A day passed in uneasy peace. Alessandro and Rachel holed up in a safe apartment overlooking Central Park, curtains drawn, watching a world that was suddenly free of the Consortium's grip. News anchors breathlessly recounted arrests from New York to Geneva; shockwaves from the Consortium's fall were toppling corrupt officials and shuttering front companies worldwide.
Nico arrived late that night, limping but smiling. "The Belluccis and Marcone remnants tried to rally," he reported, tossing a blood-stained knife onto the kitchen counter. "Didn't end well for them."
Rachel arched an eyebrow. "So it's really over?"
Nico shrugged. "As over as it'll ever be."
Monroe called just after midnight, his voice coming through the speaker. "Interpol wants to meet with you, Alessandro. They want your help tracking the last Consortium assets. This could mean a chance to clear your record—officially."
Rachel looked up sharply. "Or we could walk away. We have enough money to vanish. Start over anywhere."
Silence fell. Alessandro stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing his face. He thought of his father's life of fear, of every drop of blood spilled to keep this city under the thumb of old ghosts. He thought of Rachel's courage, of Nico's loyalty, of Monroe's relentless pursuit of the truth.
Most of all, he thought of the man he'd become—and the man he wanted to be.
He turned back inside, meeting Rachel's eyes. "If we leave, others will fill the vacuum. But if we stay, we can help shape what comes next."
Rachel crossed the room, taking his hand. "Then let's stay. Let's finish what we started. Together."
Nico chuckled, raising a glass of stolen bourbon. "To the end of an empire—and the beginning of something new."
They toasted in the soft glow of dawn, the city stretching out before them—wounded, chaotic, but for the first time in years, free.