CHAPTER 190: COMING BACK.

Florence didn’t arrive quietly. It greeted them with bold sunlight, a riot of color, and streets that felt alive.

They arrived by train, slipping through the countryside in a first-class cabin that smelled faintly of espresso and new leather. Annie had her head against the window, tracing invisible lines across the hills. Bella was busy counting the vineyards, losing track every five minutes, then starting over with unbothered joy. Lukas sat still. His hand covered Annie’s.

By the time they stepped onto the platform at Firenze Santa Maria Novella, Florence was already in motion around them—art students rushing past, old men arguing softly over soccer, and women laughing in Italian as if they were born from the sun itself.

Henry had booked them a villa on the hill, a stone-walled sanctuary with climbing ivy and olive trees that framed the skyline like brushstrokes. The Duomo loomed in the distance, its red dome proud against the blue. From their balcony, it felt like they were watching the Renaissance happen again.

Lukas didn’t plan the days. Florence didn’t want a schedule. It wanted to be discovered, like a lover turning in sheets.

They walked. Always walking. Through the Uffizi Gallery, where Bella tried to mimic statues and Annie stared too long at Botticelli’s brushwork. Through the markets, where Lukas bought Annie a journal bound in red leather and Bella a wooden marionette she named Florence.

One morning, Annie woke up earlier than usual. She stood at the window in a silk robe, her hair tied loosely, the morning air touching her skin. Lukas joined her, mug in hand.

"I didn’t think I’d fall in love again," she said.

"With me or the city?"

Annie smiled softly. "Both."

Florence did that to people. It peeled you back and showed you who you were before the world made you forget.

They visited a vineyard outside the city. Bella ran between the vines, her laughter blending with birdsong. Annie tasted wine she couldn’t finish, and Lukas listened to a sommelier describe grapes like they were sacred objects.

That night, under a ceiling of stars, Lukas and Annie sat on the patio in silence. There was no noise from the road, no phones, and no headlines. Just cicadas and the low hum of Florence sleeping.

"Do you think she’ll remember this?" Annie asked.

"She’ll feel it," Lukas said. "Even if she can’t name it."

A few days later, they went to the top of the Duomo. Bella made it halfway before needing Lukas to carry her. The stairs wound forever, but the view made them forget. The whole city stretched below them—terracotta roofs, twisting streets, lives too small to name. Lukas held Annie close. Her breath was soft against his collarbone.

They stayed until the wind turned cool.

Florence was a memory. Florence was in a mood. Florence was a painting you never finished because finishing it would mean saying goodbye.

On their last evening, they ate outside. String lights hung between olive branches. Bella danced between the tables. Annie wore white. Lukas didn’t take his eyes off her.

"I want this version of us to stay," she said.

"It will," Lukas answered. "Even when we leave."

And as the candles burned lower and the sky dimmed to velvet, Florence held them one more night.

The wheels touched down at JFK just as the morning sky shifted from indigo to amber. New York welcomed them not with noise, but with a rare hush—the kind that lingered right before the city inhaled for another day of chaos.

Lukas opened his eyes slowly as the plane coasted to a stop. Annie was asleep on his shoulder, her hand curled into his hoodie. Bella was out cold under a navy travel blanket, her head resting on Annie’s lap. He didn’t move. Not yet.

The last few weeks felt like a dream suspended in color. Venice’s reflections. Florence’s softness. Paris’s hum. But now they were home. Or what would become home.

Henry had texted just before landing:

"Everything’s done. The mansion is furnished. You’ll love it. $1.2M well spent."

Lukas had replied with a thumbs-up and a single word:

"Perfect."

By the time the immigration lines cleared and they walked into the arrivals lounge, Jay was already waiting. He stood beside a matte black Escalade, spotless and stoic as ever. Roy gave Bella a sleepy fist bump and took her carry-on like it weighed nothing.

"Welcome back," Jay said, opening the door.

Lukas nodded. "Let’s go home."

The drive through Manhattan was quiet. Bella woke up midway across the bridge and pressed her nose to the glass.

"New York missed us," she whispered.

Annie smiled faintly, brushing hair from her face. "Or maybe we missed it."

It was past 9 when the car rolled up the long private driveway. The mansion stood waiting—glass and steel met with stone and warmth. Elegant but grounded. A home designed not for display, but for living.

As they stepped through the doors, the first thing Annie noticed was the smell: cedar, linen, and new wood polish. Lukas paused in the foyer, letting it all sink in.

