I walked over and picked it up.

It was a delicate silver angel wing.

Luca stepped up behind me, carrying Sophie on his hip.

He saw the charm in my hand and let out a long, shuddering breath.

“That was on Sarah’s keychain,” he murmured.

“Marcus dropped it,” I said.

“No,” Luca replied softly. “He left it for us.”

It was a silent message. A closing of the loop.

Marcus had driven the car, yes. But he had also saved our lives upstairs.

He was tied to the trauma, but he had finally chosen loyalty over fear.

“He’s leaving Chicago,” Luca said, reading my mind. “He knows I won’t hunt him. His debt is paid.”

We walked toward the private elevator that led up to the safe wing of the house.

The sirens were wailing in the distance now.

Police cars, ambulances, the inevitable cleanup of a mafia war.

But down here, in the quiet hum of the garage, the chaos felt a million miles away.

I looked at the silver wing in my hand.

Then, I looked at the beaded bracelet on my wrist.

And finally, I looked at the man walking beside me.

Luca wasn’t just a boss anymore. He was a survivor.

And so was I.

When the elevator doors opened, we stepped into the private family room.

It was untouched by the violence below.

The fireplace was still glowing.

Sophie’s blanket was still draped over the couch.

Luca set Sophie down, and she immediately ran to the mantel.

She picked up a framed photograph that had been turned face down.

She turned it upright.

It was the picture of Sarah.