Chapter 13 - The Morning Sun Over Corsini House and the New Rules of Engagement
By mid-morning, the heavy iron gates of Corsini House swung open to admit three unmarked federal vehicles belonging to the U.S. Attorney’s Office.
Victor Cruz was transferred into federal custody without a single shot fired, his twenty-three-year reign of shadow blackmail officially terminated by the very judicial system he had once corrupted.
Standing on the third-floor balcony of the mansion, wrapped in the crisp autumn sunlight, I watched the black federal SUVs disappear down the winding private driveway.
A warm breeze ruffled my hair, carrying the distant scent of the Atlantic Ocean and the undeniable taste of freedom.
Footsteps sounded behind me on the balcony tiles.
Strong, familiar arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against a solid, comforting chest.
“Thinking about running away to Dorchester?” Julian’s deep voice murmured against my ear, a playful edge softening the hard lines of his face.
“Not a chance,” I smiled, leaning back against him and resting my hands over his arms.
“The commute from the third-floor master suite is infinitely shorter than the commute from the garage apartment.”
Julian chuckled softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of my neck.
“Speaking of the master suite… Martin tells me your moving boxes from the garage have already been transferred upstairs.”
I turned in his embrace, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Is that right? And who authorized that transfer?”
“The owner of the company,” Julian replied smoothly, his dark eyes sparkling with a fierce, undeniable affection.
“And as the newly appointed executive partner of Corsini Holdings, you don't get a veto.”
“Is that so?” I teased, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“And what exactly are my duties as executive partner? Do I still get to dance in your white shirts, or is that strictly forbidden under the new contract?”
Julian’s expression turned dark and intense, his hands sliding down to grip my waist securely.
“Dancing in my shirts is no longer optional, Sadie,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips hovered inches from mine.
“It’s a mandatory daily requirement.”
Before I could answer, his lips met mine in a deep, consuming kiss that swept away every remaining shadow, every secret, and every ghost of the past.
Downstairs, the grand mansion stood tall and silent, its ivy-covered brick walls hiding a history of violence, power, and survival.
But upstairs, in the golden sunlight of a brand new day, the war was over.
May you like
The ledger was clean.
And the wolf in the housekeeper’s apron had finally found her home.
