Chapter 35 Serena
Serena
Three days have passed since my father’s trial. Three days since Joe put a bullet through Giovanni DiLorenzo’s forehead. Three days since I stood on that rooftop with Shelby and let myself fall apart in his arms.
Now I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor of our penthouse surrounded by wedding magazines, fabric swatches, and catering menus.
Alexia and Maeve are sprawled on the couch behind me, debating the merits of blush pink versus champagne gold for bridesmaid dresses.
Isabella is perched on the arm of the sofa, scrolling through the internet on her phone and occasionally contributing opinions that are far more practical than anything the other two have suggested.
It feels surreal. Normal. Like we’re just four women planning a wedding, instead of survivors of a criminal conspiracy that almost destroyed everything we love.
“I still think you should do the ceremony at our property in Wychmere Harbor,” Alexia says, reaching for another magazine.
Dave’s wife has become an unexpected source of support for me.
She experienced the worst kind of shadows and came out stronger on the other side.
“The views are incredible, and it’s private enough that security won’t be a nightmare. ”
“Shelby mentioned that.” I flip through a binder of venue options Maeve compiled.
The engagement ring Shelby gave me catches the light, that stunning square-cut diamond surrounded by sapphires that match his eyes.
I’ve been wearing it for three days, and I still catch myself staring at it like it might disappear.
Like all of this might disappear.
“Hey.” Isabella’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. My sister sets down her phone and moves to sit beside me on the floor. “Where did you go just now?”
“Nowhere.” I shake my head. “Everywhere. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to go wrong.”
“That’s understandable.” Alexia’s expression is knowing. “After everything you’ve been through, your brain is still in survival mode. It takes time to believe that you’re safe.”
“Does it get easier?”
She exchanges a glance with Maeve, who has faced her ordeals at the hand of Dracul.
Alexia replies, “Yes. Slowly. And then one day you realize you’ve gone hours without looking over your shoulder or planning escape routes. You realize you finally trust the happiness.”
I want that. God, I want that so badly.
“Speaking of happiness,” Maeve says, “when is your husband getting home? We need his input on the honeymoon destination.”
“He had a meeting at the Syndicate.” I check my phone, finding no new messages. “Something about his new role.”
The transition has been surprisingly smooth.
Shelby stepped back from active enforcement operations to head the Syndicate’s logistics division, a position that leverages his tactical brilliance without requiring him to be in the field.
He told me it was his choice, that he wanted to be present for our life together instead of constantly disappearing into danger.
The elevator chimes, and speak of the devil, Shelby walks through the door. He’s carrying a bottle of champagne and wearing an expression I’ve come to recognize: barely suppressed excitement mixed with that careful control he maintains in public.
“Ladies,” he greets the room, but his eyes find mine immediately. Something passes between us, electric and intimate.
“We should go,” Alexia says, already gathering her things. Maeve and Isabella follow suit with suspicious speed, as if they’d planned this exit.
“You don’t have to—” I start.
“Yes, we absolutely do.” Maeve winks at me. “Planning can wait. Enjoy your evening.”
They’re gone, leaving behind a tornado of wedding materials and the lingering scent of three different perfumes.
“They’re not subtle,” Shelby observes, setting down the champagne.
“They really aren’t.”
He crosses to where I’m still sitting on the floor and lowers himself beside me, careless of the expensive suit. His hand finds mine, threading our fingers together with easy familiarity.
“How was the meeting?”
“Productive. Dave approved the new security protocols for the businesses, and we’re ahead of schedule on dismantling the remaining trafficking infrastructure.” He pauses, something shifting in his expression. “Ray found another holding location. Twenty-three more victims recovered this morning.”
Twenty-three more lives saved because we didn’t stop fighting.
“That’s good,” I say softly. “That’s really good.”
“It’s because of you.” Shelby turns to face me fully, cupping my cheek with his free hand. “The intelligence you gathered, the systems you helped Maeve build to track the money. None of this would have been possible without you.”
“It was possible because we worked together. All of us.”
“Always deflecting.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “When are you going to accept that you’re extraordinary?”
