Chapter 8 - The Aftermath of the StormLife in the mountains settled into a comfortable, rhythmic existence. We were no longer hiding; we were simply living. The Commission, true to their word—or perhaps true to their fear—left us alone. The Kane empire was a memory, a story people told in whispers in the back rooms of Chicago, a legend of a man who burned his own throne to save the woman he loved.
We still had money—the trust my father had set up, and the small, secure accounts Roman had managed to move before the purge. We weren't wealthy by Kane standards, but we were rich in the ways that mattered. We had time. We had safety. We had each other.
One sunny afternoon, I was in the garden, planting rows of vegetables, while Elena played in the dirt nearby, her tiny hands busy with a plastic trowel. Roman was on the porch, reading, his gaze occasionally drifting to us.
The mailman stopped by, leaving a package on the gatepost. I walked over, my heart beating a little faster—we didn't get many packages.
It was a box from Chicago, but it wasn't from the Commission. It was from the restaurant.
I opened it, finding a photograph inside. It was a picture of me, taken on the night I first met Roman. I looked young, tired, and completely oblivious to the chaos that was about to unfold. On the back, in a familiar, shaky hand, were the words: “Thank you for saving us.”
It was from the restaurant staff—the people who had worked for me, the people I had left behind in my escape.
“What is it?” Roman asked, walking over to join me.
I showed him the photo. He looked at it, then at me, his eyes softening. “You saved them, too, Bianca. You kept that place running through everything. You were the only family they had.”
I looked at the restaurant photo, then at the sprawling, wild beauty of the mountains. I had left the life of the restaurant, the life of the city, the life of the Kanes. I had left it all behind, but the essence of who I was—the girl from Queens who knew how to handle chaos—was still there.
“We should visit,” I said.
Roman looked at me, surprised. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said, looking at Elena, who was holding up a worm for her father to see. “I want her to know where we came from. I want her to know that no matter where you are, you can build a home.”
May you like
He took my hand, his grip firm and steady. “Then we’ll go. Next month. We’ll take a trip, see the old places, and show Elena the world.”
The fear was gone. The shadows were gone. There was only the bright, clear light of a life that was entirely ours.
