Thunder was still shaking the windows of my estate when I found my maid in labor inside a greenhouse nobody had entered for three years.

Six months later.

Spring had returned to the waterfront estate, washing away the cold remnants of winter. The grounds were lush, green, and vibrant, filled with the sweet scent of blooming fruit trees and fresh lake grass.

The Moretti crime family was no more. Victor Moretti had been sentenced to three consecutive life terms without parole, his assets seized, his empire dismantled completely. The waterfront was quiet, governed now by a new alliance led by my firm—an alliance built not on terror and extortion, but on protection, fair wages for the union workers, and absolute law.

In the rear garden of the estate, the old greenhouse had been completely restored.

The shattered glass panels had been replaced with crystal-clear reinforced glass, the rusted iron frames polished and painted in a clean, elegant white. Sunlight streamed through the roof, casting bright patterns across raised flower beds filled with thriving, healthy greenery.

At the center of the greenhouse, where Adeline had once lain in dirty water during a violent storm, three massive rose bushes stood proud, covered in hundreds of snow-white blossoms.

I stood by the entrance of the greenhouse, wearing a simple linen shirt and trousers, holding two mugs of fresh coffee.

Inside, Adeline was kneeling beside the rose beds, wearing a sundress, her hair tied back with a silk ribbon. Beside her on a soft blanket lay seven-month-old Rosalind, laughing and clapping her tiny hands as she played with a plush toy duck.

Adeline looked up as she heard my footsteps, a warm, radiant smile spreading across her face—a smile that reached her eyes, completely free of fear or shadow.

"You're late," she teased gently, brushing a bit of soil off her hands as she stood up.

"Dominic had a report on the new union hospital in the south district," I replied, handing her one of the coffee mugs and leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. "Everything is on schedule. It opens next month."

"Good," she said, taking a sip of her coffee and looking around the sunlit greenhouse. "My father would have loved that."

I looked down at little Rosalind, who was rolling over on her blanket, trying to reach one of the fallen white petals. I leaned down, picked the little girl up into my arms, and held her against my shoulder. She giggled, reaching up with a tiny fist to grab the collar of my shirt.

"She looks more like you every day," I said, smiling as I bounced the baby gently.

"She has your stubbornness," Adeline countered with a laugh, stepping closer and resting her head against my shoulder as we both looked out at the garden.

The estate, once a cold fortress of grief and shadow, had become a home—a place filled with life, laughter, and a future. The ghost of my past had not stayed buried; it had transformed into something beautiful, grown from the very soil where we had fought for our survival.

I wrapped my free arm around Adeline’s waist, pulling her close against my side as the warm spring sun streamed through the glass roof, illuminating the white roses that bloomed in absolute peace.

"What are you thinking about?" Adeline asked softly, looking up at me.

I looked at her, then down at our daughter, and then out at the bright world beyond the greenhouse glass.

"I'm thinking," I said softly, "that Rosalind was right."