“When are you going to accept that you’re not cursed?”
“I’m working on it,” he admits. “Every day I wake up beside you, and that nothing terrible happens, the voice gets a little quieter.”
“Just a little?”
“Sometimes a lot.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. “When I look at you, the voice goes completely silent. And I think: this is what healing feels like. Not the absence of scars but learning to live with them.”
I kiss him, soft and slow. The champagne sits forgotten beside us. The wedding magazines scatter as I shift closer, crawling into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips.
“I love you too.” His hands slide down my back, pulling me closer. “More than I ever thought I was capable of loving anyone.”
The kiss deepens, heat building between us with the familiar electricity that’s been there since the beginning.
“Bedroom?” I ask, breathless.
“Bedroom,” he agrees.
He stands in one fluid motion, lifting me with him, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me through the penthouse.
The bedroom is bathed in golden light, the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Boston’s skyline. Shelby lays me on the bed like I’m something precious, and the tenderness in his expression makes my heart ache.
I pull him down to me, silencing him with another kiss. “I want you. I always want you.”
His groan vibrates against my mouth as he settles his weight over me. We undress each other slowly, deliberately, nothing like the frantic encounters of our early days. This is different. We know we have time. We trust that tomorrow will come and we’ll still be here, together.
“You’re so beautiful, álainn,” Shelby murmurs, trailing kisses down my throat. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”
“Yours,” I confirm, arching into his touch. “Only yours.” I rake my fingers through his hair. “Always yours.”
He takes his time worshiping my body, his mouth and hands mapping familiar territory with renewed reverence. I shatter once under his tongue before he finally slides inside me, and the connection overwhelms us because it’s physical, emotional, and spiritual.
We move together in perfect rhythm, building toward something inevitable.
Shelby’s eyes stay locked on mine, showing me everything in their blue depths: love and desire and gratitude and fierce protective devotion.
He’s the man who came for me when I was chained in a dungeon.
The man who killed for me without hesitation.
The man who knelt in front of the entire Syndicate and asked me to marry him again.
“Serena.” My name is a prayer on his lips as we climax together, pleasure rippling through us in waves that seem to go on forever.
Later, I rest my head on his chest, his fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. The sun has set, and the city lights glitter beyond the windows like earthbound stars.
“I’ve been thinking about the wedding,” I say eventually.
“Hmm?” His voice is drowsy, satisfied.
“Wychmere Harbor. The ceremony. Alexia suggested it, and... I think she’s right.”
Shelby’s arms tighten around me. “Mom always said she wanted her boys to find partners who challenged them. Who made them better.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You make me better, Serena. Every single day.”
I shift, propping myself up on my elbow to look at him. In the dim light, the sharp angles of his face are softened, the permanent tension in his jaw finally relaxed. He looks younger like this. Peaceful. I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertip.
“When I look at you and think about our future, I hope. Like maybe everything we went through was leading us to this moment. To each other.”
Shelby catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Love you, álainn.”
“Love you more,” I whisper.
We’re quiet for a while, listening to each other breathe, existing in the sacred space we’ve created. Outside, Boston continues its endless rhythm with cars and people and lives intersecting and diverging. Inside, there’s only us.
Shelby shifts, rolling us so I’m straddling him. His eyes are intense, burning with conviction. “Your turn to be on top, to lead us,” he murmurs, and his voice carries the weight of a vow.
I lean down to kiss him, and he guides his erection to my entrance. I straighten back up, start moving, setting a lazy rhythm to our lovemaking. His hands on my hips don’t try to direct me.
Locking eyes with me, he grunts, “I’m all yours tonight.”
New waves of pleasure pool deep inside. I throw my head back. “Tonight and forever.”
“Always,” he replies.
Before dawn breaks, we find ecstasy together again and again. Until, exhausted, we fall asleep embraced.
Two broken people who chose each other.
Two scarred souls finding healing together.
Two hearts that became whole through fire and darkness.
This is what the other side looks like. This is the happiness we fought for, bled for, nearly died for.
And it’s only the beginning.