Chapter 40
Raffe drove home, nodding to the officer standing sentry as he turned up the driveway. The quiet of the night felt oddly deceptive, a sharp contrast to the storm still racing through his head.
Vito Calvino, Barry Trello, and Jim Fuller were locked away, but that didn’t mean the fight was over.
Not by a long shot. The forensic accountants had already unearthed enough damning evidence to bury Calvino ten times over, but men like Vito had money to burn and lawyers who could spin fairy tales for juries.
Raffe had seen it happen—killers painted as misunderstood pillars of their community, liars recast as saints while the prosecuting attorneys and witnesses were described as vendetta seekers.
Even more concerning, there was going to be a scramble for power. Every capo in Calvino’s organization would be sharpening his teeth, vying for the empty throne. That meant more violence, more chaos, more innocents caught in the crossfire.
But the moment Raffe pushed open the door and stepped into the cavernous foyer of Evangeline’s house, all that fell away. He paused, his hand still on the knob, allowing the warmth to wash over him.
There was something about this house—something he’d never once felt walking into his own tiny apartment. It wasn’t just bricks and plaster. It was alive with hope. With stubbornness. With laughter and grit. With family.
Freddy. That kid was tougher than half the men Raffe had worked cases on. Freddy wasn’t just fighting for his legs; he was fighting for his future, clawing his way toward a normal life that most kids took for granted.
And Evangeline—he truly adored that woman.
She was chaos draped in pearls, an adorable menace.
But the way she looked after Freddy, the way she teased and cajoled him into trying harder—Raffe’s chest clenched every time he caught the two of them encouraging each other.
She wasn’t frail at all. She was steel wrapped in lace, and he finally understood why Mia guarded her so fiercely.
And Mia…
Damn, he loved her. Every time he thought of her honesty, her stubborn courage, those dark, soulful eyes—something deep and strange shifted in his chest. She was his compass, his anchor, his everything.
Her plan had been insane, reckless, but she’d done it for love.
She’d risked everything for her grandmother, and somehow, it had worked.
That kind of fire, that kind of loyalty—he couldn’t look at her without feeling something he’d never thought he’d deserve.
Her life hadn’t been easy either. She’d spent years dodging her father’s reach across Europe, surviving on grit and ingenuity, living like a fugitive.
Until she’d found out her nonna needed her—and she’d come back to face down the monster who’d raised her.
Raffe respected her. Admired her. Wanted her in ways that made his blood simmer and his soul ache.
“Raffe?”
Her voice came softly from the shadows, a balm against the storm raging in his head.
He turned toward it and found himself stepping into the formal living room.
They almost never used this room. It was too stiff, too polished, to be comfortable.
But tonight, it was transformed. Mia was on the sofa, Freddy’s head pillowed on her lap.
On the right, Evangeline was tucked into the wingback chair, her chin tipped forward on her chest, lips parted in sleep.
The sight stopped him cold.
“What are you guys doing in here? You should all be in bed,” he asked, and his voice came out rough, gravelly.
He told himself it was the late hour, the fatigue of the day.
But he knew the truth. His throat was tight because his family had waited up for him.
Because they’d worried about him. Because this was what family did.
His family.
And in that moment, standing there with exhaustion seeped into his bones, Raffe realized something—he didn’t want to walk into empty apartments anymore.
He didn’t want to live out of duffel bags and stakeout vans.
He wanted this. This chaos. This stubborn old woman, this broken but brave boy, this fierce woman with eyes that stripped him bare.
He wanted them. Forever
“We wanted to be here when you came back to us,” Mia whispered, her hand stroking Freddy’s hair in slow, soothing sweeps.
Raffe came closer, then dropped down to one knee in front of her.
She looked exhausted—her hair was pulled back into a messy bun that had half-drooped to the side, strands escaping to frame her face.
Her makeup was gone, her lips dry, but somehow, she looked more beautiful than ever.
Beautiful in a way that stole his breath away.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Her dark eyes blinked at him. “For what?”
“For asking me to marry you.”
She laughed softly, her hand stilling on Freddy’s head. The sound was small, but it was the most welcome thing he’d heard in days.
“Did you catch the bad guys?” Freddy’s voice was groggy, his lashes fluttering as his eyes opened. He lifted his head as though he meant to sit up, but his thin body slumped back against Mia, who immediately wrapped her arm around him protectively.
“Yeah,” Raffe said, his voice steady, firm, leaving no room for doubt. “We caught them.”
Mia looked up at him, tenson visible in her jaw. “All of them?”
He nodded once. “Yeah. Your father is in jail. We’ve got enough evidence to bury him.”
She didn’t relax. Instead, her lips pressed together, her skepticism sharp as ever. “A good lawyer…” she began.
Raffe shook his head. Before he could reply, Freddy looked up at Mia, his expression alight with conviction. “Raffe won’t let that happen.” His voice was clear, unwavering, carrying a faith that made Raffe’s chest tighten.
Damn. That kind of faith, from a kid who’d been let down so painfully and so often, hit harder than anything Mia could have said.
“It’s late,” Raffe said, his voice low. He turned to glance at Evangeline. She was still slumped in her chair, eyes closed, a small smile tugging her lips. “I’ll carry her to bed.”
