THE WOODEN ROSARY AND THE GHOST OF BOSTON

The next morning, the sun broke through the heavy Chicago clouds, flooding the estate’s breakfast room in warm, golden light.

It was the first time in ten months the house didn't feel like a mausoleum.

I walked into the kitchen wearing a comfortable sweater and jeans, having discarded the stiff uniform Celeste had always forced the staff to wear.

I poured two cups of coffee and walked into the dining room.

Frank was already there.

He was sitting at the head of the table. He wasn't in a wheelchair. He was reading the morning newspaper, a plate of eggs in front of him.

"Good morning, Natalie," Frank said without looking up.

"Good morning, Mr. DeLuca. Or should I call you Frank now?"

He lowered the paper and smiled. "Frank is fine. I think we've crossed the boundary of formalities."

I set his coffee down. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a stone," he said. "For the first time in years."

Marco walked into the room. He was wearing sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. I had never seen him in anything other than a tailored suit. He looked ten years younger.

He ruffled my hair lightly as he passed me—a casual, friendly gesture that shocked me—and sat down next to his father.

"The feds called," Marco said, taking a sip of orange juice. "Celeste and her father were officially indicted at 6 AM. No bail. Dr. Harris lost his medical license and took a plea deal."

Frank nodded, turning a page of his paper. "Good."

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Leo ran into the dining room, holding a toy airplane. He was wearing superhero pajamas. Elena followed close behind, looking rested and radiant.

"Morning!" Leo announced to the room.

He ran straight to Marco and climbed onto the empty chair next to him.

Marco froze for a second, unaccustomed to having a child so close. But then he smiled, picked up a piece of bacon, and handed it to the boy.

"Thanks, Uncle Marco," Leo mumbled, chewing happily.

Elena sat down across from them. She looked around the table. Her father, her brother, her son.

"It's quiet," Elena said.

"It's going to stay that way," Marco replied.

I started to back out of the room to let them have their family breakfast.

"Where are you going?" Frank called out.

I stopped. "To check the pantry inventory, sir."

"Sit down, Natalie," Marco said, pointing to the chair next to Elena. "Inventory can wait. Have breakfast."

"I'm staff, Mr. DeLuca."

"You're family," Frank corrected, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You risked your job to protect a broken old man. You don't eat in the kitchen anymore."

I hesitated, then slowly pulled out the chair and sat down.

For the next hour, there was no talk of the mafia, no talk of betrayal, and no talk of the past. There was only the sound of clinking silverware, Leo making airplane noises, and the occasional burst of laughter.

As I watched them, I realized that Celeste had been completely wrong.

She thought the DeLucas were built on money and violence. She thought that if she took those away, the family would crumble.

But she didn't understand that the bones of this family weren't made of steel or money. They were made of loyalty.

After breakfast, Marco stood up.

"Elena," he said. "Come with me to the study. We have to make a phone call."

"To who?" she asked.

"To the board of directors. To introduce them to their new CEO."

Elena beamed. She kissed Leo's head and followed Marco out of the room.

I stood up to clear the plates.

"Leave them," Frank said.

He reached into his pocket. He pulled out the gold mockingbird pin. He looked at it for a long time, tracing the wings with his thumb.

Then, he reached out and placed it in my hand.