Six months later.
May had arrived in Montreal, bringing warm sunshine, blooming purple lilacs, and gentle green grass across the estate grounds.
The heavy iron gates of the Ferrante estate were open wide. Children's laughter echoed across the wide stone patio, mixing with the pleasant clinking of juice glasses and the soft melody of an acoustic guitar playing near the garden pavilion.
Today was Anel's eighth birthday.
It was not a cold, formal mob gathering. It was a real celebration.
A massive bouncy castle stood on the east lawn, where Anel and six of his new school friends from his private academy in Westmount were jumping and screaming in pure delight. Marco, now fully recovered from his shoulder injury and wearing a casual polo shirt instead of a tactical vest, stood nearby holding an enormous box of ice cream pops, acting as an overly protective, very large bodyguard-turned-uncle.
Riona sat at a long wooden garden table beneath the shade of an old oak tree, wearing a bright yellow summer dress that caught the warm afternoon breeze. Beside her sat a stack of architectural blueprints for a new children's art center she was funding downtown—a project designed to give underfunded kids in the city a safe place to learn and grow.
Two hands rested gently on her shoulders, rubbing the tight muscles near her neck with practiced ease.
Riona leaned her head back, looking up into Aldrich’s smiling face.
He looked completely transformed. The gray at his jaw remained, but the hard, suffocating lines of stress on his forehead had softened into expressions of genuine peace. He wore a crisp white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking more like a happy father than the most feared man in Quebec.
"Is the birthday boy enjoying his party?" Aldrich asked, leaning down to press a soft kiss against her temple.
"He's been jumping in that castle for two hours straight," Riona laughed softly, leaning her head against his chest. "I think he's going to sleep for fourteen hours tonight."
"Good," Aldrich murmured, his hand sliding down to rest against her waist, his thumb gently caressing her hip. "Then maybe his mother will finally have some free time for me tonight."
Riona flushed slightly, turning her head to smile up at him with a mischievous spark in her dark eyes. "Is that an official request from the Ferrante patriarch?"
"It's a desperate plea from a husband who is deeply in love with his wife," Aldrich corrected her smoothly, his gray-green eyes sparkling with warmth and deep contentment.
Across the lawn, Anel spotted them. He tumbled out of the bouncy castle, his dark hair messy, his face flushed pink, running across the grass as fast as his small legs could carry him.
"Dad! Mom! Look!" Anel shouted, holding up a small model airplane he had just finished assembling with Marco. "Marco helped me fix the propeller! It really flies!"
Aldrich laughed, stepping forward and scooping his eight-year-old son effortlessly up into his arms, tossing him slightly into the air before catching him securely against his chest. "Let's see it fly then, buddy!"
Anel wound the tiny rubber band propeller and let it go. The small wooden plane caught a gentle breeze, gliding gracefully across the green lawn, soaring high above the flowerbeds before landing smoothly near the stone fountain.
Anel cheered, wrapping his arms around Aldrich’s neck and pressing his face into his father's shoulder. "This is the best birthday ever, Dad!"
Aldrich held his son tight, looking over the boy's dark head at Riona, who walked over to join them, wrapping her arm around Aldrich’s waist.
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The darkness of the past—the forged ledgers, the terrifying gunfights, the agonizing years of separation—had all burned away, leaving behind a foundation built on absolute truth, fierce protection, and unbreakable love.
Riona stood close to her husband and son, looking out over the sunlit gardens of their home, knowing with absolute, quiet certainty that they were finally, truly safe.
