Chapter Fourteen
Diana woke to sunlight and the sound of Vice's heartbeat beneath her ear.
For a long moment, she just lay there, cataloging the sensations. The warmth of his body wrapped around hers. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The weight of his arm across her waist, holding her close even in sleep.
He'd come home.
The memory of last night filtered back in pieces—the roar of engines returning to the compound, the shouts of victory from brothers who'd survived another battle, and Vice walking through the door with blood on his clothes and peace in his eyes.
It's done, he'd said. Barron's dead. You're safe.
Then he'd held her until the shaking stopped.
Diana pressed a kiss to his chest and carefully extracted herself from his grip, needing to move, to process, to figure out what came next now that the war was finally over.
The compound was already awake when she padded into the main hall.
Brothers sat at tables nursing coffee and nursing hangovers, their conversations low and satisfied.
Old ladies moved through the space with the easy efficiency of women who'd done this before—victory cleanup, the morning after violence, life returning to normal.
Jenna found her at the coffee station.
"Sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in weeks." Diana poured herself a cup, hands steady for the first time in what felt like forever. "Is it really over?"
"Barron's dead. His operation's destroyed. The warehouse burned to the ground with everything in it." Jenna's smile held grim satisfaction. "Yeah. It's over."
Diana leaned against the counter, letting the words sink in. Over. No more sabotage. No more complaints. No more men breaking into her daycare to threaten the children who played there.
"The building," she said slowly. "My lease—"
"Barron's holdings will be tied up in legal hell for months. Maybe years. But your lease was signed with the previous owner, and it'll transfer to whoever inherits the mess." Jenna shrugged. "Either way, nobody's coming for Little Sprouts anymore."
Diana's throat tightened. "I need to call Martha. And Beth. They've been handling everything while I've been gone, and they don't even know—"
"Go." Jenna nodded toward the hallway. "Use the office if you want privacy. Take your time."
Diana found the small office off the main hall—a cluttered space with a battered desk and a phone that actually had a landline. She dialed Martha's number from memory and waited.
"Hello?"
"Martha. It's Diana."
"Diana!" Martha's voice cracked. "Oh my God, we've been so worried. Beth said you had a family emergency, but you've been gone for days and we didn't know if—"
"I'm okay." Diana sank into the desk chair, eyes stinging. "I'm okay, Martha. And I'm coming home."
She told them as much as she could—a sanitized version involving property disputes and legal complications, nothing that would give nightmares to women who spent their days caring for toddlers. By the time she finished, both Martha and Beth were crying with relief.
"The kids miss you so much," Beth said, having grabbed the phone from Martha. "Sophie keeps asking when Miss Diana is coming back. And Matty drew you a picture—it's a dinosaur, I think, or maybe a horse. Hard to tell with his artistic style."
Diana laughed, tears streaming down her face. "Tell them I'll be there Monday. Tell them everything's going to be okay."
"Is it?" Beth's voice dropped. "Is it really okay, Diana? Because we've been scared. The pipes, the electrical problems, all those complaints—we knew something was wrong, even if you didn't want to worry us."
"It's really okay." Diana wiped her eyes. "The problems are solved. Permanently. Little Sprouts is safe."
The relief in Beth's voice was palpable. "Thank God. Thank God. We'll have everything ready for you Monday—I'll bring the snacks, Martha can handle setup, and you just come in and be with the kids."
"That sounds perfect."
Diana hung up and sat in the quiet office for a long moment, letting it all wash over her. Her daycare was waiting. Her kids were waiting. The life she'd built was still there, intact, because a man in a leather cut had decided she was worth protecting.
She found a notepad in the desk drawer and started making lists.
Supplies she needed to replace—craft paper, finger paints, the backup bin of goldfish crackers that Phelps's floods had destroyed.
Curriculum she wanted to implement now that she wasn't spending every spare moment fighting false complaints.
Improvements she could finally afford to make, now that her emergency fund wasn't being drained by sabotage repairs.
The future stretched out in front of her, full of possibility instead of fear.
"You're up early."
Diana looked up to find Vice in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a coffee cup in one hand and a soft expression on his face.
"Couldn't sleep." She held up her notepad. "Making plans."
"I can see that." He crossed the room and peered over her shoulder at her lists. "Finger paints? Goldfish crackers?"
"Essential supplies. You can't run a daycare without them."
