Anika and I share a glance, quietly reveling in our own lots in life.
Since the war with the Yakuza, we have been steadfast support for our men, silent partners as they rule their empires, both of us intelligent and fierce in our roles as more than just wives.
I know she’s as grateful as I am that our husbands treat us as equals, assets to their reigns, which have only flourished these past five years. It’s a work of pride.
Raf leans close, his voice low. “You happy?”
I don’t hesitate. “Incomparably.”
He smiles, content and sure.
As the evening winds down, the yacht humming softly beneath us, I step away for a moment and look back at all of them—at the brothers who chose to break a cycle instead of repeat it, at the women who stood beside them and reshaped what power looks like.
At the children who will never know how close their world came to being darker.
We’ve given them the life I always hoped for. This feels like my childhood, the warmth and noise and love that doesn’t have to be earned. And my heart swells with joy to know they will grow up to be good, kind, happy people, ready to change the world for the better.
Raf wraps his arms around my waist, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Thinking dangerous thoughts?” he asks.
“Just grateful ones,” I say.
He kisses my shoulder. “Me too.”
The yacht rocks gently, the water catching the last light of day, and in this moment, in the warmth of my husband’s embrace, it feels like our future is wide open.