Chapter 9 - THE SUNRISE ON THE COAST
Six months later, the Chicago winter felt like a distant nightmare.
The warm Mediterranean breeze swept across the terrace of our villa in Tuscany, carrying the scent of lemon trees and salt water.
I stood by the stone balustrade, holding a mug of coffee, watching the sunrise paint the Italian coast in shades of gold and pink. There were no bodyguards pacing the perimeter. There were no weapons hidden under my jacket. There were no late-night phone calls from men wanting blood.
The name Moretti was dead in Chicago. Here, we were just a family.
The sound of giggling drew my attention back to the patio.
Leo and Ethan were chasing each other across the manicured grass, kicking a soccer ball. They looked like brothers. They fought over the television, they conspired to sneak extra desserts from the kitchen, and they protected each other fiercely.
When Ethan first came to us, he was terrified I would send him away. He knew Sophia wasn't his real mother, and he knew Carlo was dead. He thought he belonged to no one.
It took weeks of patience, of sitting by his bed during night terrors, of Evelyn wrapping him in hugs he didn't know how to return, for him to understand.
I adopted Ethan legally three months ago. I put my name on his paper, replacing the forgery of the past. I didn't care whose blood ran in his veins. He was my son.
“They’re going to trample my hydrangeas.”
I turned and smiled as Evelyn walked out onto the terrace. She was radiant. The pale, dying woman from the hospital was gone. Her skin was tanned, her eyes bright, and she wore a simple white sundress that caught the morning breeze.
Resting on her hip was our six-month-old daughter, Mia. She was babbling happily, reaching her chubby hands out toward the boys on the lawn.
“Let them play,” I chuckled, wrapping my free arm around Evelyn’s waist and pulling her close. I kissed the top of Mia’s head, earning a squeal of delight.
Evelyn leaned her head against my shoulder, her fingers absently tracing the diamond necklace resting against her collarbone.
“It’s peaceful today,” she murmured.
“It’s peaceful every day, Evie.”
She looked up at me, her brown eyes searching mine. “Do you ever miss it, Vincent? The power? The respect?”
I looked out at the two boys tackling each other on the grass, laughing hysterically. I looked at the beautiful baby girl in my wife’s arms. And I looked at Evelyn, the woman who had walked through hell and back just to save my soul.
“I have everything I ever wanted right here,” I said honestly.
Ethan suddenly kicked the soccer ball too hard. It bounced off a stone pillar and rolled directly to my feet.
Both boys stopped, looking at me with slightly widened eyes, waiting to see if I was angry.
I set my coffee mug down on the balustrade. I stepped off the terrace onto the grass in my bare feet. I smiled, pulled my foot back, and launched the ball perfectly between them.
“Heads up!” I called out.
The boys cheered and took off after it.
Evelyn laughed, adjusting Mia on her hip. I walked back to her, wrapping both my arms around my wife and my daughter, holding them tight.
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I was forty years old. In Chicago, people used to be afraid to look me in the eyes.
But here, in the warm Italian sun, the only thing in my eyes was love. And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what it meant to be a king.
