Chapter 9 - A Place to Call Home
Six months later.
The summer sun shone brightly over Falcone Manor, painting the blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean in dazzling shades of silver and turquoise. The cold rain and dark shadows that had once haunted the estate were completely gone, replaced by the warm coastal breeze and the laughter of a young girl echoing across the lawn.
My eighteen-year-old sister, Daisy, was sitting in a comfortable wheelchair on the freshly paved garden terrace, laughing as Declan attempted to teach her how to throw a football.
“No, no, tilt your wrist!” Declan shouted playfully, catching the leather ball as Daisy threw a wobbly pass. “You’re throwing it like a sack of potatoes, kid!”
“Hey! That sack of potatoes almost hit you in the face!” Daisy teased back, her cheeks rosy and full of life.
Thanks to the state-of-the-art medical wing the brothers had constructed on the adjacent estate—and the world’s top specialists Roman had flown in—Daisy’s condition had improved dramatically. She was officially in full remission, her strength returning a little more every day.
I stood by the French doors of the drawing room, holding two glasses of lemonade, watching them with a profound sense of happiness.
A pair of strong arms slid around my waist from behind, pulling my back gently against a broad, warm chest. Roman rested his chin on my shoulder, breathing in the scent of my hair.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Roman whispered into my ear, his deep voice sending a familiar, wonderful shiver down my spine.
“I’m just watching them,” I smiled, leaning my head back against his shoulder. “Six months ago, I was sleeping in a freezing apartment wondering if I’d be homeless the next day. Now my sister is throwing a football at a former mob boss.”
“Legitimate logistics CEO,” Roman corrected with a quiet laugh, kissing the side of my neck softly. “Get it right, Miss Carter.”
Gabriel stepped out onto the terrace, wearing a pair of stylish sunglasses and holding a tablet. “Roman, the shipping manifests for the new green fleet just cleared European customs. We’re officially operating at one hundred percent clean capacity.”
Roman turned slightly, keeping his arm firmly around my waist. “Good work, Gabriel. What about the old Syndicate properties in New York?”
“Sold off,” Gabriel grinned, tossing a pair of car keys up and down in his hand. “Don Moretti tried to buy them at a discount, but I outbid him and donated the land to a children’s hospital. He’s furious.”
“Excellent,” Roman smiled.
Gabriel looked at me, winking playfully. “By the way, Maeve, the head chef we hired for the manor staff is complaining again.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Complaining about what?”
“He says you keep sneaking into his kitchen at five in the morning to make cast-iron potatoes,” Gabriel teased. “He says it’s hurting his professional pride.”
“Tell him if he can make them better than my mother’s recipe, I’ll stay out of his kitchen,” I retorted with a grin.
“He can’t,” Declan called out from the lawn, walking over with the football tucked under his arm and Daisy wheeling right beside him. “Nobody makes them like Maeve.”
We all gathered on the sunlit terrace, the five of us sitting around the outdoor teak table. Looking at everyone, I realized how much had changed. The Falcone brothers were no longer feared monsters living in isolation. They were men who had found purpose, peace, and love.
Declan took a long sip of his lemonade, looking out over the ocean cliffs. “So, Maeve... now that Daisy is doing great and the business is clean... what’s your next move?”
I set my glass down, looking over at Roman, who was watching me with intense, loving eyes.
“I registered for classes at Boston University this morning,” I announced proudly. “I’m starting a degree in business administration in the fall.”
Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Future CEO of Falcone Logistics right here.”
“Don't give her ideas,” Roman joked gently, wrapping his fingers tightly in mine under the table. “She’s already running this house. If she takes over the company, I’ll be out of a job.”
“You’d make a terrible maid, Roman,” I teased back. “You don't even know how to use a mop.”
“I don't need to know how to mop,” Roman murmured softly, leaning in close so only I could hear. “I just need to know how to keep you.”
That night, after Daisy had gone to sleep in her sunny room in the medical wing, Roman and I walked along the cliffside path overlooking the ocean. The moon cast a silvery ribbon across the dark waves below.
We stopped at the edge of the overlook, where the gentle sound of the tide washed against the rocks.
Roman pulled a small velvet box from his coat pocket. He didn't drop to one knee with a grand, theatrical gesture—he simply opened the box, revealing a breathtaking ring featuring an heirloom sapphire surrounded by delicate diamonds that caught the moonlight.
“My mother owned this,” Roman said softly, his voice trembling slightly with rare vulnerability. “When Carmine took everything from our home, I hid this ring beneath the floorboards in my room. I swore I would only give it to a woman who had the strength, the heart, and the soul to fix what my father broke.”
He looked up, his deep gray eyes searching mine.
“Maeve Carter... you saved my life. You saved my brothers. Will you marry me?”
Tears of pure joy overflowed down my cheeks. I didn't need forty-eight hours to think about it. I didn't even need forty-eight seconds.
May you like
“Yes,” I whispered, stepping into his arms. “Yes, Roman. Always.”
As he slid the sapphire ring onto my finger and pulled me into a deep, passionate kiss beneath the stars, I knew my mother was looking down on us with a smile. She hadn't just left me a recipe box—she had led me straight to the home, and the love, I was always meant to have.
