The grand entrance hall of the Moretti townhouse smelled of floor wax, polished mahogany, and an underlying scent that I recognized all too well from hospital corridors: stale grief.

Silence descended over the Plaza Hotel like a heavy blanket.

Don Carmine slowly stood up from his seat, looking at the dead traitor, then across the table at Ricardo, who was casually wiping a speck of dust from his silver pistol with a silk handkerchief before sliding it back into his holster.

Carmine raised his glass of scotch. "The Commission recognizes Ricardo Moretti as the undisputed Don of the Five Families. The traitor's assets are forfeited to the Moretti estate."

The thirty-nine remaining bosses raised their glasses in silent unison, bowing their heads toward Ricardo.

Ricardo didn't celebrate. He didn't smile. He simply nodded once, turned on his heel, and walked away from the blood-stained table toward us.

He reached down, picked Leo up into his broad arms, and wrapped his other arm securely around my waist, guiding us out of the ballroom while Dante and his soldiers handled the cleanup behind us.

We stepped out into the crisp, cold Manhattan night air. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets wet and reflective under the yellow glow of Fifth Avenue streetlights.

A fleet of five black armored Escalades was idling along the curb, their doors opened by waiting soldiers.

As we climbed into the back of the lead vehicle, the tension that had been driving my body for the past twenty-four hours finally broke. I leaned my head back against the soft leather seat, my hands shaking violently as the adrenaline faded.

Leo was already fast asleep in Ricardo's lap, clutching his broken wooden horse, his breathing soft and rhythmic.

Ricardo looked over at me, his hazel eyes filled with an emotion I hadn't seen in him before—something deep, raw, and fiercely protective.

"It's over, Maya," Ricardo said softly, reaching across the space between us and taking my shaking hand in his. "The DA received the full confession and the bank records ten minutes ago. The indictment against me has been dropped permanently. Antonio's crew has been dismantled."

"And Sarah?" I asked quietly, looking out the tinted window at the passing city lights.

"Sarah will spend the rest of her life in a federal maximum-security prison in West Virginia," Ricardo replied flatly. "She will never see the sun again."

I let out a long, shuddering breath, looking down at our joined hands. His grip was warm, strong, and steady.

"I fulfilled my one week, Mr. Moretti," I murmured, a faint, sad smile touching my lips. "Leo is safe. Your house is clean. I guess... I should start looking for an apartment tomorrow."

Ricardo’s grip on my hand tightened instantly.

"No," he said, his voice dropping into that deep, unquestionable authority that made my pulse jump.

I looked up at him, frowning gently. "No?"

"You're not going back to Queens, Maya," Ricardo said, leaning closer until his face was inches from mine. "You saved my son's life. You gave him his voice back. You stood in front of a killer for him, and you stood beside me in front of thirty mob bosses without flinching."

"Ricardo, I'm just a maid," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I don't belong in your world."

"You belong wherever my son and I are," Ricardo said firmly.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a sleek silver key, pressing it into my palm.

"What's this?" I asked.

"The deed to a penthouse overlooking Central Park," Ricardo revealed softly. "It’s under your name. No mortgages, no debts. Your medical bills from Emma's hospital stay were paid in full two hours ago by my firm."

Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and unexpected. "Ricardo... I can't accept that. It's too much."

"It's not enough," Ricardo corrected, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear from my cheek. "It's just the beginning. I want you to stay, Maya. Not as a maid. Not as a hired nanny. But as part of this family."

Before I could answer, Leo stirred in his sleep, turning his head and resting it against my knee, pulling my hand down to hold his tiny fingers.

I looked at the little boy who had stolen my heart in a chaotic restaurant twenty-four hours ago, then back at the feared mob Don who was looking at me like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to humanity.

"On one condition," I whispered through my tears.

A rare, beautiful smile broke across Ricardo's dark face. "Name it."

"No more secrets," I said. "And no more crystal glasses thrown across restaurants."