But the question is there in his eyes.
In the way he holds us.
In the way his thumb moves slowly over my shoulder like he’s reminding himself I’m real.
I rest my forehead against his chest.
“Maybe she’s right,” I whisper. “Adriana would love me as a wife.”
Livy sighs, already drifting again.
“Good,” she whispers. “I like being right.”
And for the first time in hours, Maverick laughs too. Not much. Not enough to erase the nightmare waiting behind us.
But enough.
Enough to remind me we’re still alive.
Enough to remind me that monsters don’t always get the final word.
Sometimes little girls do.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Maverick
Home sounds different when you almost lose it.
I used to think home was quiet.
Controlled.
Men standing guard at gates with guns hidden beneath suit jackets.
I used to think home was something a man built high enough, strong enough, and guarded enough that nothing could touch what lived inside it.
I was wrong.
Home is noise.
Olivia laughing too loudly in the main room because Skip just signed her cast for the third time and tried to convince her that each signature counted as a separate legal document.
Amelia scolding Stefano for trying to carry a tray of espresso cups when he was still technically supposed to be resting.
Stefano telling her, very seriously, that a bullet to the chest had not affected his ability to transport coffee.
Tank arguing with Bones over who got the last piece of cake.
Luca threatening to throw them both outside if they knocked over one more chair.
Children running.
Women laughing.
The Iron Shadows filling my estate like they were always meant to belong here.
My family.
