Chapter 7 - The Final Translation
By dawn, the police and federal agents had secured the estate. Salvatore Rossi was captured once again, facing life imprisonment for treason and murder attempts.
Dominic sat on the edge of his bed while a private doctor bandaged his shoulder.
Maeve stood near the window, watching the sun rise over the quiet estate gardens. She was exhausted, her dress stained with dirt and gunpowder, but her eyes were clear.
Dominic dismissed the doctor, standing up slowly. He walked over to Maeve, stopping just inches behind her.
"You saved my life again," Dominic said softly, his deep voice filled with genuine emotion. "You used their own language against them."
"I told you," Maeve smiled faintly, turning to face him. "Language is about survival."
Dominic reached out, his large, warm hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a smudge of soot from her cheekbone.
"When I first saw you kneeling on that rug four months ago, I saw a woman who was tired," Dominic whispered. "Now, I see the strongest, most brilliant woman I have ever known."
Maeve looked up into his dark eyes, feeling the intense connection that had been growing between them through every crisis, every whispered secret, and every shared victory.
"Dominic..." she breathed.
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"I don't just need your eight languages, Maeve," Dominic said, his gaze dropping to her lips. "I need you."
He leaned down and kissed her—a deep, passionate kiss that sealed a bond far stronger than any business contract.
