Chapter 6 - The Canvas of Tomorrow
Six Months Later
The sun was setting over Central Park, painting the New York skyline in brilliant shades of amber, gold, and magenta.
Inside a penthouse apartment overlooking the park—a new apartment, far away from the dark memories of my old life—the smell of roasting chicken and fresh garlic filled the warm air.
I stood in the kitchen, wearing an apron over my dress shirt, carefully flipping seasoned vegetables in a pan.
"Luca, you're going to burn them!" Sarah called out from the dining room, her voice full of laughter.
"I am a master real estate developer, Sarah," I called back with fake outrage. "I think I can manage to sauté carrots without burning down the building."
Sarah walked into the kitchen, looking radiant. The tired, anxious lines that had carved her face six years ago were completely gone, replaced by a soft, glowing happiness. She slid her arms around my waist from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder.
"You look ridiculous in that apron," she whispered, kissing my cheek.
"I look like a devoted husband and father," I corrected, leaning back into her warmth.
We had gotten married three weeks ago in a quiet, private ceremony on the beach in Montauk. No press. No associate bosses. Just us, Marco as my best man, and Lila as the flower girl who took her job far too seriously, dropping each rose petal with scientific precision.
The Vance Syndicate had been completely dismantled by federal authorities. Nikolai was currently serving a seventy-five-year sentence in ADX Florence. My legitimate real estate firm had become one of the largest green-energy developers on the East Coast, and I had officially cut all ties to the underworld, transferring control to independent factions under a strict non-aggression pact.
For the first time in my thirty-eight years of existence, I was completely, unequivocally free.
"Daddy!"
A tiny voice echoed down the hallway.
Lila ran into the kitchen, her dark hair bouncing in wild curls, wearing a yellow dress that matched the yellow cardigan she wore on the plane six months ago. She was holding a brand-new drawing pad and a box of sixty-four Crayola crayons.
"Look what I drew!" she said proudly, holding the paper up for us to see.
Sarah and I leaned down to look.
The drawing showed the same dark-haired woman and the same little girl with curly hair. But this time, the man in the dark suit wasn't standing apart from them, looking dark and mysterious.
This time, the man was right in the middle, holding their hands. He had a giant, goofy red smile drawn onto his face, and above their heads was a giant, crudely drawn yellow sun with golden rays covering the entire page.
At the bottom of the page, written in shaky, six-year-old handwriting, were four words:
MY FAMILY IS HOME.
I felt a sudden, sharp tightness in my throat, but for the first time in my life, it wasn't anger or suspicion. It was absolute, overflowing joy.
I dropped to my knees, taking Lila into my arms and pulling her close, resting my forehead against hers.
"Do you like it?" she asked softly, looking into my eyes—the exact same dark eyes that looked back at her.
"I don't like it, Lila," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion as I reached up with my other hand to pull Sarah down into the embrace with us. "It's the greatest masterpiece in New York City."
May you like
Lila giggled, wrapping her small arms around my neck.
Outside the window, the lights of the city began to turn on, glittering like millions of stars across the Manhattan skyline. But for the most feared man in New York, the only world that mattered was right here in this room, wrapped safely in my arms.