Vice's hand found the back of her neck, warm and grounding. "You're really going back."
"Monday morning." Diana leaned into his touch. "Martha and Beth are prepping everything. The kids are waiting. I need to be there."
"I know you do."
She turned to face him, searching his expression for any sign of resistance. "Is that okay? I know things are different now, with us, with the club. But Little Sprouts is my life. Those children—"
"Diana." Vice set down his coffee and cupped her face in both hands. "I watched you spend two weeks fighting for that daycare. You walked into Church and gave a tactical briefing to make sure we could protect it. You think I don't understand what it means to you?"
"I just—"
"Those kids need you. Their parents need you. That building needs someone who loves it enough to fight for it." His thumbs traced her cheekbones. "I would never ask you to give that up."
Diana's heart swelled. "What about us? The compound, your brothers, your life here—"
"My life is with you." Vice said it simply, like it was obvious. "Doesn't matter if that's here or at the daycare or anywhere else. Where you go, I go."
"That's very possessive of you."
"Damn right it is." His mouth curved. "You're mine, Diana. That means your daycare is mine. Your kids are mine. Everything you care about, everything you've built—I protect it like I protect you."
She rose on her toes and kissed him, soft and slow.
"I love you."
"I love you too." He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Now tell me about these plans you're making."
Diana grinned and pulled him toward the desk.
"Okay, so the craft corner needs completely restocking—the flood destroyed almost everything.
And I've been wanting to add a music station, but there was never budget.
And the reading nook could use new beanbags, the kids have basically destroyed the old ones... "
Vice listened with genuine attention, asking questions, offering suggestions that revealed he'd been paying attention during every conversation they'd had about Little Sprouts. By the time she finished, they had a full renovation plan sketched out on the notepad.
"I'll help with the heavy lifting," Vice said. "Moving furniture, building shelves, whatever you need."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." His hand found hers, lacing their fingers together. "Those kids are going to be part of my life now. Might as well start making myself useful."
Diana studied him—this dangerous man who'd killed for her, who'd held her through nightmares and fought off her demons, who was now casually volunteering to build shelves for a daycare full of toddlers.
"The parents might have questions," she said carefully. "About the man picking me up every day. The one in the leather cut with the scary patches."
"Let them ask." Vice's expression was utterly untroubled. "I'll tell them I'm the guy who keeps their kids' teacher safe. If they've got a problem with that, they can find another daycare."
"That's not how customer service works."
"It's how protection works." He pulled her closer. "I'm not hiding who I am, Diana. Not from anyone. You're with me, and that means something. The parents can deal with it or they can leave."
Diana should have argued. Should have pointed out that her daycare depended on enrollment, that scaring off parents with intimidating bikers wasn't a great business strategy.
But she looked at Vice—at the certainty in his eyes, the way he held her like she was precious, the absolute commitment in every word—and found she didn't want to argue.
"Some of them will probably like it," she admitted. "Knowing there's someone watching out for the place."
"See? It's practically a selling point." Vice grinned. "Armed security, very exclusive."
Diana laughed despite herself. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm yours." He kissed her forehead. "Same thing."
They stood together in the quiet office, her lists spread across the desk, the future taking shape in scribbled notes and half-formed plans. Monday felt close enough to touch—her daycare waiting, her kids waiting, her life waiting to resume with one very significant addition.
"I should check on the supplies I'll need for reopening," Diana said. "Make sure everything's in order."
"I'll drive you to the daycare later. Help you take inventory." Vice's hand slid to her lower back, possessive and natural. "But first—breakfast. Rosa's making pancakes, and she'll be offended if we don't show up."
"Wouldn't want to offend Rosa."
"Nobody wants to offend Rosa. Woman controls the food supply."
Diana let him guide her out of the office and back toward the main hall, where the sounds of the compound coming fully awake drifted through the corridors. Brothers calling to each other. Children laughing somewhere outside. The smell of pancakes and bacon filling the air.
This was her life now. Not just the daycare, but this too—the compound, the club, the family she'd stumbled into while fighting for her own.
"Vice?" she said as they approached the main hall.
"Yeah?"
"Monday, after I close up. Will you come for pickup?"
He stopped walking and turned to face her, something warm and sure settling into his expression.
"Every day," he said. "For as long as you'll let me."
Diana smiled, and the way he smiled back told her everything she needed to know.
He'd already planned on it.