The deadbolt clicked behind the most feared mafia boss in Boise while I stood bleeding in his kitchen

Six months later.

Spring had finally arrived in the Boise foothills, painting the sweeping mountain slopes in brilliant shades of emerald green, wild yellow sunflowers, and lavender.

The heavy iron gates of the DeLuca estate stood open, welcoming a bright, warm sunshine that melted away every lingering memory of the cold, violent winter.

On the south lawn of the compound, where the old wooden perimeter fence used to stand, now stood a sprawling, magnificent glass conservatory. Hundreds of rare plants, tropical flowers, and lush green ferns filled the sunlit interior, designed and cultivated entirely by me as part of my advanced botany research project.

I stood near the central stone fountain, wearing a light yellow summer dress, my dark hair tied back in a loose ribbon, carefully inspecting the soil levels of a rare blue orchid.

Footsteps clicked softly against the stone path.

I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. The subtle scent of expensive woodsmoke, rain, and clean linen gave him away every single time.

Carmine walked up behind me, wrapping his massive arms around my waist and pulling me back against his broad, solid chest. He rested his chin on my shoulder, letting out a long, contented sigh.

"You're late for your own celebration," Carmine murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck, making me shiver with delight.

"I was checking the humidity sensors," I laughed softly, leaning back into his embrace. "The orchids need exact conditions, Mr. DeLuca."

"Mr. DeLuca?" Carmine echoed, a low, playful growl rumbling in his chest. He turned me around in his arms so I was facing him.

He looked magnificent. He wore a crisp light-gray linen suit, no tie, his top buttons undone, looking relaxed, incredibly handsome, and completely at peace. The dark shadows that had once plagued his eyes were entirely gone, replaced by a deep, unwavering warmth whenever he looked at me.

"I believe your diploma says 'Ivy DeLuca-Marshall'," Carmine reminded me softly, his thumb gently caressing my cheek.

I smiled, reaching up to smooth down his dark hair. Two months ago, on a quiet weekend in Maui, we had gotten married in a private ceremony on the beach, surrounded only by Vane, Doctor Mercer, and a few trusted friends.

The estate was no longer a fortress of fear. It was a home. A sanctuary.

Downstairs in the main house, the kitchen was run by a new, cheerful head chef who baked warm apple pies every Sunday morning. The guards at the gate no longer carried heavy rifles in the open; they smiled and waved whenever I drove my car down the driveway to attend my honors lectures at Boise State.

"Vane has set up the lunch table on the patio," Carmine said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with that same fierce, protective devotion that had swept me off my feet from the very first night. "Your friends from the university will be here in twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Carmine," I whispered, sliding my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me.

He kissed me—deeply, tenderly, a kiss that tasted of sweet summer air and absolute, unbroken promises.

When he finally pulled back, his hand reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, exquisite silver key. He pressed it into my palm, folding my fingers over it.

"What's this?" I asked, looking up at him.

"The key to the new greenhouse complex downtown," Carmine smiled softly. "The construction finished this morning. Fifty thousand square feet of public botanical gardens, owned entirely by you."

I stared at the silver key, a fresh tear of pure joy slipping down my cheek.

I remembered three-thirty in the morning, six months ago. I remembered cold water running over my bloody fingers, scrubbing a copper skillet, terrified of the man who had locked the heavy kitchen door behind him.

I had thought he locked that door to finish me.

Instead, he had locked out the rest of the world so he could heal every broken piece of my life.

"I love you, Carmine," I whispered, stepping up on my tiptoes to press my lips against his jaw.