Chapter 9 - The Planting of the Sunflowers
Alessandro stepped out onto the sunlit back terrace.
The abandoned garden behind the ivy wall was no longer overgrown or forgotten.
During the past two days, while Alessandro was settling scores in the city, Victor Hale had arranged for a team of landscape gardeners to clear away the dead weeds, trim the overgrown trees, and turn over the rich, dark soil.
Sitting in the middle of the garden, near the base of the old oak tree, was Emma.
She had a tiny red plastic shovel in her hand and was carefully digging small holes in the dirt. Beside her sat three small pots containing blooming, bright yellow sunflower seedlings.
Beside the tree, the painted stone featuring Arya's fading yellow flowers had been cleaned and placed on a raised marble pedestal. Propped against it was the photograph of Daniel Carter, encased in a new, protective silver frame.
Alessandro walked across the lawn and sat down on the grass beside the three-year-old girl.
"Good morning, Emma," he said gently.
"Good morning, Mr. Moretti!" Emma chirped, holding up her plastic shovel, covered in dirt. "Mama said we are making a big garden for Papa and Arya."
"We are," Alessandro said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small wooden packet of sunflower seeds. "I brought some extra seeds. Would you like to help me plant them?"
Emma’s big eyes lit up with joy. "Yes, please!"
Together, the mafia boss and the maid’s little girl knelt in the soft, warm earth.
Alessandro used his large, calloused hands to make a long, neat trench in the soil, while Emma carefully dropped the tiny black seeds into the dirt, one by one.
"Mr. Moretti?" Emma asked as she covered a seed with dirt.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Arya isn't sitting on the window anymore," Emma said softly, looking up at the second-floor window of the mansion.
Alessandro stopped, his hands resting in the dirt. He felt a sudden, soft flutter in his heart. "She isn't?"
Emma shook her head, her brown curls bouncing. "No. She came down to the garden today. She said she's happy now because her daddy played his piano again."
Alessandro looked up at the sunlit sky, a profound sense of peace washing over his soul like a warm tide.
On Thursday night, before leaving for the final raid in Manhattan, Alessandro had sat down at the grand piano in the ballroom for the first time in three years. He had played Arya's favorite lullaby—a soft, gentle melody that echoed through the quiet halls of the vast estate.
"Did she say anything else?" Alessandro asked softly, his eyes shining with happy tears.
May you like
Emma nodded, pointing toward the newly planted sunflower seedlings.
"She said that when the sunflowers grow big and tall," Emma whispered, "she'll be watching them bloom from the stars. With my papa."
