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I turned to look at her, and the expression on her face—the love, the exhaustion, the pure joy—made my chest ache.

“Come back to bed,” she murmured, holding out her hand. “Bring him here. I want to hold both of you.”

I crossed to the bed and carefully climbed in beside her, our son nestled between us. She curled into me, her hand resting on his tiny chest, and we lay there in the fading light, the three of us together, complete.

“He’s beautiful,” she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks. “He’s so beautiful, Salvatore.”

“He looks like you,” I said, my voice rough. “He has your eyes. Your face. He’s perfect because he’s yours.”

“Ours,” she corrected, looking up at me. “He’s ours.”

“Ours,” I agreed, and kissed her softly.

We stayed like that as darkness fell outside, as the stars appeared in the vast Montana sky, as our son slept peacefully between us, unaware of the world he had been born into, unaware of the threats that might circle, unaware of everything except the warmth and love surrounding him.

And in that moment, despite the dread that had been haunting me, despite the certainty that something was coming, I felt peace.

Because whatever happened next, whatever darkness was waiting beyond these mountains, I had this.

I had them. And I would fight with everything I had to keep it. To keep them. To protect the family I’d built from the ashes of my old life. Even if it meant becoming the monster again. Even if it meant losing myself completely. Even if it meant burning the world down.

They were worth it.

They would always be worth it.

And as I held my son close, feeling his heartbeat against my chest, breathing in the scent of new life and possibility, I made a silent vow.

I will protect you. Both of you. No matter what it costs me. No matter what I have to become. You are mine, and I am yours, and nothing—nothing—will ever change that.

The threat I had been sensing, the danger I couldn’t name—it was still out there.

Still circling. Still coming. But let it come. Let it try. Because I was a father now. And there was nothing more dangerous than a man protecting his family. Nothing more ruthless. Nothing more willing to cross any line, break any rule, destroy any enemy.

I had been a soldier in my brother’s war. A pawn in the family business. A man defined by violence and blood.

But now I was something else. Something more.

I was a father.

And I would be damned if I let anything touch my family.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

2018, Early Spring

Six months.

I had six wonderful, amazing months with my wife and son before the call came.

Six months of waking up to Madigan’s face on the pillow beside me, her hair spread out like silk across the white cotton, the morning light streaming through the cabin windows and turning her skin golden. Six months of watching our son grow from a fragile newborn into a robust, curious infant, of holding him against my chest and feeling his heartbeat sync with mine, of marveling at every sound he made, every expression that crossed his tiny face. The way his eyes widened when he discovered his own hands, or the crooked smile that appeared when he heard my voice.

Six months of peace.

Real peace. Not the fragile, temporary kind I’d known before. The kind that came from careful planning and constant vigilance, from always watching my back and sleeping with one eye open, from never fully relaxing because relaxation meant vulnerability and vulnerability meant death. This was different. This was the kind of peace that sank into my bones, that settled into my soul like sediment at the bottom of a still lake, that made me forget what it felt like to live in constant fear. The kind of peace that made me soft.

I had let my guard down.

For the first time in my life, I had allowed myself to believe that maybe—just maybe—we could have this. That the happiness we’d built in these mountains, in this isolated corner of the world where the nearest neighbor was miles away and the nearest town was a dot on the map, could last. That the world we’d left behind would stay behind, buried under layers of distance and time and new identities. That the threats circling us like wolves around a campfire would never find their way here, would never catch our scent, would never follow the trail we thought we’d covered so carefully.