Chapter 9 - The Fall of Victor CostaForty-eight hours later, the war ended not with a bang, but with a federal indictment.
Using the encrypted microchip hidden inside Clara’s silver pendant, Dominic’s legal team and a clean team within the Department of Justice executed simultaneous dawn raids across five states.
Victor Costa’s shipping terminals were seized. His money-laundering accounts were frozen. And before the sun had fully cleared the horizon, Costa himself was dragged out of his Park Avenue penthouse in handcuffs by federal agents who didn't take bribes.
Back at the safehouse on the cliff, the morning sun poured warm and golden through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the restless waters of Long Island Sound into a sheet of liquid glass.
Clara stood by the window wearing Dominic’s oversized flannel shirt, holding a mug of black coffee, watching the seagulls wheeling across the sky.
The door opened behind her.
Dominic stepped into the room, holding a sealed manila envelope. His suit was clean, his hair neatly brushed, and the dark, oppressive tension that had defined him for years was entirely gone.
"It’s over," Dominic said quietly, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Costa is in a federal holding cell. His assets are forfeited. Your mother’s medical fund has been permanently endowed by the Rossi Foundation—she’s receiving the best care in the country as we speak, and she’s going to make a full recovery."
Clara closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath she felt like she had been holding for two years.
"Is it really over?" she whispered.
"It’s over," Dominic confirmed, turning her gently in his arms so she was facing him. "You’re safe, Clara. No more diner shifts. No more hiding. No more debt."
She looked down at the heavy gold ring glittering on her finger, then up into his dark, unwavering eyes.
"And us?" she asked softly. "What happens now?"
Dominic smiled—a rare, devastatingly handsome smile that completely transformed his severe face.
"Now," Dominic said, pulling her flush against his chest and pressing his lips softly to her forehead, "you figure out what it means to be a mafia boss’s wife. Because whether you like it or not, Mrs. Rossi... you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life."
May you like
Clara wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder as a genuine, unburdened laugh escaped her lips.
"Good," she whispered against his skin. "Because I think I’m finally starting to like the pay."
