Page 144 of Veil of Obsession

“This,” I say, offering my hand, “is ours.”

She doesn’t move at first. Then she steps out, slowly, eyes wide as they scan the palatial estate: the manicured gardens, the elegant gazebo by the pool, the fire pit still burning in the patio lounge.

“You bought this?”

I nod. “No more motels. No more running. We’ve got land. Privacy. Safety.”

She walks toward the house like she’s afraid it’ll vanish. Her hand grazes the stone railing; her mouth parted in disbelief. I scoop up Francesca out of her car seat. There’s a comfortable bed in there for her, something I should’ve given her from the moment she was born.

“And the inside?” she murmurs.

“C’mon.”

I lead her up the steps, through the carved wooden doors into the grand foyer. Crystal chandeliers glow above, soft golden light spilling over marble floors. The curved staircase sweeps across the entry like something out of a dream. Gold inlays. Antique vases. Velvet drapes. It’s warm, regal, like the kind of place made for fairytales and dangerous men.

Her heels click against the polished floors as she moves, slow and reverent.

“Lucio,” she whispers.

I stop beside her, hand resting on the small of her back. “Every room’s been redone. Security in place. Staff vetted. You have a dressing room the size of the old apartment.”

She stares at me. “You did all this while your daughter and I were sleeping in a room with burnt carpet and buzzing lights?”

I shrug. “You and our precious daughter deserved better. We all did.”

She looks like she’s going to cry. Instead, she turns and punches me lightly in the chest.

“You idiot. You beautiful idiot.”

I catch her hand, kiss her knuckles. “I know.”

She leans into me, and for the first time since we left New York—since we bled and broke and clawed our way out—she lets herself believe it.

We made it. This isn’t just survival anymore.

This is home.

The End