Chapter 8 - The Aftermath
The estate was secured within twenty minutes. The mercenaries were hauled away to our underground holding cells in Brooklyn, where Marcus would personally extract every name, phone number, and syndicate connection that had ordered the hit.
Upstairs, the medical team had checked the girls. Aside from a few scratches and severe fright, they were completely unharmed. Claire had tucked them safely inside the panic room, locking the steel door from the inside just as I had trained her to do during our first week together.
When I finally walked into the nursery, Claire was sitting on the edge of Emma’s bed, holding both girls in her arms, rocking back and forth while whispering soft, comforting words.
Her dress was stained with dust from the hallway, her hair was disheveled, and her hands were trembling violently. But as she looked up and saw me standing in the doorway—alive, uninjured, and standing tall—the tears broke free.
She stood up slowly, gently passing Emma to Ruth, who had just arrived with a glass of water, and walked out into the hallway where I was standing.
Without a word, Claire threw her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder, clinging to me with a desperate, crushing intensity that mirrored my own.
“You’re bleeding,” she whispered, her voice shaking as her fingers brushed against a shallow graze on my forearm where a bullet had clipped my sleeve.
“It’s nothing,” I said, wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against my chest as if I could physically weld her to me and protect her from every threat the world had to offer. “You saved them. You got them into the panic room before they even reached the stairs.”
“I was so scared,” she sobbed quietly against my collarbone. “I thought... I thought I was going to lose them. I thought I was going to lose you.”
May you like
I pulled back slightly, cupping her face in my hands. Her hazel eyes were wide, luminous, and filled with a raw, undeniable truth that terrified and liberated me all at once. For the first time in three years, the ghost of Evelyn didn't feel like a heavy chain around my neck; it felt like a door that had finally, gently been opened to let the sunlight back in.
“You’re not going to lose me, Claire,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Not today. Not ever.”
