Chapter 14 - The Brownstone at Willow Street
Two months later, the autumn chill gave way to the crisp, golden sunlight of early November.
The restored Victorian brownstone at 42 Willow Street in Brooklyn Heights stood proud and silent against the Manhattan skyline across the East River. Inside, the scent of fresh paint, polished mahogany, and old paper filled the high-ceilinged rooms.
Clara stood on the second-floor landing, holding a thick stack of vintage first-edition books she had spent the last week cataloging for her new antique book restoration studio occupying the ground floor.
Heavy, familiar footsteps echoed up the wooden staircase.
Dominic appeared around the corner. He had abandoned his usual immaculate black suits in favor of a simple dark gray crewneck sweater and dark jeans, though the heavy tattoos still curled darkly up his forearms. He looked relaxed—a man who had finally laid his ghosts to rest.
"The federal marshals completed the final property transfer," Dominic said, stepping close and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin comfortably on her shoulder. "The entire block is officially registered under the Evans-Rossi Trust."
Clara leaned back against his solid chest, smiling as she turned her head to look at him. "You know, my father spent twenty-two years hiding in a cramped two-bedroom apartment in Queens while owning a historic brownstone worth millions just across the river."
"Your father was a paranoid genius," Dominic murmured, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. "Which apparently runs in the family."
"Speak for yourself, billionaire." Clara turned in his embrace, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. She looked down at her left hand. The heavy silver-white crest ring was still there, but now it sat alongside a second band—a delicate, diamond-encrusted platinum wedding band that Dominic had secretly commissioned to replace the rushed hospital-room marriage.
"So," Dominic whispered, his dark eyes glinting with a dangerous, playful warmth. "Now that the dust has settled, the enemies are behind bars, and your book shop is fully licensed... do you have any complaints about your kidnapper?"
Clara laughed, a bright, genuine sound that echoed warmly through the empty hallways of their new home.
"I have one major complaint," she teased, raising an eyebrow.
Dominic's expression shifted into mock concern. "Name it."
"You still haven't taken me on an actual honeymoon."
May you like
Dominic smiled—a slow, breathtaking, entirely genuine smile that he reserved for her alone. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss that made her head spin just as much as it had on the day they met.
"Pack your bags, Mrs. Rossi," he murmured against her mouth. "Private jet leaves for the Amalfi Coast in three hours."
