Chapter Fifty-Two
Colton
The villa’s evening light caught Isabella’s profile as she sat near the terrace railing, one hand curved around her prominent belly while she read a novel. Seven and a half months of pregnancy had only made her more beautiful, though she’d likely hurt me for saying so out loud.
“Final sentencing came through,” Cooper said, joining me at the outdoor table. He poured more wine—all we seemed to enjoy lately. Even I had finally grown fond of it. “Rodger and his core team got thirty years minimum. Board members varying sentences based on involvement.”
“And the girls?” Isabella asked without looking up from her book. Some habits died hard; she still analyzed everything she read with the same fierce focus she’d once given to authenticating art.
“Most returned to families.” I loosened my tie, still wound tight from another video conference with authorities. “The others are in safe houses, receiving care. Building new lives.”
The twins shifted visibly beneath Isabella’s sundress, making her smile. She’d been right about leaving London—the Italian sun agreed with all of them.
“Bank’s finished,” Cooper continued, swirling his wine with practiced ease. “Assets seized, operations dissolved. The art trafficking network completely dismantled.”
“Good,” Isabella said firmly, closing her book and joining us at the table. “That chapter of our lives is finally over.”
Below us, Clara chased fireflies through the vines, her laughter carrying up to the terrace. The scene was almost painfully peaceful after months of darkness and danger.
“Interpol sent their final report this morning,” I said, watching Isabella settle carefully into a chair. “They wanted to personally thank you for the intelligence you provided. Said it was instrumental in securing the convictions.”
“All I did was notice patterns,” she said modestly, though her eyes shone with quiet pride. “The agents did the real work.”
“You did far more than notice patterns,” I reminded her. “You survived. You fought back. You made sure they couldn’t hurt anyone else.”
She reached for my hand across the table, squeezing lightly. The twins kicked against her belly as if in agreement. “The nightmares are getting better.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded. She still woke sometimes—memories of needles and darkness driving her from sleep. But those nights were growing rarer.
“The new security system arrives next week,” I said, instead of addressing her observation directly. “Full coverage of the villa and grounds.”
“Paranoid much?”
“Protective.” I splayed my fingers wider over her stomach. “Of all of you.”
The twins kicked again, making her laugh. “They’re definitely your sons. Always ready for a fight.”
“God help us,” Cooper called from his chair. “Two more Moreau boys.” He took another sip of wine, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, Professor Moreau, have you prepared your first lecture yet? Something inspiring about corporate ethics, perhaps? Or maybe ‘How to Take Down Criminal Enterprises: A Lawyer’s Guide’?”
I rolled my eyes at his teasing. The University of Florence’s offer was a significant decrease in salary, but we would survive just fine. Teaching law would be a far cry from the high-pressure world of corporate finance.
“I’m thinking something more traditional for the first semester,” I replied dryly. “Though I could probably write a compelling case study on financial crimes.”
“You could write a whole textbook,” Isabella added, amusement dancing in her eyes.
As if summoned by our laughter, Clara came racing up the terrace steps. “Uncle Colton! Come see what I found!”
Isabella pushed me slightly. “Go. She’s been exploring all afternoon.”
I let Clara drag me towards her latest discovery, but not before catching the softness in Isabella’s eyes as she watched us. The same look she’d had in that moment three months ago, when justice finally outweighed horror.
The same look that made me fall in love with her all over again.
“Hurry!” Clara tugged my hand. “The fireflies are dancing!”
Below us, the vineyard glowed with tiny lights. Each one a spark of hope. Each one a promise of the future.
Each one a reminder of what we’d fought to protect.
“Coming, Clara,” I said, following her down the steps. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Behind us, Isabella’s laugh mingled with the evening air. Free. Strong. Safe.
Home.
Later that night, I found Isabella in the nursery, organizing yet another round of baby supplies. The room was now filled with two cribs, each positioned to catch morning light through tall windows.
“The security team finished their survey,” I said, watching her fold impossibly small clothes. “Stryker’s adding extra measures on the north side.”
“Still worried?” She didn’t look up from her task, but her hands stilled briefly.
“Montgomery made bail last week.”
Now she did turn, one hand going protectively to her stomach. “They can’t possibly think—”
“No evidence he was directly involved in trafficking,” I reminded her. “Just financial crimes. His lawyers are good.”
“His lawyers are bought.” But she let me pull her close, the twins active between us. “You really think he’d risk coming here?”
“I think we destroyed everything he spent decades building.” My hands slid to her lower back, trying to ease the tension pregnancy put there. “I think he’s desperate and dangerous.”
“And you think he blames us specifically?”
“I think we need to be careful.” I pressed a kiss to her temple. “Just a while longer.”
She was quiet for a moment, and I knew she was thinking of her father. Of choices and consequences. Of prices paid for asking the wrong questions.
“Your first lecture at the university is next week, isn’t it?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yes. The dean was particularly interested in my experience with international financial regulations.” I smiled, thinking about how different academic life would be from corporate law. “A fresh start, and just a short drive from here.”
“It will be perfect for you,” she said warmly. “You can shape the next generation of lawyers to actually have ethics.”
The twins kicked as if emphasizing the point, making her laugh. The sound still hit me in the chest—joy where there had once been only corporate precision.
“Sari called,” she said after a moment. “The authorities found more girls. In private ‘collections’ across Europe.”
I tensed, remembering the documentation we’d discovered. The careful records of lives bought and sold like paintings.
“They’re safe now,” Isabella continued softly. “Being reunited with families. Building new lives.”
“Because of you.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “Because you saw the patterns. Asked the questions. Fought for justice.”
“Because of us.” She touched my face, tracing scars from that final night. “Because you chose to help. To fight. To bring it all down.”