CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
francesca
One year ago, I never would have imagined myself here—walking into the Vinegar Hill building, nodding at the soldiers as I moved through the lobby, with Finn shadowing me as always. The clinic had been busy today, packed with mothers wrangling feverish children and old men who refused to follow their treatment plans. I was exhausted, but it was the good kind of tired. The kind that meant I’d done something worthwhile.
Emilio Vanello surprised me by giving in. He agreed to peace and had given up his trafficking for our regular coffee dates, even if I didn’t publicly acknowledge him as my father. Though he felt sour about it, I accepted and upheld my part of the bargain. I wasn’t sure that I would ever be able to move past anything beyond sitting and having a cup of coffee with the man, but if that would bring about peace and save people from being trafficked, then I’d do it.
“Back from saving lives, are you?”
one of the soldiers, Ryan, called as I stepped past the front desk. He lounged against the wall, boots crossed at the ankle, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder.
“Only those worth saving,”
I shot back with a grin. “Not sure you qualify.”
A bark of laughter erupted from Sean. “Did you hear that, Ryan? You’re a lost cause.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,”
Ryan muttered, shaking his head as I walked by.
The elevator dinged, and Finn and I stepped inside. He pressed the button for the penthouse, remaining silent as always. Finn wasn’t one for chatter, but I could read him well enough after a year.
“Did you at least have a decent day waiting around for me?”
I teased, giving him a light nudge with my elbow.
He shot me a dry look. “The best part of my week.”
“Oh, Finn, you do flatter me.”
He huffed a breath of amusement as the doors slid open. We stepped into the private hallway leading to Conall’s and my home, the soft glow of recessed lighting casting warm shadows over the polished floors. I inhaled deeply, catching an unexpected scent. Burning… garlic? Butter?
I pushed open the door, my curiosity piqued. Conall was standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up, with a spatula in hand. He turned at my entrance, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“You’re home.”
I blinked, momentarily distracted by the sight of him trying to cook. “And you’re… cooking?”
“Trying to,”
he corrected, gesturing toward what seemed to be a pan of slightly charred something. “Don’t look so surprised.”
I placed my bag on the counter and stepped closer, gazing into the pan. “What exactly am I looking at?”
“Chicken piccata,”
he said, with a confidence I had to admire.
I bit my lip to suppress a laugh. “Is it meant to be that… black?”
Conall exhaled, glaring at the pan as if it had personally betrayed him. “I might have left it on too long.”
“Just a bit,”
I replied, grinning. “But hey, effort counts.”
He leaned in, his rough fingers grazing my cheek. “I wanted to do something for you.”
Warmth blossomed in my chest. A year ago, he wouldn’t have attempted this. He would have frozen up thinking about the mess in the kitchen. But now? Now, he had tried. It was a disaster zone, and it was wonderful.
“How was your visit with our wonderful niece?”
I reached up and pulled him down into a kiss, savoring the hint of lemon on his lips. His eyes lit up.
“So good. He’s such a good baby.”
Cora and Maxim’s baby was a little darling. Conall took his role as an uncle seriously, insisting on seeing his nephew every chance he got. It was a bit crazy how much he loved carrying him around. I could already tell that he would be an amazing father. Ever since little Vitaly was born, I had been rethinking my stance on motherhood. We hadn’t had a conversation about it yet, but we would soon. Perhaps we would start trying to expand our own family.
“How about I help before you burn the whole place down?” I said.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. “Pizza is on the way,”
he confessed.
Conall’s laughter vibrated against my skin. I knew it didn’t matter. This—this life we were creating—was more than I could have ever asked for.