Chapter 9 - Healing Old Wounds
Spring arrived in Vermont with a explosion of green leaves, white wild roses, and warm sunlight bouncing off the clear waters of the lake.
The Moretti estate was filled with the sound of music and laughter.
A private wedding ceremony had been held under the grand oak trees at the edge of the water—attended only by Gabriel, Victor, a few trusted Capos who had proven their absolute loyalty, and the small family that had emerged from the ashes of betrayal.
Now, six months later, the estate was celebrating another joyous milestone.
In the sunlit living room of the main house, a large hand-painted canvas hung above the massive stone fireplace.
It wasn't a portrait painted by a famous master in Manhattan. It was a large, colorful drawing done with high-grade colored pencils. It showed a big house on a mountain, a golden puppy, a mother with a bright smile, a little girl with pink slippers, and a tall man in a dark suit holding a silver inhaler with a big golden heart drawn around it.
At the bottom corner, written in a child’s neat handwriting, were the words:
Our Family. By Lily Moretti.
Lucas stood before the fireplace, holding a glass of sparkling water, staring up at the drawing with a quiet smile.
Beside him, Gabriel stepped up, holding two cigars. "A long way from the laundry room in Brooklyn, Boss."
"A long way indeed, Gabriel," Lucas agreed softly, declining the cigar with a simple gesture. "I don't smoke anymore. Bad for the lungs."
Gabriel chuckled, sliding the cigar back into his pocket. "The city is completely secure, Lucas. The union negotiations in Manhattan were finalized yesterday without a single issue. The family has never been stronger, or cleaner."
"Good," Lucas said. "Keep it clean. I want our legitimate shipping and real estate holdings expanded by fifty percent this year. I want Lily’s future built on solid ground, not shadow."
"Understood, Boss," Gabriel nodded respectfully, bowing his head before stepping out toward the terrace where the guests were enjoying the afternoon breeze.
Lucas turned as he heard small, hurried footsteps coming down the hallway.
Lily ran into the living room, dressed in a beautiful yellow sundress, her brown hair tied back with a white silk ribbon. She was holding a brand-new leather book—her second official sketchpad.
"Daddy! Look!" Lily cried, jumping onto the leather sofa beside him.
Lucas sat down next to her, pulling her close to his side. "What did you draw today, sweetheart?"
Lily opened the book to the first page. It was a detailed drawing of the grand marble hallway in the Brooklyn mansion—the place where they had met eighteen months ago. But instead of a dark, scary hall, she had drawn bright yellow flowers growing out of the marble floorboards, and a big sunshine beaming through the ceiling.
"That's where I found you," Lily said softly, pointing her tiny finger at the drawing. "When you were sleeping on the floor."
Lucas looked at the drawing, his heart swelling with an emotion so deep and profound it almost took his breath away—not from illness, but from pure, unadulterated gratitude.
"You saved my life that night, Lily," Lucas said gently, kissing the top of her head. "You gave me your very last inhaler."
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"My mom said angels come in small pajamas," Lily grinned, leaning her head against his arm. "And now we don't ever have to worry about running out of inhalers again."
"No," Lucas whispered, looking across the room as Rosa walked in, carrying a tray of fresh lemonade, her eyes meeting his with a look of pure, eternal love. "We will never run out of anything ever again."
