CAN I SLEEP HERE TONIGHT? THE MAID'S FEARLESS TODDLER ASKED THE LONELY MAFIA BOSS — HE SAID YES

One year later.

Spring had arrived in full bloom across New York. The manicured lawns of the Westchester estate were lush and green, dotted with thousands of blooming white roses and golden tulips.

Under a grand white silk canopy set up in the central courtyard, classical strings played a breathtaking melody.

Seated under the canopy were hundreds of guests—city officials, reformed business associates, loyal security staff, and friends—all dressed in elegant formal wear.

At the altar, standing under an archway made of white orchids and ivy, was Gabriel Kane.

He looked magnificent in a dark navy tailored tuxedo, his silver-threaded hair neatly styled, his face radiant with an open, brilliant smile that transformed his entire countenance. Beside him stood Vance Sterling as his best man.

The music shifted to a slow, majestic bridal march.

The crowd rose to their feet.

Walking down the rose-petal-strewn aisle was four-year-old Nora. She wore a puffy lavender flower girl dress with shiny white shoes, carrying a basket of yellow marigold petals. But instead of carrying her yellow blanket, she had it neatly folded and tied around her waist like a sash—a proud reminder of the journey that had brought them here.

Behind her came Maren.

She was breathtaking beyond words. Her wedding gown was a masterpiece of delicate ivory lace, featuring a long, sweeping train and a veil that floated behind her like mist. Her hazel eyes were locked onto Gabriel, shining with a love so deep it left the entire audience breathless.

When Maren reached the altar, Gabriel stepped forward, taking her hands into his.

The elderly priest smiled warmly at them. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of God and these witnesses to join Gabriel Kane and Maren Cole in holy matrimony."

The priest looked at Gabriel. "Gabriel, do you take Maren to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

Gabriel looked deep into Maren’s eyes, his voice booming clear and strong across the sunny garden. "I do."

"And do you, Maren, take Gabriel to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

Maren smiled through tears of pure joy. "I do."

"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!" the priest announced proudly. "Gabriel, you may kiss your bride!"

Gabriel pulled Maren into his arms, dipping her gracefully as he kissed her with all the passion and devotion in his soul! The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, cheers, and standing ovations!

Nora giggled, running up and throwing her small arms around both of their legs!

Gabriel laughed—a warm, rich sound that echoed across the estate—and scooped Nora up into his arm while keeping his right arm wrapped securely around Maren’s waist.

They walked back down the aisle together as a family, showered in white and yellow rose petals under the brilliant afternoon sun.

That evening, as the stars began to twinkle in the clear night sky, the grand reception moved indoors.

In the master study, mounted above the marble fireplace where Nora had sat on that stormy night one year ago, hung a beautiful, custom-framed oil painting.

The painting depicted a dark, heavy mansion surrounded by rain, but inside the center window burned a bright, warm golden light. In the foreground of the painting sat a small, perfectly preserved piece of yellow blanket, set behind protective glass.

Gabriel stood by the window, holding a glass of champagne, watching Maren and Nora dancing together in the grand ballroom below, their laughter filling every corner of the twelve-bedroom mansion.

Mrs. Whitfield, the sharp-eyed housekeeper, walked up beside him, holding a tray. She looked at the painting, then down at the ballroom, a rare, soft smile touching her lips.

"It isn't quiet anymore, Mr. Kane," Mrs. Whitfield observed softly.