THE EXIT STRATEGY

Two Years Later.

The smell of roasting garlic and fresh tomatoes filled the warm, brightly lit kitchen of our Swiss chalet.

I stood at the stove, stirring the pasta sauce, humming softly to myself.

Outside the large bay window, the sun was setting behind the snow-capped Alps, casting a golden, peaceful glow over the valley.

The front door opened, followed by the stomping of snow-covered boots.

"We caught a monster!" a high-pitched, excited voice yelled.

Leo, now two and a half years old, ran into the kitchen. His cheeks were bright red from the cold, and he was holding a massive, slightly terrifying stick he had found in the woods.

Right behind him walked Matteo.

He was wearing a thick flannel coat, his dark hair dusted with snow. He walked with a slight limp—a permanent reminder of the warehouse in Chicago—but he moved with a lightness I had never seen in Boston.

He looked completely at peace.

"It was a very fierce monster," Matteo confirmed, winking at me as he hung his coat on the rack. "But Leo chased him away with his magic sword."

Leo proudly waved the stick. "I protect Mama!"

I laughed, wiping my hands on a dish towel, and crouched down to hug my son.

"Thank you, my brave knight," I kissed his cold cheek. "Why don't you go put your sword by the fireplace and wash your hands for dinner?"

Leo nodded seriously and ran off to complete his mission.

Matteo walked over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder.

He kissed the side of my neck.

"It smells incredible," he murmured.

"You're just hungry because you spent three hours building a snow fort," I smiled, leaning back into his solid warmth.

"It's a tactical defensive structure," Matteo corrected playfully. "Necessary for snowball warfare."

I turned around in his arms, looping my hands around his neck.

I looked up into his eyes. There were no shadows left in them. The ruthless mafia boss was dead and buried. In his place was a devoted husband, a loving father, and a man who had finally forgiven himself.

"Luca called today," I said softly.

Matteo's smile widened. "Is he coming for Christmas?"

"He is. And he's bringing Harper."

Matteo chuckled. "I still can't believe my brother is dating the FBI agent who dismantled my empire."

"She didn't dismantle it," I reminded him gently. "You did."

Matteo looked down at me, his expression turning serious and incredibly tender.

He reached into his pocket.

"I went into the village today," he said, pulling out a small, velvet box.

"Matteo, it's not my birthday," I protested softly.

"I know."

He opened the box.

Inside, resting on the velvet, was a silver pocket watch.

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

It wasn't a new watch.

It was my father's watch.

The glass face, which had been shattered in the diner shootout two years ago, was completely restored. The silver was polished to a brilliant shine, and the small hands ticked steadily in the quiet kitchen.

"I sent it to a horologist in Geneva six months ago," Matteo explained softly. "He had to rebuild the internal gears by hand."

Tears sprang to my eyes.

Matteo took the watch out of the box and placed it gently into my palm.

"Your father was a good man, Norah," Matteo said, his voice thick with emotion. "He saved my life by giving me those files. He saved your life. I wanted Leo to have something that belonged to him. So he knows where he came from."

I looked down at the watch, the ticking sound echoing like a heartbeat.

All the pain, the betrayal, the fear—it was all in the past.

We had survived the fire, and we had built something beautiful in the ashes.

"It's perfect," I whispered, looking up at him through my tears.

Matteo leaned down and kissed me, slow and sweet, pouring all of his love into the simple gesture.

"Dinner!" Leo yelled from the dining room, banging his small fists on the table.

Matteo laughed, breaking the kiss.

"The boss is hungry," he smiled.

I wiped my tears and laughed with him.

"We better not keep him waiting."

I placed my father's watch on the kitchen counter, right next to the cutting board.

I didn't need to check the time.