“What do you mean?” My mind starts to race at the thought he might have more things planned that we do not yet know about.

“You’re going to die tonight. I’m going to squeeze this trigger . . .” I watch in morbid fear as his finger runs over the curve of the gun. “Then I’m going to claim your throne, and the beautiful Lucia while I’m at it.” He starts to laugh and turns toward the window.

At the mention of Lucia I see red. The moment he turns his back, I take my opportunity and take it. Jumping out of my seat, I take him down in a running tackle, landing on top of his body with a jarring thump as he hits the floor. We both grapple for the gun, Graves trying to twist the muzzle into my chest while I try to point it to the floor or ceiling.

His face goes bright red as we continue to fight, momentum shifting back and forth between us until I finally gain the upper hand and shove his arms to the left, giving me time to rear back my right fist and slam it into his jaw. The gun drops to the ground, an audible thud alerting me.

Then I’m shoved aside and away, suddenly aware of the multiple footsteps running toward us. Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I watch as Graves is shoved onto his stomach and his arms are roughly twisted behind his back. Detective Lawrence looms over him, securing Graves’s wrists with a pair of metal handcuffs unhooked from his belt.

Shifting back, he waits as two officers hook their arms under Graves’s armpits and drag him up to his feet.

“Gregory Michael Graves, you are under arrest for the murder of Jodi Malestrom. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law . . .”

The detective continues to read Graves his Miranda rights but needing space, I walk out of my office and into the lobby, confronted by the sight of police officers milling around, some in full SWAT gear and others wearing protective vests.

Grant leans against the reception desk, his body locked tight with concern. I make my way toward him, enveloping him in a hug and sagging into him the moment his arms go around my shoulders. “Glad to see you walk out of there,” he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

“Glad to be able to,” I reply. I release my arms and step back.

“Lucia’s downstairs. I—” He stops mid-sentence, because as soon as the words leave his mouth, I am running down the stairwell. I take two steps at a time until I reach the ground floor lobby, then I crash through the door and stop still. Her legs are perched on the seat, knees to her chest, her hair covering her face as she sits and waits for news.

“Luce . . .” I say hoarsely, watching as her head snaps up and her eyes lock with mine.

Then without warning, she launches herself out of her seat and runs full speed toward me, jumping into my arms and slamming her mouth against mine. Her legs automatically wrap around my waist, and I stumble backward before righting myself. With one hand cupping her ass and the other tangled in her hair, I tilt her head to the side and deepen our kiss. We pour everything into that kiss. I give her every emotion I’ve experienced during the past hour—the fear, the shock, the pain, and the terror. In return she gives me everything she feels now—the relief, the joy, the elation, and the all-encompassing love we have for each other.

“It’s over, sweetheart,” I murmur against the skin of her neck.

She places her hand on my jaw and guides me back to her lips. “Now, we move on.”

Then the full impact of everything we’ve been through hits me like a wrecking ball. Just like the beautiful shades of the San Francisco sunset, throughout the darkness there is always the promise of a new day. You know the sun will set and rise again. You know there will always be a new dawn.

Lucia is my new day. She will always be my new dawn.

One that I will forever be grateful for and forever look forward to.

“No, Luce. Now we begin.”

As it always does, my mind starts to wander as I sit out on my balcony, watching a haze of fog blanket the bay.

Three months have passed since Graves was arrested. He is now incarcerated in San Quentin State Prison, awaiting trial. His lawyer is claiming insanity but the district attorney is rabidly steadfast in his assertion that Graves goes down, not only for Jodi’s murder, but also for the two construction worker deaths at the museum site.

The waterfront museum won’t officially open to the public for another three months, but there was an official ceremony held yesterday to unveil a plaque for the two men who were tragically killed.

Both of the men’s families were present, as were my parents and siblings, Lucia’s parents and Gino, who has fortunately thawed his opposition toward me, but has made it crystal clear I was on notice.

Lucia moved in the weekend after the showdown with Graves. For such a monumental moment in my life, it felt like a natural progression as we looked forward to the future.

Grant was still on the hunt for the next Mrs. Richardson, and a parade of women were tried and tested in a frequency only Grant could get away with. Having visited me many times at the office and seeing Grant in what she deemed was his ‘natural habitat,’ Lucia was stuck on the idea that Annie was Grant’s dream woman. She constantly brought up the subject with him, but Grant was in a deep state of denial over any connection he may or may not have had with our assistant.

I’ve pressed him about what might have gone on between them, but he always shuts the conversation down before it can begin, any hint of his normal joking disposition gone with a curt “Just drop it, Cal. She’s our employee. I’d never go there.”

Since we’ve been back together, not once have I wrapped my hands around Lucia’s throat. The compulsion to do so has been nonexistent since that night when it all went so wrong. I no longer crave that feeling, nor do I ever want to put us in such a perilous position again.

Our relationship has not faltered because of it. In fact, our connection is deeper and more engrained than ever, our love continuing to flourish and grow stronger as each day together passes.

Lucia told me one night a few months ago that she doesn’t fear me losing control like that again and suggested that she would be open to trying it once more, but when I’d steadfastly refused to even consider the idea, she’d explained, “It was a fixation borne from fascination and curiosity, Cal.”

“I shouldn’t have been curious about doing that to you.”

“And why not? Everyone has fantasies. You’re not the first man who has wanted to experiment, tried it, and had it go wrong.”

“Luce, I almost lost you. That’s the only damn thing that matters,” I’d replied tersely.

“Stop beating yourself up. I didn’t stop you. I didn’t want to stop you. I was into it as much as you were. I wanted it and I wanted it with you. Don’t you get that by now?”

Then she’d put her hand on my cheek in that way she loves to do, her eyes glistening with tears, and I’d felt something shift in my chest. I knew in that moment I would do anything for her, including moving past the guilt I still felt. Unable to contemplate whatever it would mean for our future, I’d pulled her into my lap so her legs straddled mine, and I’d kissed her. Hard at first, then easing back and taking it slow, our tongues rolling in languid strokes. And we’d sat there for what had seemed like hours, just kissing without a care in the world.

“I don’t need to try it again, Luce,” I’d said when we’d pulled apart.

“Then we won’t,” she’d replied, and that was the last time it had been mentioned.

Hearing footsteps from inside, I look over my shoulder to Lucia walking toward me wearing a black chemise nightshirt and a soft, sleepy smile. She looks like a wet dream and I grin at her knowing precisely what I’m going to do to her—and soon.