THE WOODEN ROSARY AND THE GHOST OF BOSTON

Six months later.

The transition of the DeLuca empire was the talk of Chicago. The underground whispers faded, replaced by legitimate headlines. Elena DeLuca proved to be a formidable CEO. She expanded the shipping routes, doubled the restaurant revenue, and completely severed the company from its dark past.

Marco kept his promise.

He stepped away. He bought a small, beautiful cabin on Lake Michigan, about two hours outside the city. He spent his days fishing, reading, and learning how to cook.

I stayed at the estate.

My mother’s physical therapy was fully paid for by Marco before he left. My brother’s college tuition was covered by an anonymous scholarship that had Elena’s fingerprints all over it.

I managed the house, making sure it felt like a home for Leo to grow up in.

It was a Sunday afternoon in late October. The leaves in the courtyard were turning brilliant shades of gold and red.

I was walking through the grand foyer when the front door opened.

Marco walked in. He was wearing a flannel shirt and boots, carrying a duffel bag.

"You're early," I smiled, taking his coat.

"Traffic was light," Marco said. He looked relaxed. The dark circles under his eyes were completely gone. "Where's my dad?"

"In the garden. Playing chess."

Marco raised an eyebrow. "Playing chess by himself?"

"Playing chess with Leo."

Marco laughed out loud. It was a rich, warm sound.

We walked through the french doors to the back patio.

Frank was sitting at the stone table, the chessboard set up between him and his seven-year-old grandson.

"You can't move the horse there, Grandpa," Leo said seriously. "It has to go in an L-shape."

"I know how the knight moves, you little rascal," Frank grumbled affectionately. "I'm just testing you."

Elena was sitting on a nearby bench, reading a novel. She looked up and smiled as Marco approached.

"Hey," she said softly.

Marco kissed her cheek. "Hey, Madam CEO."

Marco walked over to the chess table and stood behind his father. Frank looked up, his eyes bright.

"You're losing, old man," Marco noted, looking at the board.

"The boy is ruthless," Frank admitted, smiling proudly. "He gets it from his mother."

Leo looked up at Marco. "Uncle Marco! Look what Grandpa gave me!"

Leo reached into his shirt and pulled out a silver chain. Hanging from the chain was the heavy, antique silver pocket watch. The same watch Frank had worn the night of the engagement dinner.

"He said I have to wind it every morning," Leo beamed.

Marco looked at the watch, then at his father. The passing of the torch. Not a torch of violence or power, but of time. Of life.

"He's right," Marco said, ruffling Leo's curls. "Take good care of it."

I stood on the edge of the patio, watching them.

I reached up and touched the collar of my blouse. The gold mockingbird pin rested safely there, gleaming in the autumn sun.

"Natalie!" Frank called out. "Come here!"

I walked over. "Yes, Frank?"

"Tell this boy that the queen cannot jump over the pawns."

"Actually," I smiled, "I think Leo is making his own rules today."

The family laughed.

It wasn't a perfect ending. Nothing ever is. There were still scars. Carlo was still gone. Maria was still gone. The past could never be fully erased.

But as I looked at Marco, Elena, Frank, and little Leo sitting together in the sun, I knew one thing for certain.