Chapter 8 - The Aftermath and the Truth
By three in the morning, the pier was silent once more, save for the flashing red and blue lights of the police vehicles that Vincent’s corrupt contacts had delayed until the cleanup was complete.
Vincent walked back into the Vance mansion, his coat soaked with rain and stained with soot. He ignored the servants and marched straight down to the secure basement panic room. The moment the heavy steel door slid open, Norah rushed into his arms, sobbing with relief as she felt his familiar, solid presence.
"You're alive," she wept, burying her face in his neck, ignoring the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes. "I heard the explosions from here. I was so scared."
"I told you I would come back, Norah," Vincent murmured, holding her tightly against him, his hands tracing the curve of her spine. "The Moretti faction in Brooklyn has been dismantled. Derek will never hurt you again. It is over."
They walked back up to their master bedroom, where Vincent showered and changed into comfortable clothes. For the first time in weeks, the heavy, suffocating aura of imminent war had lifted from the house.
As they lay in bed together, the moonlight filtering through the curtains, Vincent placed his hand over Norah's belly. The small bump was starting to become noticeable now.
"I was angry when you first told me about your past, Norah," Vincent admitted quietly, his voice filled with a rare vulnerability. "Not at you. At myself. For not finding you sooner. For letting a piece of trash like that ever touch what belongs to me."
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Norah turned onto her side, looking into his soft gray eyes. "You found me when it mattered, Vincent. You saved me. And you saved our baby. That's all that matters now."
Vincent smiled, a genuine, beautiful expression that transformed his harsh features. He leaned down and pressed a long, tender kiss to her stomach. "From this day forward, our child will know nothing but peace. I will ensure it."
