My name is Dominic Romano. In New York, men knew better than to make me repeat myself.

Six months later.

The morning sun washed over the coast of Cape Cod, painting the deep blue Atlantic ocean in shimmering hues of gold and amber.

A small, beautiful coastal house sat nestled among the sand dunes, miles away from the cold concrete, dark alleys, and bloody streets of New York City. There were no armed guards at the gate. No encrypted cameras in the trees. No weapons hidden under the sofa cushions.

I sat on the wide wooden porch, wearing a simple linen shirt and jeans, holding a warm cup of black coffee. The scars on my face and shoulder were still visible, but the cold, deadly darkness that had consumed my soul for years had finally receded.

Down on the sandy beach below the porch, three little girls were running through the shallow waves, their joyous laughter echoing across the shoreline.

Olivia was building a massive sandcastle, her cheeks rosy from the sea breeze. Sophie was chasing gulls, shouting happily. Little Nora was splashing water at Grace, who was laughing, her chestnut hair tied back in a messy bun, wearing a sundress soaked with seawater.

My entire empire in New York was gone. I had liquidated every asset, transferred control of the docks to independent unions, paid off every debt, and vanished into the night. The mob boss named Dominic Romano was officially dead to the world.

Now, I was just a father.

"Daddy! Look!" Nora called out, running up the wooden stairs of the porch, holding a smooth, polished pink seashell in her sandy hands. "Miss Grace found a magic shell!"

I smiled, picking my tiny daughter up into my arms and setting her on my lap. "Did she now? What does it do?"

"If you put it to your ear, you can hear the ocean singing!" Nora declared proudly, pressing the cold shell against my ear.

I listened to the soft rustle of the wind and the waves. "You're right, baby. It's beautiful."

Grace walked up the steps, holding a basket of fresh strawberries, wiping wet sand from her ankles. She looked at me, her eyes warm, filled with a deep, peaceful happiness that matched my own.

Over the past six months, Grace hadn't just saved my children—she had saved me. She had stayed by our side through the healing, the nightmares, and the transition into a normal life. She was no longer our housekeeper. She was the heart of our home.

Grace sat down beside me on the wooden bench, leaning her shoulder gently against mine. "The girls want to go into town for ice cream later."

"Whatever they want," I smiled, wrapping my arm around Grace's waist, pulling her close. "We have all the time in the world."

Down on the shore, Olivia and Sophie waved up at us, their voices carrying over the gentle roar of the waves as they began to sing together.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine… You make me happy when skies are grey…”