“I’ve been surviving, Roman,” Claire said, her voice barely carrying above the low hum of the exposed pipes running along the basement ceiling.

Six months later.

Spring had arrived in Vermont.

Nestled on a hillside overlooking a serene, glass-like lake sat a rustic timber house, completely isolated from the world by acres of lush green pine forests. There were no security guards in dark suits standing at the gate. There were no armored SUVs parked in the driveway. There was only a silver station wagon and the sound of wind rustling through the trees.

Claire stood on the wrap-around porch, sipping a hot cup of tea as she watched the morning mist rise off the lake.

She looked radiant. The hollow exhaustion that had carved her face in Chelsea was gone, replaced by healthy, glowing skin and a bright, quiet peace in her brown eyes.

From inside the house, the sound of soft babbling echoed.

Claire turned to see Roman walking out onto the porch, carrying six-month-old Leo in his arms. The baby was dressed in a soft yellow onesie, his bright blue eyes wide with curiosity as he babbled happily, his chubby hands grabbing at Roman’s shirt collar.

Roman looked entirely different. His dark hair was slightly longer, unstyled, and he wore a simple grey cardigan over a flannel shirt. The cold, lethal edge that had defined his face for fifteen years had melted away, replaced by the quiet softness of a father deeply devoted to his child.

“He woke up early,” Roman said, his voice warm as he bounced the baby gently on his hip. “I think he wants to see the ducks.”

Claire laughed softly, stepping over to press a kiss to Roman’s cheek, then leaning in to kiss Leo’s chubby, soft cheek, making the baby giggle uncontrollably.

“He takes after his father,” Claire teased. “Demanding and persistent.”

“I resemble that remark,” Roman smiled, wrapping his free arm tightly around Claire’s waist, pulling her close against his side.

They stood together on the porch, watching the sun break over the mountains, casting a golden light over the lake.

“Do you ever miss it?” Claire asked softly, leaning her head against his broad chest. “Boston? The power? The life?”

Roman looked down at her, then looked at his son, who was currently trying to chew on Roman’s thumb.

“I spent my whole life thinking power was having thousands of men fear your name,” Roman said quietly, his thumb gently stroking Leo’s soft head. “I was a fool, Claire. Power is having the privilege to protect the people you love. Everything else was just noise.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

Claire stopped breathing, looking up at him in surprise.

Roman opened the box. Resting inside was her plain gold wedding band, polished until it shone like brand-new star, completely free of the scratches and dirt from that cold Chelsea curb.

“You stopped wearing it because you were afraid,” Roman said, taking the ring out of the box and lifting her left hand. “I want you to wear it again. Not as a symbol of who I used to be, but as a promise of who I will be for the rest of my life.”

Tears of pure happiness welled in Claire’s eyes as Roman gently slid the gold band back onto her ring finger.