“Take that disgusting thing off my table.”

Two days after the ambush in the Wisconsin woods, the private jet touched down at O’Hare International Airport under heavy gray skies. The attack at the cabin had been the final straw. Luca hadn't just defended himself; he had initiated a total, unyielding blitz against the remnants of the New York Commission. By the time we stepped off the tarmac and into the armored convoy waiting for us, reports were already flooding in that Don Salvatore Rossi’s primary compounds in Queens and Brooklyn had been raided, his financial assets frozen, and his capos scattered to the winds. The Chicago syndicate was no longer just surviving—it was absolute, unchallenged, and entirely secure.

We rode back to the Gold Coast mansion in silence, sitting side-by-side in the back of the bulletproof SUV. Luca’s hand was locked tightly around mine, his thumb gently stroking the glittering diamond engagement ring on my finger. When the massive iron gates of the estate swung open, welcoming us home, the tension in his shoulders finally began to ease.

Maria Moretti was waiting for us in the grand foyer, flanked by Mateo and Rocco. When she saw us walk through the heavy oak doors—dusty, tired, but unbowed—she rushed forward and threw her arms around both of us, tears streaming down her weathered cheeks.

"You're safe," Maria sobbed softly, holding us close. "Thank God in heaven, you're both safe."

"We're home, *Mamma*," Luca murmured softly, kissing the top of his mother's head before turning his gaze toward Mateo and Rocco. "Is it done?"

"Rossi’s inner circle has surrendered," Mateo reported crisply, stepping forward with a leather portfolio. "The New York Commission has officially dissolved its claims on our territory. We hold the entire Midwest shipping grid. No challenges, no opposition."

Luca nodded slowly, a calm, resolute expression settling over his features. "Good. Double the security detail around the estate for the next month, then give the men a bonus. We’re done playing war."

Later that evening, after the adrenaline of the past week had finally faded and the house had grown quiet, I stood out on the second-story balcony. The autumn breeze was cool against my skin, carrying the scent of rain and falling leaves across the Chicago skyline. The city lights twinkled like a million diamonds stretching out into the dark horizon.

Footsteps approached softly from behind, and a heavy cashmere coat was draped gently over my shoulders. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against Luca’s solid chest. He rested his chin on my shoulder, looking out at the city lights with me.

"You know," I murmured softly, leaning my head back against his heart, "when I first started working here as a junior housekeeper, I used to look out this exact window and wonder what it would feel like to belong somewhere."

Luca turned me gently in his arms so I was facing him. He looked down at me with an expression of fierce, absolute devotion that still made my breath catch every single time.

"You don't have to wonder anymore, Emma," Luca whispered, his voice deep and steady. "You are home. You are my family, my partner, and my queen."

I smiled, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck. "And you're my fierce, stubborn mafia boss."