On the mahogany desk sat the manila folder that had just been hand-delivered by a terrified contact inside the Department of Children and Families. Spread across the dark wood were the photographs. High-resolution telephoto shots. Crisp, clear, and damning.

The Milwaukee underworld underwent a seismic shift. Without Julian’s shadow network, and with my own organization streamlined and brutally purged of any lingering traitors, the city entered a strange, uneasy era of absolute peace.

People stopped whispering about Andrew Whitaker with fear. They whispered about him with awe.

Because the most feared mafia boss in the Midwest had changed.

If you walked past my estate on a Saturday afternoon in 2029, you wouldn't hear the echoes of gunfire or hushed interrogations in the basement.

You would hear laughter.

"King! You're cheating!"

A tiny, furious voice rang out across the manicured lawn of the back gardens.

I lowered my sunglasses, sitting in a wrought-iron patio chair, looking over my book at a nine-year-old girl standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at me with eyes that could melt steel.

Sophie Carter had grown tall, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing a soccer jersey that was currently stained with grass stains and mud.

"I am the reigning king of this estate, Sophie," I replied with a straight face, flipping a page of my book. "Cheating is a prerogative of the crown."

"You moved your knight diagonally!" she accused, stomping her foot on the chessboard we had set up on the patio table. "That's illegal!"

"In my city, little one, I write the laws," I smiled slightly, closing the book.

Behind us, two toddlers—now four years old, running around like miniature tornadoes—were currently trying to tackle Marcus around the knees, while the towering enforcer pretended to groan dramatically and collapse onto the grass, sending both boys into shrieks of hysterical laughter.

Down on the patio, sitting quietly on a wooden bench near the rose garden, Hannah watched them.

She had aged gracefully. The sickly pallor was gone permanently, replaced by a quiet, steady strength. She never tried to run. She knew she couldn't. But over the years, the bitter walls between us had slowly crumbled into a quiet, complex understanding. She was the mother of my adopted world; I was its iron shield.

"Uncle Andrew!" Mason shouted, running over from the lawn with a dirt-smudged face and handing me a dead leaf like it was a royal jewel. "Look! A dragon scale!"

I took the leaf solemnly, inspecting it with extreme gravity.

"Magnificent," I said, handing it back. "We shall mount it above the fireplace immediately."

Sophie rolled her eyes, though a massive grin broke across her face. She hopped up onto the chair opposite me, leaning across the chessboard.

"You know," she said, squinting at me with a wisdom far beyond her nine years, "you're not nearly as scary as the big kids at school say you are."

"What do they say I am?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They say you're a dragon," she whispered conspiratorially.

I looked back at the sprawling estate, the guards patrolling the perimeter quietly, the guards who kept us safe from a world that would never stop trying to tear us apart. Then I looked at the three children playing in the sunlight—children who had walked into a grocery store with four dollars and sixty-three cents and accidentally conquered the darkest heart in Milwaukee.

"They're not entirely wrong," I said softly, reaching out to ruffle her hair.