53. Lucien
Lucien
There’s something about this kind of silence that feels earned.
Not the sharp silence of waiting for a war to start. Not the heavy silence of when a door slams and someone you love doesn’t come back.
This silence is warm. Mellow. The kind that seeps into your bones after a long storm and tells you you’re safe now.
I sit on the back porch of the lake house, the same one Dante and I used to sneak beers at when we were too young and too stupid to care. It’s quiet now. Just the gentle lap of water against the dock and the occasional chirp of a bird that’s braver than most.
The sun’s dipping lower, casting long gold streaks across the water, and I’m sipping a glass of whiskey that’s probably older than some of the scars on my body.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m holding my breath.
Dante and Evelyn are inside. I can hear her laughter through the screen door, low and bright, and it does something to me every damn time. They made it. Through the blood, the betrayal, the years of pretending we were just fucked-up men trying to protect what little we had left.
Dante is still rough around the edges. Still a fighter. But I see it now—the softness Evelyn carved into him. Not weakness. Just space. Space to breathe. To love. To forgive.
And Harmony.
Fuck.
I never thought I’d see the day when she walked into a room without flinching. Where she let someone touch her and didn’t brace for pain.
Reese is still a puzzle to me. He always has been. Dangerous in the way wolves are—calm until they’re not. But he loves her. That much is obvious. He looks at Harmony like she’s the last star in his sky. And she leans into him, like she believes he’ll never let her fall.
They’ve both been through Hell.
They didn’t come out clean.
But they came out together .
I respect the Hell out of that.
I take another sip, let the burn settle in my chest, and think about the one thing that still doesn’t feel real.
Damien is dead.
My brother.
My fucking blood.
And I don’t feel what I thought I would.
No grief. No guilt.
Just… relief.
It’s a terrible thing, isn’t it? To be glad someone’s gone.
But Damien stopped being my brother a long time ago. Maybe, it was the moment he smiled while Astra cried. Or maybe, it was the moment I deciphered the look in his eyes; it wasn’t anger—it was pleasure.
He hurt people. He destroyed them. And he did it with the kind of precision only monsters master.
I should’ve ended it sooner.
But I didn’t.
And now he’s gone, and the air feels lighter .
A shadow passes in the hallway, and then I see her— my shadow. My light. Astra.
She steps out onto the porch, barefoot, her long sweater sliding off one shoulder. Her hair’s tied back, messy, perfect. She carries a mug of tea she’ll soon forget to drink and sits beside me, thigh brushing mine like a heartbeat.
“You thinking again?” she asks.
I smirk. “A little.”
“About him?”
I nod.
She doesn’t press. She never does.
Instead, she leans her head on my shoulder and hums something low, something soft, something that settles all the noise in my skull.
“I’m glad it’s over,” she says after a while.
“So am I.”
She shifts to look at me, eyes searching. “Do you… feel okay? About Damien?”
I look out at the lake. “He chose his ending. I just let it happen.”
She nods. That’s enough.
We sit like that for a while. Her hand finds mine, fingers sliding between the ones that have done more harm than good. She never flinches. Never hesitates.
Astra.
My wife.
My Siren.
The only person who’s ever seen all of me and didn’t run.
She will marry me with her eyes wide open, staring at the monster, kissing his mouth anyway.
An d I’ll never stop being grateful.
“You know,” I say after a long pause, “I didn’t think I’d get this.”
She lifts a brow. “ This ?”
“A future. A life that doesn’t involve guns or fire or fucking blood on the walls.”
Her smile is tired, but it’s real .
“I think we’ve all earned it… But you and I both know, there will still be blood on the walls,” she whispers.
I look at her. I mean really look at her. This woman I nearly broke. This woman I would die for without hesitation. The weight of her love is terrifying.
But I carry it proudly.
I think about the others—Dante, Evelyn, Harmony, Reese—and I realize something that settles deep in my chest.
We survived.
Not just the bullets.
Not just the betrayals.
But ourselves .
And now?
We get to live.
Not perfectly. Not quietly.
But fully.
I squeeze Astra’s hand and kiss the top of her head. “Let’s make the rest of our life boring.”
She laughs, that sound I’d kill to keep hearing.
“Boring sounds perfect.”
And for the first time in forever—
I believe it.