Chapter Twenty-Two
Dominic
The Atlanta home didn't just feel empty; it felt like the skin we had finally shed.
Standing in the grand foyer, the silence was heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic thud of the last few crates being hammered shut to be loaded onto the trucks.
The movers, hand-picked by Taz for their discretion and efficiency, moved like shadows through the halls.
The massive mahogany pieces and the heavy, bulletproof drapes were gone, leaving behind pale rectangles on the wallpaper where portraits of grim-faced ancestors had hung for decades.
I walked through the rooms, my boots echoing on the bare marble. It was strange—this house had once felt like the center of the universe, a fortress that demanded blood and sweat to maintain. Now, it just felt like a collection of cold rooms.
I found Donny in our primary suite, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
She was dressed in a soft, light, pink-colored tracksuit, her ginger hair pulled back into a messy bun.
She was holding a single small box, the one containing the lavender dress she'd worn the night I claimed her, and the dried petals of the first rose I'd ever given her.
"Ready, Mrs. Masters?" I asked, stepping up behind her. I wrapped my arms around her waist, my hands instinctively resting over the slight, firm swell of her stomach.
"I think so," she whispered, leaning her head back against my shoulder. "It's just… I keep expecting to hear your father's cane hitting the floor in the hallway, or the sound of the front gates buzzing."
"We aren't just leaving, baby. We're starting our life together," I reminded her, kissing the top of her head. "The ghosts stay here. We're taking the life with us."
? ? ?
The final dinner in Atlanta was held in the small breakfast room that still felt like home.
Elena had spent the afternoon in the kitchen, and the air was thick with the scent of braised short ribs, rosemary potatoes, and the spicy, soul-filling aroma of her signature collard greens.
She sat at the head of the table, draped in black silk and pearls, looking every bit the matriarch she was.
Nia and Tasha were there with their husbands, and the mood was a bittersweet mix of celebration and mourning.
We didn't talk about the docks, the shipments, or the "cleanup.
" We talked about the time Nia tried to dye Tasha's hair and turned it orange, and the time I'd crashed my father's classic Mercedes into the koi pond when I was sixteen.
"I've already mapped out the flight path," Nia declared, raising a glass of deep red vintage. "It's four and a half hours from Peachtree DeKalb to LAX. I expect to be in your guest house at least once a month, Donny. Don't think you're getting away that easily."
"And I've already started looking at baby boutiques in Beverly Hills," Tasha added, her eyes sparkling. "This baby is going to be the best-dressed human on the West Coast. Auntie Tasha's gonna be the rich, fly auntie that spoils them."
Elena reached across the table, taking Donny's hand in hers. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "Take care of my son, Donny, and take care of that miracle you're carrying—my beautiful grandbaby. Atlanta will always be the root, but you… you are the fruit. Go grow somewhere where the air is sweet."
I looked at my mother, seeing the peace in her eyes. She knew the transition was complete. I wasn't just my father's son anymore; I was my own man now.
? ? ?
The flight to California was smooth. The city lights of the South faded. Inside the cabin, the lighting was low and amber. Donny fell asleep early, tucked under a cashmere throw, her face peaceful in a way I hadn't seen since I'd met her.
I sat in the swivel chair opposite her, a folder of "Masters Holdings" legal documents in my lap, but I couldn't focus on the numbers.
I thought about the West Coast proposal, the Malibu docks, the legitimate real estate, and the clean slate.
My father had spent forty years trying to get to where I was starting.
By the time we hit the California coast, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, painting the Pacific in shades of electric blue and silver.
? ? ?
The drive up the highway was like a movie. The top was down on the black convertible, the salt spray hitting our faces as we wound our way past the jagged cliffs through an area called Point Dume. When we pulled up the long, gated drive of the Malibu estate, I felt a surge of adrenaline.
The movers had been working in shifts for forty-eight hours. As the massive glass pivot door swung open, the house didn't look like a construction zone—it looked like a sanctuary. Julian Vane's team had executed the staging to perfection.
The white linen sofas were perfectly positioned to face the ocean.
The light oak floors were polished to a soft glow, reflecting the morning sun.
The art—the pieces we'd chosen together—was already hung on the gallery walls.
However, it was the minor details that hit home: the scent of Donny's favorite jasmine candles burning in the foyer, and the way my collection of rare bourbons had been meticulously arranged in the glass-walled bar.
Donny walked through the living room, her hand trailing over the back of a chair, her eyes wide. "They even put the books in the library… Dominic, it looks like we've lived here for years."
"I told them I wanted you to feel at home the second you stepped inside," I explained, trailing behind her.
She stopped at the entrance to the nursery.
The room was bathed in soft, golden light.
A hand-carved walnut crib sat in the center, draped in organic linens.
A plush white rug covered the floor, and a telescope stood by the window, pointed toward the stars.
It was a room for a child who would never know the smell of a warehouse or the sound of a burner phone hitting the floor.
Donny turned to me, tears spilling over her lashes. "You really did it."
"For you and my baby," I whispered, pulling her into a deep, grounding embrace. "We're the Masters, and this is our new kingdom now."
I led her out onto the sprawling terrace. The infinity pool seemed to merge with the horizon. The water was a perfect, glass-like sheet. I pulled two pre-rolled joints from my silver case—one for me, and a custom, low-potency herbal blend for her to settle the travel fatigue.
I sparked mine, the blue-gray smoke dancing in the breeze. I passed hers over, and we stood there at the edge of the cliff, the Pacific crashing against the rocks a hundred feet below. We shared the smoke in a sacred silence, watching a pod of dolphins break the surface in the distance.
I looked at Donny—my wife, my partner, the mother of my legacy—and realized that the woman in my arms was the story of where I was going.
I pulled her closer, the warmth of the California sun settling into our bones. The gates were closed, the past was buried, and for the first time in my life, I didn't have to check the perimeter.
"I love you, Mrs. Masters," I murmured into her hair.
"I love you, Dominic," she replied, her voice strong and clear.
As the sun climbed higher, illuminating the vast, open ocean, this was what I needed. I had the money, the power, and now the family.
"I did it, Dad. Everything is just how you wanted it."