The nurse stitched up the mafia boss's wound and secretly helped him in a way no one else could – a few hours later, he woke up and whispered, "Find her... I can't wait any longer..."

Two weeks later.

The morning sun rose brilliantly over the Atlantic Ocean, flooding the restored conservatory of the Mercer estate with warm, golden light.

The war in Providence was officially over. With Salvatore Moretti behind bars on federal racketeering charges—and his syndicate completely dismantled by Silas’s legal and tactical maneuvers—peace had returned to the city.

In Boston, Nora’s father had been moved to an elite, state-of-the-art rehabilitation wing. The new experimental treatments funded by Silas’s trust had produced miraculous results; Captain Caldwell was walking again and speaking clearly for the first time in three years.

Nora stood near the glass wall of the conservatory, wearing a simple white sundress, holding a cup of warm chamomile tea.

The heavy glass doors opened quietly behind her.

Silas walked in. He was wearing a tailored grey suit—his trademark look—looking healthy, powerful, and impeccably handsome. His side wound had fully healed under Nora’s diligent care, leaving behind only a faint, neat scar.

He walked up behind her, wrapping his warm arms around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. Nora leaned her head back against his shoulder with a soft, contented sigh.

“You look thoughtful,” Silas murmured, kissing her temple softly.

“I was just thinking about the night we met,” Nora smiled, covering his hands with hers. “Two o'clock in the morning. Rain. Five terrifying mobsters dragging a bleeding man into my ER.”

Silas let out a low, dark chuckle. “I was bleeding to death, Nora. And all you did was scold me for ruining your floor.”

“You did ruin my floor,” she teased, turning in his arms to face him.

Silas looked down at her face, his icy blue eyes filled with an intense, quiet reverence that made her pulse race.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet box and setting it on the cast-iron table beside them.

Nora looked at the box, her breath catching in her throat. “Silas...”

“Open it,” he said softly.

Nora reached out with trembling fingers, opening the small velvet lid.

Inside sat not a diamond ring, but a silver key attached to a heavy leather keychain engraved with the crest of St. Anselm’s.

Nora looked at the key, confused. “What is this?”

“That is the key to the new Caldwell Free Clinic on Federal Hill,” Silas revealed softly. “The deed was transferred into your name forty-eight hours ago. Sixty thousand square feet of state-of-the-art medical equipment, fully funded for twenty years.”

Nora stared at the key, tears welling up in her dark eyes, completely speechless. “Silas... you... you bought me a clinic?”

“You saved my life, Nora,” Silas said, taking her hands in his. “And then you saved my soul. You belong in a place where you can heal people, not hiding in the shadows of my war.”