Chapter 11 - EPILOGUE: THE SAYS OF THE VALENTESThree months later, the Sovereign hotel lobby looked brighter. The marble floors gleamed under morning sunlight, and fresh white lilies filled the crystal vases near the entrance.
At the reception desk, a new manager—polite, professional, and kind—greeted incoming guests with a warm smile.
Near the grand piano in the corner, a massive, golden-brown mastiff with a brand-new leather collar stamped Per sempe lay peacefully on a plush velvet mat, its tail thumping a steady rhythm against the floor.
Across the lobby walked ten-year-old Rosalie Valente, wearing a brand-new white dress that had no blood on it, holding her father’s hand.
Ezra looked down at his daughter, noticing the small, genuine smile curving the corners of her mouth—the first real smile he had seen in years.
"You okay, bug?" Ezra asked softly, squeezing her small hand.
Rosie looked over at Brutus, then up at her father.
May you like
"Yeah, Dad," she said, her voice clear and strong. "We're home."
And out on the streets of New York, the underworld whispered a new truth: You could cross the Valente family, you could hide in the shadows, but you could never outrun a father who refused to let his daughter be forgotten.
