The library had not changed since Isabelle died. That was the cruelty of it. A man who could reshape the docks, buy judges, and silence district attorneys found himself utterly powerless against a roll-top walnut desk and two rows of poetry books.

Two days later, the Southampton safe house felt less like a hideout and more like a home.

It was a sprawling glass-and-stone house perched on a high bluff overlooking the Atlantic, far away from the dark history of the Long Island mansion. The storm had passed, leaving behind a crisp, salt-scented breeze that blew through the open balcony doors.

I sat at the kitchen island drinking black coffee when the front door opened.

Grace walked in carrying two bags of groceries from the local market, her hair down for the first time, falling in soft brown waves around her shoulders.

Behind her, Olivia, Sophie, and Nora raced into the living room, laughing as they chased a golden retriever puppy Grace had apparently picked up along the way.

"Ma-ma didn't like the old house anyway," Nora said loudly, her voice clear and bright as she tossed a rubber ball across the hardwood floor.

I watched her from the kitchen island, a lump forming in my throat.

Grace set the grocery bags on the counter and leaned against the edge, looking at me with those calm gray eyes.

"The federal prosecutor’s office just called," Grace said. "Vincent’s network is completely dismantled. All his bank accounts are frozen, and the safe houses in Brooklyn have been raided. He’ll never see daylight again."

"And you?" I asked, looking at her. "Are you still my housekeeper?"

Grace smiled—a small, genuine smile that transformed her face entirely.

"I think my contract as a domestic employee has officially expired, Mr. Romano. Especially considering I didn't clean a single bathroom the entire time I was working for you."

"Dominic," I said.

She paused, her fingers resting on the edge of the marble counter. "Dominic."

"Why did you take the job, Grace?" I asked, the question that had been burning in my mind since the library. "There are a dozen agents on that task force who could have gotten close to Vincent through standard surveillance. Why pose as a housekeeper in a mafia boss's mansion?"

Grace looked past me toward the living room, where Olivia and Sophie were sitting on the rug with the puppy, laughing out loud.

"My brother was Vincent’s accountant," she said softly. "When he tried to back out of the money laundering scheme two years ago, Vincent didn't just fire him. He made it look like an overdose in a motel room in Queens."

She looked back at me, her eyes steady.

"I wanted justice for my brother. And when I started digging into Vincent’s files, I realized he had killed Isabelle too. I watched you from a distance for six months, Dominic. I saw a man drowning in his own grief, surrounded by guards and money, while his children were locked inside their own minds by a monster."