Part 6
The afternoon sun shifted, casting warm golden shafts of light across the private recovery suite St. Catherine’s had quietly upgraded us to. The chaotic, antiseptic-smelling emergency room felt like a lifetime away. Here, the room was quiet, filled only with the soft hum of an air purifier and the gentle murmur of a children's cartoon playing on the wall-mounted television.
Milo was curled up in the center of the large, comfortable bed, happily eating a bowl of vanilla pudding Dr. Vance had cleared for him, completely absorbed in the antics of a blue cartoon dog on screen.
Nico and I sat by the window. He had managed to procure a fresh shirt and jacket through Marcus's efficient network, looking once again like the immaculate, untouchable syndicate boss he was — except for the fact that every few minutes, his dark eyes drifted back toward the bed to check on Milo.
"Moretti is finished," Nico said quietly, his voice low enough so Milo wouldn't hear over the television. He was staring down at his phone, scrolling through a encrypted status report Marcus had just transmitted.
"Finished?" I asked, turning my head to look at him.
"Their eastern faction attempted to push through the service bay forty minutes ago," Nico explained, his tone completely flat, devoid of any adrenaline or malice. "Marcus's men intercepted them before they cleared the loading dock. Their commander surrendered the moment he realized who was commanding the detail. By noon, I had a conversation with Don Moretti himself via secure satellite."
I felt a cold shiver run down my spine, despite the warmth of the room. "What did you say to him?"
Nico looked up from his phone, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that could cut glass. "I told him that if any of his associates ever set foot in the same zip code as you or Milo again, I wouldn't just dismantle his organization — I would salt the earth where his family built its legacy."
He paused, a faint, humorless smirk touching the corner of his mouth. "He understood the parameters. Moretti is packing his bags for Palermo by nightfall. He's stepping down, handing control to a neutral council, and retiring to a Sicilian vineyard where he will never bother us again."
I stared at him, the sheer magnitude of his power washing over me all over again. In less than six hours, Nico Falcone had dismantled a decades-old criminal threat simply because someone had dared to bring a shadow near his family.
"You always finish what you start, don't you?" I murmured, a mix of awe and lingering apprehension in my voice.
Nico reached across the small gap between our chairs, taking my hand in his. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, the touch warm and deliberate. "I let you walk away once, Claire. That was the single greatest failure of my life. I will spend the rest of my days making sure I never make that mistake again."
Before I could answer, a small voice called out from the bed.
"Daddy?"
Nico and I both turned instantly. Milo was sitting up, holding his empty pudding bowl out with a hopeful expression. "Can I have more sugar?"
Nico stood up immediately, moving with a speed and eagerness that would have shocked anyone who knew him in the boardroom or the underworld. "Let me check with your mom first, partner," Nico said, walking over to the bed and sitting down on the edge of the mattress.
Milo giggled, a bright, bubbly sound that filled the room with genuine light. "Mom says yes if you say yes."
Nico raised an eyebrow, looking across the room at me with an amused, knowing smirk. "Oh, does she? Since when do you two form coalitions against me?"
"Since about ten minutes ago," I smiled, standing up and walking over to join them. I sat on the other side of Milo, pulling the blankets up around his waist.
Milo looked between the two of us, his big dark eyes shining with curiosity and a newfound sense of security that hadn't been there twenty-four hours ago. "Are you guys staying?" he asked quietly, his voice losing its playful edge. "Are we going home together?"
Nico didn't hesitate for a single second. He reached out his free hand, wrapping his arm securely around my waist, pulling me gently toward him until my shoulder rested against his chest.
"We're going home together, Milo," Nico said, his voice deep, resonant, and absolute. "The three of us. To a house with a very big yard, a very tall fence, and all the pancakes you can possibly eat."
May you like
Milo beamed, clapping his hands together in delight.
I looked up into Nico's dark, unwavering eyes, feeling the last remaining remnants of the cold, lonely hum in my chest finally fade away forever, replaced by the warm, undeniable certainty of a future we were going to build together.
