Chapter 9 - THE FAMILY WE CHOOSE
One year later.
The sun was setting over the Moretti estate, casting a warm, golden glow over the immaculate gardens. The heavy iron gates were still there, the guards still walked the perimeter, but the mansion itself felt entirely different.
It didn't feel like a fortress anymore. It felt like a home.
I stood on the back patio, wearing a simple white sundress, holding a silver tray with two glasses of iced tea.
Across the manicured lawn, Damien was sitting on the grass in a crisp linen shirt, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the scars he no longer bothered to hide. He was laughing—a deep, resonant sound that still made my heart skip a beat every time I heard it.
Enzo and Luca, now energetic, healthy toddlers, were climbing all over him. Enzo was pulling at Damien’s dark hair, while Luca was aggressively trying to feed his father a fistful of grass.
"Alright, alright, monsters, surrender," Damien chuckled, rolling over and pinning them both in a gentle bear hug, sending them into fits of uncontrollable giggles.
I walked over, setting the tray on the patio table.
Damien looked up, his dark eyes softening instantly the moment he saw me. He untangled himself from the boys and stood up, brushing the grass from his knees.
He walked over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. He kissed me, slow and deep, a promise he renewed every single day.
"They're wearing you out, boss," I teased, resting my hands on his broad shoulders.
"They're relentless," Damien smiled, looking back at the boys who were now chasing a butterfly near the rose bushes. "They get it from you."
I laughed, leaning my head against his chest, listening to the strong, steady rhythm of his heart.
The past year had been a whirlwind of healing. With Don Carlo’s backing, Damien had solidified his control over the Chicago families, shifting their operations away from the violent, volatile street wars of the past and into legitimate, untouchable corporate enterprises. He was still a feared man, but he was respected now, not just for his brutality, but for his unbreakable code.
I hadn't returned to the restaurant. I hadn't needed to.
Damien had quietly funded a massive pediatric neurology wing at the new private hospital he built on the south side. I was the head of the music therapy department, working with traumatized children every day, using the degree I had fought so hard for.
I wore a delicate silver chain around my neck now. Hanging from it was Damien’s father’s pocket watch, polished and restored. Damien had given it to me on the day we were quietly, privately married in the estate gardens. He said I was the one who had given him his time back, so I should be the one to keep it.
"Mama! Look!"
I turned around. Enzo was running toward us on chubby little legs, holding up a small, slightly squished yellow dandelion.
"For you!" Enzo beamed, thrusting the weed into my hand.
My heart melted. I knelt down, taking the flower and kissing his messy forehead. "Thank you, my brave boy. It's beautiful."
Luca tackled Enzo from behind, and the two of them tumbled into the soft grass, laughing hysterically.
Damien knelt beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
We watched our sons play in the fading light, safe, healthy, and wildly loved.
The darkness that had almost swallowed this family was gone. The poison had been drawn out. The broken strings had been restrung.
I looked at Damien. He was watching the boys with a look of such profound peace it brought tears to my eyes.
He caught me looking and smiled, his thumb gently stroking my cheek.
May you like
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"Nothing," I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder. "Just listening to the rhythm."
