“A Man Is Pushing Mama Into a Black Car Outside,” the Maid’s Toddler Shouted to the Mafia Boss

The wedding was small, intimate, and heavily guarded. It took place in the private chapel on the estate grounds.

Hannah wore a simple, elegant white silk gown. Poppy, wearing a miniature version of her mother’s dress, walked down the aisle tossing flower petals with fierce concentration, refusing to let go of her stuffed rabbit.

Marcus stood as Victor’s best man, looking surprisingly uncomfortable in a tailored tuxedo instead of his usual tactical gear.

When the priest pronounced them husband and wife, Victor kissed Hannah with a depth of emotion that made even the hardest mobsters in the pews look away.

The reception was joyous. For the first time in over a decade, Harrow Point felt like a true home. Victor watched his new wife dance with his men, her laughter ringing out clear and bright. He felt a profound, overwhelming sense of gratitude. The ghosts of his past were finally at rest.

Later that evening, after Poppy was put to bed in her massive new nursery, Victor retreated to his study to pour two glasses of champagne.

Hannah walked in, slipping her arms around him from behind.

“We did it,” she murmured. “We really did it.”

“We survived,” Victor smiled, handing her a glass. “And now, we live.”

They stood by the fireplace, the flames casting warm, dancing shadows across the room. The terror of Gregory Vance, the ambush at the warehouse, the attack on the gala—it all felt like a lifetime ago. They had conquered the darkness and emerged victorious.

But as Victor raised his glass to toast his new bride, a soft knock echoed from the study door.

Marcus stepped into the room. He didn't look happy. In fact, he looked paler than Victor had ever seen him.

“Boss,” Marcus said, his voice unusually tight. “A package was just delivered to the front gate. The guards checked it for explosives. It’s clean. But... you need to see what’s inside.”