A few days later, I drove back to the villa alone.
The air smelled of pine and cold water. There was no champagne, no perfume, no betrayal lingering in the rooms.
I removed the security equipment, cleaned the floors, patched the walls, and returned the house to silence.
Then I walked onto the rooftop terrace where Victor had once stood with a glass in his hand and told me to leave.
The lake glowed beneath the morning sun.
For the first time in fifteen years, I felt no anger.
No guilt.
No grief.
Only freedom.
Ryan had been wrong about my blood family. They were not people worth saving.
But in one way, I had kept my promise.
I took care of the family that had earned the word: the soldiers who stood beside me, the veterans who would use that house after me, and the people who understood loyalty without demanding payment for it.
I finally stopped confusing blood with love.
I breathed in the mountain air.
The parasites were gone.
I was a commander.
I was free.
And the fortress was mine.