Chapter 18 - The Aftermath of War
The estate felt entirely different the morning after the bloodbath at the shipyard.
The heavy, suffocating dread that had haunted the hallways was gone, replaced by a cautious, fragile peace.
I sat in the nursery rocking chair, bathed in the soft morning sunlight, holding a quietly babbling Leo.
My mother was downstairs in the kitchen, teaching Rosa how to make proper American pancakes, their laughter occasionally floating up the stairs.
The Volkov syndicate had completely fractured overnight, the remaining lieutenants scattering into hiding.
The war was truly over.
Dante walked into the nursery, dressed in a soft grey sweater that made him look remarkably human.
He didn't have a gun strapped to his shoulder, and the tension in his jaw had finally softened.
He stood near the doorway, watching me rock his son, his dark eyes filled with a complicated sorrow.
"My men have prepared a new identity for you and your mother," Dante said quietly, breaking the silence.
My rocking chair slowed to a halt.
"Passports, a house in Switzerland, and enough money to ensure you never have to work a shift at a restaurant again."
"You are free to leave, Mara."
I looked down at the baby in my arms, feeling a sharp, agonizing pain blooming in my chest.
"You're sending me away?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Dante crossed the room, dropping to one knee beside the rocking chair so we were eye-to-eye.
"I am keeping my promise," he corrected gently.
"I told you that if you stayed through the night, you would never be allowed to leave my world."
"But you fought for us, you bled for us, and you earned your freedom."
He reached out, his large, scarred hand gently stroking Leo's cheek.
"I will not force you to live in a cage, even if the door is left open."
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I looked at the man who had terrified me only a few weeks ago.
He was giving me exactly what I thought I wanted.
He was giving me my life back.
"Leo will forget me," I argued, my voice cracking with emotion.
"He will cry for a few days, but he is young," Dante lied, though his eyes betrayed the heartbreak he was feeling.
"He will survive."
"And you?" I asked, daring to reach out and touch the scar on his cheek.
Dante closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth of my palm like a starving man finding bread.
"I will survive," he whispered.
"I have done it before."
He stood up, kissing my forehead softly, a heartbreaking gesture of goodbye.
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"Your car leaves in an hour."
He walked out of the nursery, taking all the warmth in the room with him.
