Chapter 9 - The Ghost in GenevaSix months later, the shores of Lake Geneva looked like a painting by Monet.
The morning sun filtered through the thick canopy of weeping willows that lined the private estate, casting dappled gold light across a sprawling stone terrace. A gentle breeze rolled off the water, carrying the crisp, clean scent of alpine snow and blooming lavender.
Garrett Hail stood at the edge of the stone balustrade, wearing a simple linen shirt and dark slacks, a porcelain mug of black coffee steaming in his hand.
The underworld of New York was a smoking ruin. Without his iron grip to hold the factions together, the war between the Ashfords and the remnants of the Russian Bratva had turned into a bloody, chaotic turf war that eventually drew the full, unyielding weight of a federal RICO sweep. Vincent Ashford was currently awaiting trial in a federal penitentiary in Florence, Colorado; the syndicate was shattered, its ports seized, its accounts frozen.
Garrett didn't care. He hadn't checked a news feed or made a coded phone call in five months.
"Daddy! Look! A duck!"
A small, high-pitched voice broke his thoughts.
Garrett turned just in time to see a pair of small, sneakers-clad feet come barrelling across the stone patio, followed closely by peals of ringing laughter.
Posie—now two and a half, with her dark curls tied back in a messy bow and wearing a bright yellow sundress—came skidding to a halt against his leg, pointing frantically out toward the lake where a pair of mallards glided across the glassy surface.
Garrett set his mug down on the low stone wall, dropped gracefully to one knee, and scooped the little girl up into his arms, tossing her gently into the air until she squealed with delight.
"A duck, huh?" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as she wrapped her small arms around his neck, her winter-gray eyes sparkling with absolute mischief. "And what do ducks say, Posie?"
"Quack-quack!" she giggled, grabbing a lock of his dark hair with her tiny fist.
Mave walked out through the French doors of the villa, carrying a tray of sliced fruit and fresh pastries. She wore a simple white linen dress, her hair falling naturally around her shoulders, the haunted, exhausted shadows of her face completely gone, replaced by a radiant, healthy glow.
She paused by the table, watching the two of them with a soft, quiet smile that made Garrett’s chest ache with a sudden, overwhelming wave of gratitude.
"You're spoiling her," Mave said, walking over and handing him a strawberry, which he accepted with a grin. "If you keep letting her stay up past her bedtime to watch the boats on the lake, she's going to be impossible to put down for her nap."
"She has my discipline," Garrett teased, pulling Mave closer with his free arm, pressing a kiss to her temple while still holding Posie securely against his chest. "She can handle a late night."
Mave leaned into his side, resting her head against his shoulder as they looked out over the sparkling expanse of Lake Geneva.
"Do you ever miss it?" she asked quietly, her voice barely louder than the ripple of the water against the shore. "New York? The power? The empire?"
May you like
Garrett looked down at the little girl in his arms, then over at the woman who had risked everything to save her from his world. He tightened his arm around Mave’s waist, pulling them both closer until they felt like a single, unbreakable entity.
"I didn't lose an empire, Mave," Garrett whispered, his voice steady and absolute as the morning sun warmed the stone terrace around them. "I finally found my home."
