The night air outside the Aster Hotel was sharp, carrying the heavy scent of harbor salt and exhaust fumes from the city traffic.

The morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Romano estate library, casting long, golden beams across the rich mahogany shelves and the marble floor.

I sat at a grand oak desk, reviewing the preliminary architectural designs for The Hayes Foundation—a new philanthropic initiative funded by EchoBridge and backed by the Romano logistics network, designed to provide vocational training, legal aid, and financial independence to women trapped in poverty and abusive environments.

The door opened quietly, and Victor walked in, carrying two cups of black coffee. He set one down on the desk beside my laptop, leaning over to kiss the top of my head.

“You’ve been staring at those blueprints for three hours,” Victor noted, a faint smile on his lips.

“I want it to be perfect,” I said, looking up at him. “When I was working at that diner, living out of a rusted Honda, I used to dream about what I would do if someone just gave me a single chance. Now, I have the resources to give thousands of women that exact chance.”

“You didn't need my resources, Dora,” Victor said, his gray eyes softening completely. “You just needed the world to get out of your way.”

“Your resources certainly helped clear the path,” I teased, standing up and wrapping my arms around his neck.

Victor pulled me against him, his hands resting securely on my waist. The danger, the blood, the bounties, and the terrified socialites in the grand ballrooms felt a million miles away. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of the fortress by the sea, we had built something enduring out of the ashes of our pasts.

“There’s a ship leaving for the Mediterranean tonight,” Victor murmured against my ear. “Just us. No guards, no syndicates, no cell phones.”

I smiled, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.