Chapter 12
A year later.
The grand dining room of the Moretti estate looked entirely different.
The heavy, oppressive chandeliers had been replaced with warm, modern lighting. The massive table that once seated twenty-eight strangers was gone, replaced by a smaller, intimate round table by the bay windows overlooking the gardens.
"Ethan! Don't run with the flour!" I called out, wiping my hands on my apron—not a maid’s apron, but a bright pink one that said World's Okayest Baker, a joke gift from Luca.
"I'm not running, Mom! I'm fast-walking!" Ethan yelled back, skidding into the kitchen with a bag of gluten-free flour, his face completely covered in a fine white powder.
I couldn't help but laugh. He was ten years old now, taller, louder, and radiating happiness.
Luca walked into the kitchen, wearing a tailored suit but missing the tie. He took one look at his flour-covered son and shook his head.
"My heir, ladies and gentlemen," Luca teased, grabbing a dish towel to wipe Ethan's nose.
"We're making your birthday cake, Daddy!" Ethan beamed. "It's completely safe. No nuts. Just a ton of chocolate."
"I can't wait," Luca smiled, kissing the top of Ethan's head before walking over to me.
He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder as I mixed the batter.
"How was the meeting with the board?" I asked softly, leaning back into him.
"Boring," he murmured against my neck, pressing a soft kiss below my ear. "I spent the whole time wishing I was home, watching you make a mess of my kitchen."
"It's our kitchen," I corrected him, turning my head to smile at him.
Luca's eyes softened. He reached up, his thumb brushing against the silver bracelet I never took off.
"Yes, it is," he agreed.
The dangerous mafia boss who had terrified the city was still there, somewhere beneath the surface, protecting us from the shadows. But in the light of this kitchen, he was just a man deeply, fiercely in love with his family.
"Hey, Mom?" Ethan asked, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket.
"Yes, sweetie?"
"I made a new drawing for the fridge," he said, holding it out to me.
I took the paper with flour-covered hands.
It was a drawing of the three of us. We were standing under a big tree in the backyard. Above us, the angel with the brown hair was still there, smiling down. But next to the angel, Ethan had drawn a tiny baby wrapped in a pink blanket.
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.
Luca froze, looking from the drawing to me. "Nora?"
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I looked at my husband. I nodded slowly.
"I was going to tell you after the cake," I whispered, a watery smile breaking across my face. "But I guess Ethan guessed."
Luca let out a breathless laugh, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. He picked me up, spinning me around the kitchen as Ethan cheered loudly, throwing a handful of flour into the air like confetti.
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The house that had once felt like a beautiful prison was now filled with laughter, love, and the promise of a new life.
We had survived the darkness. And now, we had forever to live in the light.
