Page 113 of Knuckles & Knives
“Good,” I say, settling deeper into our collective embrace while my gaze drifts toward the city spread out below us. “Because tomorrow we start proving that love-based power structures can transform entire societies.”
“Ambitious,” Kieran observes, though his tone carries admiration rather than concern.
“Necessary,” I reply, borrowing Elena’s word. “The old ways created the conditions for everything we fought against. What we’re building will last because it’s based on genuine benefit rather than artificial scarcity.”
“Our legacy,” Dom says with quiet satisfaction.
“Our empire,” Marcus adds with analytical precision.
“Our family,” Axel concludes with characteristic emotional honesty.
“All of the above,” I agree, feeling the truth of it settle into my bones like certainty.
And in the peaceful aftermath of our celebration, surrounded by the men who chose to stand with me against impossible odds, I understand that we’ve achieved something unprecedented—not just transformation of criminal power, but demonstrationthat love creates sustainable influence in ways that fear and violence never could.
The war for Vincent Blackwood’s empire is over. The construction of something infinitely better has officially begun.
And this time, we’re not just building an empire. We’re building the future.
My father ruled through shadows and roses. We rule in the open. No thorns, no illusions, just roots that grow strong enough to carry generations.
CHAPTER 34
Six months after that transformative day in the Sterling Financial boardroom, I stand on the balcony of our penthouse overlooking a city that barely resembles the one we inherited. Where once violence and fear ruled the streets, legitimate businesses now thrive. Where territorial wars once raged, coordinated development projects create jobs and opportunity. Where corruption flourished, transparent partnerships with law enforcement have created the safest urban environment in the country.
“The quarterly reports,” Marcus says, appearing beside me with his tablet displaying financial projections that would make Fortune 500 CEOs weep with envy. “Revenue up forty-seven percent across all sectors. Community investment programs showing measurable impact in crime reduction, educational outcomes, and economic mobility.”
“Translation?” I ask with a smile, though I already know the numbers by heart.
“We’re not just successful,” he replies, his dark eyes warm with pride behind his designer glasses. “We’re revolutionary.What we’ve built is being studied by policy makers across three continents.”
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the physical manifestations of our transformation. The youth center that replaced the old fight club, its parking lot full of kids arriving for after-school programs. The renovated apartment complexes where families live without fear of gang violence. The small business district that’s become a model for urban renewal done right.
“Raven,” Dom’s voice carries from the living room, warm with the kind of contentment I never thought I’d hear from my battle-hardened enforcer. “You need to see this.”
I follow the sound to find him sprawled on our massive sectional sofa, his scarred hands gentle as he feeds a bottle to the newest addition to our unconventional family—a three-month-old girl we’re fostering while her teenage mother finishes her GED and job training program.
“How’s she doing?” I ask, settling beside him to stroke the baby’s downy black hair.
“Perfect,” he says simply, his voice soft with wonder. “Growing stronger every day. Like her mama.”
The sight of Dom—six-foot-three of lethal muscle and protective instincts—cradling a infant with absolute tenderness represents everything about our transformed empire. Power used to nurture rather than destroy. Strength applied to building rather than breaking.
“Speaking of strong women,” Kieran’s voice carries from the kitchen, where the scent of something incredible has been building for the past hour. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
I pad barefoot across the hardwood floors to find him at the massive island, his platinum hair slightly mussed and his expensive shirt sleeves rolled up as he puts finishing touches on what appears to be a feast worthy of our private celebration.
“You’ve been busy,” I observe, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind and pressing my face against his back. He smells like expensive cologne and cooking herbs and the particular scent that’s uniquely Kieran.
“Six months since we restructured the entire East Coast criminal underground,” he says, leaning back into my embrace. “Seemed worth commemorating properly.”
“With homemade pasta and what appears to be your grandmother’s secret sauce recipe?” I tease, recognizing the ingredients scattered across the granite countertop.
“With a family dinner,” he corrects, his voice carrying the kind of emotion he rarely allows himself to express. “Our family. Our home. Our life.”
The distinction matters more than he probably realizes. Six months ago, we were five people bound by desire and mutual benefit, building something unprecedented out of necessity and shared trauma. Now we’re a chosen family unit that functions with the kind of intuitive coordination most people never achieve even in traditional relationships.
“Where’s Axel?” I ask, though I already suspect the answer.
