Three months later, Roman stood inside a Chicago conference room.

Carlo dropped a folder onto the table.

“Last one.”

Roman opened it.

Moretti-controlled interests that could not survive legitimate scrutiny had been sold, dissolved, or separated from his holdings.

The Brennan dispute had ended through negotiation.

Roman's legitimate transportation company remained.

So did restaurants, real estate, and several warehouses.

Carlo sat opposite him.

“You know people think you've gone soft.”

Roman signed the final document.

“People think many things.”

“Old Roman would've cared.”

“Old Roman missed his children's birth.”

Carlo had no answer.

Roman stood.

His tailored charcoal suit remained immaculate. The tattoos on his neck and hands remained. His reputation had not vanished.

But the decisions behind it had changed.

His phone rang.

Norah.

Roman answered immediately.

“What happened?”

Carlo smiled.

Three months earlier, Roman would have answered a call from Norah with suspicion.

Now he always assumed baby emergency.

Norah laughed.

“Nothing happened.”

“Why are you calling?”

“Isabella rolled over.”

Roman grabbed his coat.

Carlo stared.

“You have a meeting.”

“Cancel it.”

“Roman—”

“My daughter rolled over.”

“She'll probably do it again.”

Roman looked horrified.

“What if she doesn't?”

Carlo rubbed his forehead.

“Go.”

Roman was already leaving.

Norah had moved back to Chicago two months earlier.

Not into Roman's penthouse.

Into her own townhouse.

Roman had argued exactly once.

Norah had said:

“If you're serious about changing, start by respecting the word no.”

Roman bought the townhouse next door.

Norah nearly killed him.

He sold it the following morning.

That was progress.

When Roman arrived, Norah opened the door.

“You drove here for this?”

“You called.”

“I thought you'd want to know.”

“I want to see.”

Leo sat in a playpen wearing a shirt reading MOM'S FAVORITE.

Roman pointed.

“What is that?”

Norah looked innocent.

“A shirt.”

“Where's Isabella's?”

“Same one.”

“Unacceptable.”

Norah laughed.

Roman lowered himself onto the carpet.

Isabella stared at him.

“Come on, princess.”

Norah folded her arms.

“She isn't performing on command.”

“She’s a Moretti.”

“She’s four months old.”

Isabella rolled onto her side.

Roman's eyes widened.

“Norah.”

“I see.”

Then Isabella rolled onto her stomach.

Roman looked as proud as if she'd just graduated from Harvard.

“Did you see that?”

“Yes.”

“She's advanced.”

“She's a baby.”

“An advanced baby.”

Norah sat beside him.

For a while, they watched the twins.

Then she quietly said:

“I talked to my lawyer.”

Roman stiffened.

“About?”

“The custody arrangement.”

He waited.

“I want you officially listed as their father.”

Roman turned toward her.

“And?”

“Shared custody.”

He didn't speak.

Norah smiled slightly.

“Roman?”

“Yes.”

“You can breathe.”

He exhaled.

Then she added:

“But there are rules.”

“Of course.”

“No armed guards around them.”

“Fine.”

“No business meetings during your time with them.”

“Fine.”

“No disappearing because Carlo calls.”

Roman glanced toward her.

“Fine.”

“And if I ever believe your old life is coming back—”

“You take them.”

Norah stopped.

Roman nodded.

“You take them somewhere safe.”

“You'd let me?”

“No.”

Her expression hardened.

Roman continued.

“I'd make sure you never had to run in the first place.”

Norah studied him.

“That was almost the right answer.”

Roman smiled.

“I'm learning.”

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