The most feared Mafia boss in Chicago caught sight of the scars I'd spent years hiding, and the entire mansion fell silent. The men who never flinched at violence suddenly looked shaken, and before I could cover my arm, the man who had destroyed my life walked through the front door, completely unaware that everything was about to change.

By 4:00 AM, the rain had stopped.

I was sitting in the library, sipping cold tea, when the heavy front doors of the mansion creaked open.

I sprang up from my chair and ran out into the foyer.

Vincent stood in the entryway, supported slightly by Marco. His crisp white shirt was torn at the shoulder, stained with soot and blood, and his face was smeared with dark rain grime. But he was walking on his own feet.

"Vincent!" I cried out, rushing down the hall toward him.

He looked up, his weary hazel eyes lighting up the moment he saw me. He gently waved Marco away, straightening his posture.

"It's over, Maya," Vincent said, his voice raspy and exhausted. "Pier 42 is secure. Marcus Drake and his men are gone. The shipping terminals are under Moretti control."

Tears sprang to my eyes—tears of relief, of safety, of a heavy weight finally lifting off my chest after three long, terrifying years.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder where the blood had soaked through his shirt.

"Just a graze," Vincent murmured, wincing slightly as he took off his tactical holster. "Dr. Rossi is on his way to patch me up."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick leather binder stamped with the official seal of the City of Chicago Land Registry. He handed it to me.

I opened the binder with trembling fingers.

Inside were the original, un-redacted deeds to Linwood Shipping, along with the title to my father's house in Evanston, and full access rights to his primary bank accounts—all signed over to my real name, Maya Linwood, verified by a state supreme court judge's seal dated two hours ago.

"You're a wealthy woman again, Maya," Vincent said softly. "You can buy your father's house back. You can hire professionals to run the company, or you can sell it for millions. You and Sophia will never have to scrub another floor for as long as you live."

I stared at the papers, tears streaming down my cheeks, dripping onto the leather cover.

"I don't know how to thank you," I sobbed, closing the binder and looking up at him. "How can I ever repay you for this?"

Vincent stepped closer, reaching out with his large, warm thumb to gently wipe a tear from my cheek. His touch was incredibly soft for a man whose hands had just ended a war.

"You don't owe me anything, Maya," Vincent whispered. "Restoring what was stolen from you was my duty."

"And Julian?" I asked, the name still sending a faint shiver down my spine.

Vincent's expression darkened into stone. "Julian Vance is waiting in the basement for his final trial. He belongs to you now, Maya. Whatever fate you choose for him, my men will carry it out."