whole of his trust, but it’s a start.

Willow’s mom hugs the folder to her chest, her joy lighting up her face. “You’ve made this day even more special, Madden. I can’t wait to share this with Willow.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I take a deep breath, knowing that the next words I speak will change everything. The weight of them presses on me, but I’m not backing down now.

“About Willow...” I begin, and both Mila and Riagan turn their full attention to me, their faces instantly shifting to concern.

“I need you to come with me.”

Mrs. O’Sullivan’s brow furrows slightly. “Where are we going?”

“S?o Paulo.”

With that, I have Willow’s parents’ blessing to make her mine forever and now I just need the love of my fucking life to say yes.