Chapter 10 - The Seven Rules
Six months later.
Spring had arrived in Hunterdon County with an explosion of white dogwood blossoms and bright green grass that stretched across the rolling hills of the estate.
The iron gates at the end of the long maple drive were still there, but they stood wide open during the day now.
The black sedans had been replaced by a pair of sensible hybrid SUVs. The men in dark coats were no longer lurking behind the pillars with handguns under their armpits; Vincent had transitioned his entire private security force into a licensed, legitimate commercial logistics and port-security firm.
Julian Vance was currently serving three consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole at ADX Florence.
The Montreal syndicate had collapsed after the federal raid, dismantled by the mountain of cryptographic evidence extracted from the micro-drive Daniel had hidden inside a twenty-dollar stuffed rabbit.
Daniel’s name had been officially, publicly cleared.
Two months ago, the Governor of New Jersey had presented me with a civilian medal of honor posthumously awarded to Daniel Reyes for his role in exposing an international smuggling ring.
His pension was restored, with full interest.
We were rich now. Truly rich, in our own right.
I could have taken Lily and bought a house anywhere in the world. A beachfront bungalow in California. A brownstone in Boston. A quiet cottage in Vermont.
I stood by the kitchen island, slicing fresh strawberries into a porcelain bowl, listening to the morning birds singing through the open terrace doors.
A pair of warm, strong arms slid around my waist from behind.
I leaned back against Vincent’s chest, letting out a soft, contented sigh as his lips brushed the sensitive curve of my neck.
“You’re up early,” I whispered.
“I had a board meeting to cancel,” Vincent murmured, his voice rich and deep, rumbling against my back. “I told the foundation trustees they’ll have to wait until afternoon. The pediatric cardiology wing at Saint Michael’s is fully funded, but they want me there for the ribbon cutting.”
“The Daniel Reyes Memorial Wing,” I said, turning in his arms to look up into his striking gray eyes. The hard lines around his face had softened; the dark circles of sleeplessness were completely gone.
“It was his victory,” Vincent said softly, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. “I’m just the custodian.”
He leaned down and kissed me—a slow, tender, deeply familiar kiss that tasted of morning coffee and promised a lifetime of quiet mornings.
“Ewwwww!”
We broke apart, laughing.
Lily was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, wearing a bright yellow sundress and rabbit-ear slippers. She had Barnaby tucked securely under her arm—Barnaby, whose chest had been neatly re-stitched with bright gold embroidery thread by Mrs. Doyle.
“Rule number five!” Lily announced, crossing her arms sternly. “No kissing while breakfast is cooking!”
Vincent straightened up, raising his hands in immediate, mock surrender. “My apologies, captain. The cook is very distracting.”
He walked over to the refrigerator.
Taped to the stainless steel door was a brand new, laminated sheet of construction paper. The purple crayon marks had expanded considerably over the last six months.
*RULES FOR THIS HOUSE:*
*1. WASH HANDS.*
*2. NO SHOES ON COUCH.*
*3. EAT BREAKFAST.*
*4. SAY SORRY IF YOU ARE LOUD.*
*5. NO KISSING WHILE COOKING (MOMMY AND MISTER ONLY).*
*6. READ THREE BOOKS BEFORE BED.*
*7. EVERYONE STAYS TOGETHER.*
Vincent tapped his finger against Rule Number Seven.
He looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes shining with an unmistakable, boundless warmth.
“I think we can follow that one,” Vincent said.
“Always,” I smiled, setting a massive plate of golden, steaming pancakes in the center of the table.
Lily scrambled onto her stool, grabbed the syrup bottle with both hands, and looked at the most powerful man in the state.
May you like
“Sit down, Vincent,” she commanded with a triumphant grin. “It’s time to eat.”
And the boss of the house obediently took his seat.
