LET HER MAKE THE TOAST. SHE KNOWS WHAT TO SAY.” MY MAFIA HUSBAND HANDED HIS MISTRESS THE CHAMPAGNE AT OUR FIFTEENTH ANNIVERSARY DINNER—BUT HIS 78-YEAR-OLD MOTHER ASKED

Elise stood in the doorway.

She wasn't wearing an elegant red dress. She was wearing tactical gear, her face smudged with dirt and blood. She held a suppressed pistol in her hand.

I raised the iron poker higher. “Get out.”

Elise didn't raise the gun. She lowered it, looking at me with exhausted, hollow eyes.

“I didn't come to hurt you, Nora,” Elise whispered.

“You shot my husband. You helped him lie to me for eight months,” I spat.

“And he was going to lock me in an asylum,” Elise replied bitterly. “We were both played.”

She reached into her pocket and tossed a heavy, bloodstained gold ring onto the floor.

It rolled to a stop at my feet.

It was Roman’s mafia signet ring.

“He’s dead,” Elise said flatly. “He broke into the compound alone. He thought he could bypass the guards. He didn't know the Commission sent me to finish the job.”

I stared at the ring.

“Why you?” I asked, stunned.

“Because before I was Roman’s mistress, I was a contractor for the Chicago syndicate,” Elise confessed. “I was planted in his life to find his weaknesses. Falling for him was my mistake. Killing him was my redemption.”

The breath left my lungs. The nightmare was truly, permanently over. Roman could never hurt us again.

Elise looked past me, looking at Leo sleeping peacefully in the bed.

“You got him back,” Elise said softly.

“I did,” I said, lowering the iron poker.

“Keep him safe, Nora. The mafia doesn't forgive. Roman is dead, but the DeLuca name still carries weight.”

Elise turned to leave.

“Wait,” I called out.

She stopped.

“Where will you go?” I asked.

“Anywhere that isn't Chicago,” Elise said. She gave me a small, sad smile. “You were a good wife, Nora. He never deserved you.”

She disappeared down the dark hallway.

The next morning, the local police arrived to clear the courtyard. The Commission had cleaned up the mess quietly, claiming Roman had died in a rival dispute.

I stood on the balcony, watching the sun rise over the rolling hills of Tuscany.

Teresa walked out, handing me a cup of coffee.

“It is done,” the old woman said quietly.

“It’s done,” I agreed.

I looked down at Roman’s signet ring, resting in my palm.

“What will we do with this?” I asked.

Teresa smiled. “We melt it down. We make something new. Something beautiful.”

I nodded.

I walked back into the bedroom. Leo was waking up, rubbing his eyes.

“Morning, Mom,” he smiled.

“Morning, sweetheart,” I kissed his forehead.

I looked at the heavy silver mirror on the wall. I saw a woman who had survived a monster, reclaimed her son, and built an empire of her own out of love, not fear.