Chapter 7 - The Final Stand and the New DawnThe western hallway of the Conti estate turned into a war zone.
Smoke hung in the air from flashbangs, mixing with the sharp scent of gunpowder. Matteo’s men moved with tactical precision, securing the corridors while Moretti’s hired guns tried to push toward the third-floor executive suite.
I stayed right behind Matteo, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker I had grabbed from the drawing-room—not because I thought I could take on an armed mercenary, but because I refused to be a helpless bystander again.
As we rounded the corner toward the grand staircase, two men in black tactical gear burst from the guest wing corridor, their weapons raised.
Matteo moved like lightning. He fired twice, dropping the first man instantly, but the second mercenary swung his rifle barrel directly toward Matteo’s chest.
Without thinking, I swung the heavy iron fireplace poker with all my strength, catching the mercenary right across the side of his helmet with a resounding CLANG.
The man stumbled sideways, disoriented just long enough for Leo Mercer to step around the corner and put a clean round into his shoulder, dropping him to the floor.
Silence fell over the corridor a few seconds later, broken only by the wail of the security alarms and the groans of the retreating intruders being rounded up by the guards.
Matteo spun around, his eyes wide with shock and fury as he grabbed my arms. “Are you out of your mind? You could have been killed!”
“Welcome to my world, Conti!” I panted, dropping the iron poker with a heavy thud onto the carpet. “Turns out self-defense is a great stress reliever!”
Before Matteo could respond, heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs. Leo rushed around the corner, his radio squawking loudly.
“Boss! We got the lead infiltrator. He’s singing like a canary.” Leo caught his breath, casting a quick glance at me before looking back at Matteo. “It’s over. Moretti tried to make a desperate play before the federal indictment dropped. Word just came down from the U.S. Attorney’s office—Giannis Moretti’s assets have been frozen, and federal marshals are raiding his compound right now.”
Matteo closed his eyes for a single, long second, letting out a heavy breath that carried the weight of a decade-long war.
Then he looked down at me.
The blood, the smoke, the chaos of the night—all of it faded into the background.
“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing a smudge of soot off my cheek with his thumb.
“I survived my twenty-sixth birthday, took down a corporate shell company, and beat a mercenary with a fireplace poker,” I smiled, leaning into his touch despite the adrenaline still humming through my veins. “I think I’m going to survive anything.”
A genuine, radiant smile broke across Matteo’s face—the kind of smile that made him look entirely human, completely handsome, and utterly hers.
“Good,” he murmured, pulling me against his chest in a tight, protective embrace. “Because you’re not going anywhere.”
Three months later.
The snow had melted into the vibrant, blooming green of an early Boston spring.
The grand courtyard of the Conti estate was bathed in warm, golden sunlight. Inside the sunlit conservatory, my mother sat comfortably in a motorized garden chair, sipping herbal tea and laughing at something Leo Mercer was awkwardly explaining about modern smartphones.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, wearing a crisp white blazer and dark trousers, reviewing the final corporate merger documents for the Conti shipping empire.
A pair of warm, familiar arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and a heavy chin rested softly on my shoulder.
“You’re working too hard, Ms. Conti,” a deep, gravelly voice murmured against my ear.
I leaned back against Matteo’s chest, smiling as I turned my head to press a light kiss against his cheek. The scar from the flying glass on his jaw had faded into a faint, distinguished line—a permanent reminder of the night a clumsy cocktail waitress poked him in the chest and changed both our lives forever.
“I’m not working too hard,” I teased, resting my hands over his. “I’m just making sure your syndicate stays profitable enough to afford my mother’s care facility.”
Matteo chuckled, turning me around in his arms so his slate-grey eyes could lock onto mine with that intense, unwavering devotion that still made my heart race every single day.
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“Your mother’s care facility is fully paid for,” Matteo whispered, leaning down to press his lips gently against mine. “And as for you... you’re stuck with me.”
“Good,” I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Because I never liked letting go of a good argument anyway.”
