Chapter 10 - The Warmth in the Storm
One month later.
The winter storm had passed, leaving New York wrapped in a soft, bright blanket of early spring sunshine.
The apartment on Eighty-Sixth Street had been completely repaired, but neither Lily nor I had moved back. The guest suite at Seventy-Second Street was no longer a guest suite—it was our home.
It was 6:00 p.m. on a Friday.
I stood in the kitchen of the penthouse, wearing a comfortable sweater and jeans, pouring two mugs of hot chocolate topped with thick clouds of whipped cream.
Through the open balcony doors, I could hear the sound of laughter echoing from the terrace.
Lily was running around the sunlit garden terrace in her red coat, holding a small toy airplane, while Dominic—wearing a dark linen shirt with his sleeves rolled up, revealing his tattooed forearms—chased her through the potted cedar trees, making roaring engine sounds that made her squeal with pure delight.
Sitting on the teak bench nearby, reading a medical journal, was Julian, watching his older brother with a gentle, happy smile.
I walked out onto the terrace, holding the two mugs.
“Time for hot chocolate, young lady!” I called out.
Lily skidded to a halt, her cheeks flushed bright red, her hazel eyes—so remarkably similar to Dominic’s—shining with absolute joy.
“Mr. Dominic gets extra whipped cream, Mommy!” Lily shouted, sliding across the smooth stone tiles and throwing her arms around Dominic’s leg. “He caught the plane!”
Dominic scooped her up effortlessly with one arm, lifting her onto his broad shoulder, walking over to where I stood near the marble railing.
He looked down at me, his light eyes filled with a deep, peaceful warmth that had completely replaced the cold winter water of the night we met at Beluchi’s.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Dominic murmured, taking one of the mugs from my hand, his fingers lingering warm against mine.
“For the hot chocolate?” I smiled, looking up into his handsome face.
“For everything,” he said softly.
He set the mug down on the teak table, reached out with his free arm, and pulled me close into his side, wrapping his broad arm around my waist, holding both me and my daughter against his chest under the bright blue Manhattan sky.
May you like
Mr. Buttons sat safely on the library windowsill inside, watching us through the glass.
The rain was gone. The shadows had cleared. And in the heart of the city that never slept, the most dangerous man in New York had finally found his home.
