Captain Owen Harris narrowed his eyes, shifting his gaze from Mateo’s impenetrable expression to Genevieve. The flashing red and blue lights from the police cruisers outside painted the shattered marble floor in eerie, pulsing strokes.

Back in New York, autumn gave way to a crisp, brilliant winter. The Hudson River sparkled under a blanket of fresh snow, and the Viscanti estate glowed with amber security lights and warm, welcoming fires.

The transformation of Sinclair House Events had been completed; it was now fully absorbed into the Viscanti philanthropic foundation, managing high-profile cultural galleries and children’s hospitals across the tri-state area. Genevieve ran it with the same iron efficiency that had once saved her life in a hotel ballroom.

On a freezing Saturday evening, the grand study was filled with the soft strains of a classical string quartet playing softly in the background.

Mrs. Vance had laid out a quiet dinner for two by the massive stone fireplace.

Mateo sat on the leather sofa, watching Genevieve as she walked over from the grand window, her emerald cashmere sweater catching the warm firelight.

He didn't say anything, but as she sat beside him, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-covered box.

Genevieve paused, looking down at the box. “Is this another corporate acquisition, Mr. Viscanti?”

“It’s a merger,” Mateo replied softly, opening the box to reveal a stunning vintage diamond ring that caught the amber light like ice. “A permanent one. No escape clauses. No exit strategies.”

Genevieve looked from the ring up into his pale blue eyes, seeing all the walls he had built, all the battles they had fought together, and the unbreakable devotion burning beneath his calm exterior.