Chapter 12 - THE SUNDAY DINNER
Two months later.
The sun shone brightly through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the Moretti mansion.
The heavy velvet drapes, which had kept the house in perpetual mourning for seven years, were gone. The air smelled of fresh espresso and roasting garlic.
I stood in the kitchen, not in a maid’s uniform, but in a comfortable cashmere sweater and jeans.
I was chopping basil when two strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind.
Luca rested his chin on my shoulder, planting a soft kiss on my cheek.
“Smells incredible,” he murmured.
I leaned back into him, smiling. “It’s my dad’s recipe. If you mess up the garlic bread, he’s going to fire you.”
Luca chuckled, a deep, warm sound that filled the kitchen.
The feared mafia boss of Chicago was currently wearing an apron covered in flour.
“I wouldn’t dare disappoint Thomas,” Luca smiled.
We carried the massive plates of pasta into the dining room.
The twelve-thousand-dollar crystal chandeliers were still there, but the room felt entirely different.
It wasn’t a fortress anymore. It was a home.
Anna was sitting at the table, laughing as she showed Matteo photos on her phone from her recent promotion to Head Nurse.
Matteo looked healthy, tanned, and relaxed. He had officially transferred his college credits to Chicago University to be closer to home.
At the head of the table sat my father.
He was in a sleek, motorized wheelchair, his left side still recovering, but his color was back. He looked strong. He looked happy.
Beside him, my mother was pouring wine, arguing playfully with him about his sodium intake.
I set the pasta down in the center of the table.
Luca pulled out a chair for me.
Not in the corner. Not in the service hallway.
Right beside him.
I sat down, looking around the table at this beautiful, chaotic, patched-together family.
Victor Bellini was in a federal penitentiary. Vanessa was serving twenty years for attempted murder.
The syndicate had been restructured, heavily favoring legitimate businesses. Luca was slowly, carefully stepping out of the shadows.
“Alright, everyone,” Luca said, raising his glass of red wine.
The table quieted down.
Luca looked at his children.
“To Anna and Matteo. Welcome home.”
Anna smiled, tears in her eyes. Matteo clinked his glass against hers.
Luca turned to my parents.
“To Thomas and Clara. Thank you for your loyalty, your bravery, and your daughter.”
My dad raised his glass proudly.
Then, Luca turned to me.
His dark eyes were filled with a love so profound it took my breath away.
He didn’t need to say the words out loud. We all knew.
“To family,” Luca said.
“To family,” we all echoed.
We drank, we laughed, and we ate until we couldn’t eat anymore.
Later that evening, after the dishes were cleared, I walked into Luca’s private study.
He was standing by the window, looking out at the city lights.
I walked up beside him and slipped my hand into his.
He squeezed it gently.
I looked at the mahogany desk.
The picture of his father was still there. The picture of Anna’s graduation was still there.
But right beside them, in a beautiful new silver frame, was a new photograph.
It was a picture of Luca, Anna, Matteo, my parents, and me, taken last week in the garden.
We were all smiling.
Luca looked down at me, tracing the line of my jaw with his thumb.
“No more secrets, Emma,” he whispered.
“No more boundaries,” I smiled.
He leaned down and kissed me, deep and slow.
May you like
The past was finally buried.
And the future belonged to us.