Every room had been custom-built to Annie’s earlier requests and his vision. Italian marble counters in the kitchen. Walnut shelves lined the library. An in-home cinema. Heated floors. Her piano waited in the music room—reconditioned, tuned.

But what caught Annie off guard was the nursery.

They hadn’t discussed details. She expected it would be empty.

It wasn’t.

The room was painted soft, not blue or pink but something between clouds and cream. Custom cabinetry lined one wall. A rocking chair sat beside a curved-glass window overlooking the garden. In the middle, a handcrafted crib—walnut, the same wood from Florence—quietly waited.

Lukas stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

Annie turned to him, eyes wide. "You did this?"

He nodded once.

"$1.2 million," he said dryly. "Didn’t even cover the rug."

She laughed, then cried into his chest.

Bella tiptoed into the room a moment later. "Is this for her?"

Annie nodded, kneeling to hold her. "Yes. It’s for her."

Later that evening, Lukas stood outside on the balcony as the sky dimmed. The skyline pulsed in the distance, and the Hudson caught the last of the light.

He didn’t need to be anywhere for a while. No meetings. No launches. The house was finished. His family was home. And for once, there was nothing else to chase.

Annie joined him, barefoot, wrapped in one of his sweaters.

"We did it," she whispered.

He looked over. "We’re just getting started."

The morning after their return, Lukas Martin woke not to alarms or buzzing phones, but to the softest pressure—Annie’s palm resting gently on his chest, steady with sleep. The New York skyline framed them through the open balcony door. Somewhere in the mansion, Bella was awake, playing a quiet melody on the piano.

Lukas didn’t move.

He stayed still and let the moment sink in. The house was real now. The silence was earned. The dream they’d been chasing across continents had landed.

Later that morning, Henry stopped by. He didn’t knock. Just stepped in, as he always had, carrying a box of keys and a digital tablet.

"I synced the security cams to your main panel," he said. "Also programmed night mode. Lights dim automatically, and floors are warm if anyone steps out of bed."

Lukas sipped coffee from the new ceramic cups and nodded. "Thanks."

Henry looked around at the furnished halls, the soft wall tones, and the details. "Feels like a home now."

"It is."

"Also..." Henry hesitated. "You’ll be getting a lot of media calls now. About the return, about the trip. You want me to delay responses?"

Lukas took a moment.

"Delay. One week. I’ll be back in the office."

Henry nodded. "Copy that."

The next Monday, Lukas walked through the marble entrance of the Martin Group HQ. Staff turned their heads like it was a myth returning. Some smiled, others whispered. No one approached.

Jay held the elevator open. Roy stood by in silence.

When the doors closed, Jay glanced sideways. "Are you sure you want to do this already?"

"I’m late," Lukas replied simply.

His office hadn’t changed. Glass walls, warm wood panels, and a velvet couch in the corner. But it felt sharper now. Like it knew what was coming.

Stacks of reports waited. Designs. Acquisition options. Development schedules.

And in the middle of it, Lana.

She knocked once on the glass and entered without waiting.

"You look well-traveled," she said, tossing a flash drive onto the desk. "But behind."

"I’ll catch up."

"You’ll need to."

Lana turned to the board and began outlining updates. The Tokyo expansion, ad revenue realignment, and new API integrations. Lukas tracked every word, not because he had to—but because his mind was finally clear.

For hours, they broke down teams, numbers, and designs. When lunch came, Lana didn’t leave.

"Are you ready to sit in class again?" she asked, sliding a course module across the desk.

"What is it?" Lukas asked.

"Machine learning deployment pipelines. We start this Thursday. You said you wanted to keep up."

He looked down at the module, then back up. "You’re still making me study?"

"You’re not that smart yet."

He smiled faintly. "Okay."

By the time he returned home, Annie was in the media room with Bella. The walls lit up with old Disney animations. Laughter rose in waves.

Lukas stood in the doorway, just watching.

No European skyline could beat this.

He stepped inside and dropped his phone on the cushion. Bella curled up against him without a word. Annie looked up and touched his arm.

"You look like you’ve been through twelve hours."

"I have. But I’m good."

"You really went back?"

He nodded. "Office. Meetings. Lana’s starting class again. Henry’s got the system synced. Everything’s moving."

She smiled, leaning in closer. "You’re moving too."

He didn’t say anything for a while.

Just held her hand.

And watched the cartoon fade into the next one.