The first picture of my unborn baby burned in a freezing Chicago kitchen while the child’s father—a mafia boss feared across the city—stood on television with another woman and announced their engagement. Two hours earlier, a doctor had told me our baby had a strong heartbeat; now I watched the ultrasound turn to ash as Declan Voss smiled beside the daughter of another crime family.

Three years later.

Spring had returned to Chicago. The sun shone brightly over the blooming tulip gardens of the grand lakefront estate Declan had purchased in Winnetka, ten miles north of the city.

The estate was a far cry from the cold marble walls of Voss Tower. It was a sprawling, three-story historic manor surrounded by ancient oak trees, rolling green lawns, and a private dock leading out to the blue waters of Lake Michigan.

In the sunlit courtyard behind the main house, a joyful garden party was in full swing.

Gavin Roarke, now the chief executive officer of Voss Global Logistics, was sitting on a wooden bench, wearing a light grey linen suit, patiently letting a three-year-old girl paint his expensive leather shoes with washable pink watercolor paint.

Charlotte Voss was a tornado of joy. She had her father’s striking grey eyes, my dark wavy hair, and a laugh that could melt the hardest heart in the Midwest.

“Look, Uncle Gavin!” Charlotte giggled, holding up her paintbrush. “You’re pink now!”

“It’s a massive upgrade, little boss,” Gavin chuckled, ruffling her dark curls affectionately.

On the terrace overlooking the garden, I stood leaning against the stone railing, holding a glass of fresh lemonade. I wore a simple, elegant yellow sundress, my hair tied back in a soft ribbon. My restoration studio had been relocated to a gorgeous glass conservatory on the east wing of the estate, where I spent my mornings restoring fine art for museums across the country.

A pair of strong, warm arms slid around my waist from behind.

Declan pulled me back against his chest, resting his chin on my shoulder, his broad hands resting over my flat stomach—a stomach that was just beginning to show the very subtle, warm curve of our second child.

“Is Charlotte terrorizing Gavin again?” Declan murmured, his voice rich with humor.

“She’s turning his Italian leather shoes into an art project,” I smiled, leaning my head back against his jaw. “And he’s letting her.”

“Gavin would let her burn the house down if she asked nicely,” Declan replied softly, his fingers gently stroking my belly. “How are you feeling today, sweetheart? Any morning sickness?”

“None,” I answered, turning around in his arms to face him fully.

At thirty-four, Declan looked younger, happier, and profoundly at peace. The cold, brutal lines that used to harden his features were gone, replaced by the warm, radiant glow of a man who loved his life. Voss Global Holdings was now one of the most respected, philanthropic corporations in North America, completely clean of its syndicate past.

Declan looked down into my eyes, his hazel-grey gaze filled with an intense, unshakeable devotion that had only grown stronger with every passing day.

“Do you remember four years ago?” Declan whispered, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “When you were hiding in that tiny apartment above the antique shop in North Carolina?”

“I remember thinking my life was over,” I admitted softly, sliding my arms around his neck. “I thought I was saving our daughter from a monster.”

Declan pulled me closer, his lips brushing against mine in a lingering, tender kiss that tasted of sunshine and sweet summer air.

“You didn't just save our daughter, Amelia,” Declan whispered against my lips, his heart beating strong and steady against mine. “You saved me. You brought light into the dark, and you gave me a reason to build a world worth living in.”

Down on the lawn, Charlotte let out a squeal of laughter, running toward the terrace with her paintbrushes held high. “Daddy! Mommy! Look at the butterfly I drew!”

Declan laughed—a bright, booming sound of pure joy—and reached down, scooping our daughter effortlessly into his left arm while keeping his right arm wrapped securely around my waist.

Standing together on the sunlit terrace, listening to the gentle crash of the waves against the shore and the laughter of our child, we looked out over the bright, endless horizon of our future.