Freddy pushed himself upright, rubbing his eyes with his fists.
“Thanks, Raffe,” he muttered, his tone already half-asleep.
Then, in a sudden burst of motion, he launched himself forward and wrapped his skinny arms around Raffe’s neck.
“I love you!” he whispered fiercely, and before Raffe could even respond, the boy dashed out of the living room on wobbly legs, heading for the stairs, keeping one hand on the wall for balance, but his pace was faster than ever.
The silence left behind was deafening. Raffe, Mia, and Evangeline just sat there, stunned and delighted by Freddy’s unguarded declaration.
Finally, Raffe’s eyes found Mia’s. She smiled softly, shrugging as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I guess we all love you,” she murmured as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him too.
That wasn’t enough. Not for him.
With a growl low in his chest, Raffe tugged at the back of her messy bun, tilting her head back until her dark eyes widened.
He claimed her lips in a kiss that was anything but calm, anything but casual.
“I love you too,” he muttered against her mouth when he finally drew back, pressing his forehead to hers.
“’Bout time!” Evangeline grumbled. She pushed herself up from the chair and for a brief, terrifying moment, she wobbled. Both Raffe and Mia lunged for her instinctively.
“I’m getting better,” she insisted while chuckling, though her knees were trembling. “But every once in a while, my muscles forget they’re supposed to work.”
Raffe didn’t bother with words. He simply swept her up into his arms, ignoring her half-hearted protests as she swatted at his shoulder.
“I got ya,” he said firmly. Carrying her upstairs was no burden at all.
He laid her carefully on her bed, tucked the blankets over her, pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, and turned to go.
As he left, he shot Mia a look—one that warned her not to be long.
Downstairs, the house was quiet again. He checked every door and window, ensuring each was locked, lingering for a moment at the boarded-up window Jim Fuller had smashed through.
The plywood was solid. Good enough for tonight.
Outside, the exterior lights lit the backyard, washing over the tree house where Barry Trello had squatted like a rat.
Raffe’s jaw tightened. That bastard had been too close for too long.
The kitchen was spotless—except for the pizza box someone had crammed into the trash. His stomach growled. He opened the fridge, and right there, waiting front and center, was a container with three slices waiting for him.
“Damn, woman,” he muttered under his breath, pulling it out. He scarfed down a slice, then another, chasing it with the cold beer someone had left sitting beside the container, the perfect gift.
Smiling, Raffe rinsed the container, slid it into the dishwasher, and leaned against the counter. Warmth flooded him, but it wasn’t the cold pizza. It was the thoughtfulness behind it.
Mia.
This family.
They had his back, trusted him, cared for him, even when he didn’t deserve it. And for the first time in his life, Raffe wasn’t just fighting for a case, or for justice, or for some abstract idea of duty.
He was fighting for them.
And then it hit him—Mia was most likely waiting for him. In his bed.
Or…had she fallen asleep already?
That had to stop. No more separate bedrooms. No more pretending this was temporary. The truth was already written across his heart in fire: this was permanent. They needed a future. A real one.
A house. A dog. Kids. Siblings for Freddy, chaos and laughter filling every hallway. It all made sense now, like the last piece of a puzzle snapping into place.
He strode upstairs, his body heavy with exhaustion, but also lighter than it had ever felt. Pausing at her doorway, he peeked in. Empty.
A grin tugged at his mouth.
He pushed open his own door and, sure enough, there she was, curled up, dead center of his bed, tangled in the blankets like she’d claimed it. Claimed him.
“Little brat,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Of course, she’d choose the middle.
Stripping off his clothes, he got ready for bed, anticipation humming through him. He’d wanted to thank her properly for the pizza and beer, to hear those soft, breathy sounds she made when he touched her, when he drove her out of her mind. He wanted that again, wanted her again.
But when he pulled back the covers, he realized she was sound asleep. Her eyes were closed, her lashes just brushing her cheeks, her lips soft and parted, her breathing steady. Peaceful and serene.
Smiling, he slipped into bed beside her and pulled her against him. She fit perfectly, like she’d been designed for this spot in his arms.
The lights off, the house silent around them, he lay there staring up at the ceiling. For once, he wasn’t mapping escape routes or running scenarios through his mind. He was thinking about tomorrow. About everything he wanted to build with her.
“You get something to eat?” she mumbled suddenly, her voice thick with sleep, as she burrowed closer to his warmth.
“Yeah,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
She muttered something he couldn’t catch—half words, half dream-speech—but it was so damn adorable he couldn’t stop himself from stroking her hair. Soft. Silken. His.
Then, he realized what had to be done.
“I’ll need to drive to Chicago tomorrow,” he whispered thoughtfully, more to himself than to her.
“We can pack a picnic lunch!” she agreed sleepily, then flung a leg over his thigh in a move that nearly unmanned him.
“Son of a—” he caught her knee just in time, saving his future children from a painful end. His heart lurched as he frowned at her sleeping form, even as she nuzzled closer to his chest, like she hadn’t just nearly castrated him in his own bed.
But then his brain replayed her words.
She wanted to come to Chicago with him?
His chest went tight.
Oh, hell no!