Chapter 9 - THE FAMILY TABLE
One Year Later.
The sun was shining brightly over the Boston harbor, completely devoid of the fog that usually haunted it.
Inside the newly renovated Fiorenza, the smell of fresh basil and garlic butter filled the air. But the dark mahogany tables and heavy velvet curtains were gone. The room was bright, filled with sunlight and the sound of jazz music.
Maeve Sullivan walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a pristine white apron. It wasn't stained. It had her name embroidered on the pocket in gold thread: Executive Manager.
She looked around the bustling dining room. The guests weren't mafia bosses or corrupt politicians anymore. They were families, couples on dates, locals laughing loudly over plates of handmade pasta.
The Callaway syndicate was gone.
On the night of the explosion, Cian had kept his word. He had taken the documents he nearly signed for Declan and turned them over to the FBI. He exposed the corruption, handed over the shipping yards to the city, and dismantled his own empire piece by piece.
Declan was serving life in federal prison. Sienna had testified against him for immunity and was living quietly in Arizona. Chef Delphine, broken by her own hatred, had accepted a plea deal.
Cian had walked away from the underworld with nothing but his legitimate investments. It turned out, that was more than enough.
The bell above the restaurant door chimed.
Maeve smiled as a tall man in a casual navy sweater and jeans walked in. The quiet danger that used to follow Cian Callaway was gone. His eyes were clear. The silver band belonging to his mother was still on his finger, but the heavy weight on his shoulders had vanished.
Running ahead of him was a seven-year-old boy in a miniature baseball jersey.
"Mom!" Leo yelled, barreling into Maeve’s legs.
She picked him up, kissing his cheek. "Hey, sweetie. Did you have fun at the game?"
"Uncle C caught a foul ball!" Leo practically shouted, pointing at Cian.
Cian smiled, pulling a scuffed white baseball from his pocket and tossing it onto the hostess stand. "It was mostly luck."
Maeve walked over and hugged him. It was a warm, familiar embrace. They weren't just survivors anymore; they were family.
"Table for two?" Maeve asked playfully.
"Actually," Cian said, pulling out a chair at the best table near the window. "I was hoping the manager could join us for lunch."
Maeve took off her apron and draped it over the chair. She sat down next to her son and across from the man who had burned his own kingdom to the ground to save them.
The waiter came over to pour the water. He didn't pour it from the right with a twisted wrist. He just poured it normally, smiling at them.
"What are we having?" Cian asked.
Leo slammed his hands on the table happily. "Pasta!"
Maeve laughed, a bright, beautiful sound. She reached across the table and squeezed Cian’s hand. Around her neck, the silver rosary gleamed in the sunlight.
May you like
"Pasta sounds perfect," Maeve said.
For the first time in her life, she wasn't invisible. She was exactly where she belonged. And as she looked at her son laughing with his uncle, she knew they would never have to be afraid again.
