The doctor said thirty-one fractures. Thirty-one hammer blows to my wife's body while I was deployed. I stood in that ICU hallway with rage burning through every cell, and then I saw the men who did it SMILING at me like it was entertainment. One of them called me a "government dog." He forgot what attack dogs are trained to do.

Two weeks later.

The spring sun cut through the tall glass windows of the private rehabilitation pavilion at St. Jude's Hospital, casting warm golden rectangles across the polished hardwood floors.

The room smelled of fresh yellow daffodils—a huge bouquet brought in that morning by Bishop, who had flown in from Chicago to assist with the final federal asset recovery depositions.

I sat in the armchair beside the bed, holding Tessa's hand.

Her cast-bound arms were supported by soft foam cushions, and the heavy facial bandages had been removed three days ago, revealing the familiar, beautiful contours of her face—marred only by two fading purple bruises along her jawline.

Her fingers twitched gently in mine.

I leaned forward, my heart thumping against my ribs like a war drum. "Tessa?"

Her long eyelashes fluttered slowly open. Her eyes—bright, deep brown, and crystal clear—focused on my face.

She didn't look at the heart monitors. She didn't look at her heavy arm casts. She looked only at me.

A tiny, trembling smile touched the corner of her lips.

"Hey... big guy," she whispered, her voice raspy and dry from weeks of intubation.

Tears welled in my eyes—tears I hadn't allowed myself to shed through six deployments, through thirty-one broken bones, through a war against an entire empire of corruption. I pressed her warm palm against my cheek, kissing her fingertips.

"Hey, beautiful," I choked out.

Tessa took a slow, shallow breath, her thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek. "You... you look terrible. Did you... did you sleep at all while you were deployed?"

I let out a soft, breathless laugh, burying my face in her hand. "Not much. Had some business to take care of when I got back."

"I heard," she whispered softly.

I pulled back, surprised. "You heard?"

"The doctors... they thought I was completely unconscious," Tessa said, her voice gaining strength with every breath. "But every night at midnight... I heard you reading to me. I heard you reading The Count of Monte Cristo. I heard you promise that you were going to fix everything."

She squeezed my fingers with surprising strength.

"You didn't break them, did you?" she asked, her brown eyes searching mine with gentle concern. "The sons?"

"No," I replied truthfully. "They're all in federal prison, Tessa. Dominic, Tristan, Gabriel, Julian... all of them. Victor is facing thirty years without parole. The family empire is completely gone. Their properties were seized by the state and turned into a public trust fund."

Tessa looked out the window at the bright blue spring sky, taking a long, peaceful breath.