Chapter 10 - The Lullaby in the Sun
One year later.
The summer sun shone brilliantly over the rolling green lawns of the Moretti estate. The harbor below was dotted with white sailboats drifting lazily across the deep blue water.
The three-story stone mansion sat grandly against the sky, its windows wide open, letting in the warm sea breeze and the sweet scent of blooming jasmine.
On the back lawn, near the rose garden where the old cottage used to stand—now replaced by a beautiful glass conservatory and a children’s playground—a large family gathering was under way.
Marco was sitting on a wooden bench, attempting to teach five-year-old Emma how to throw a baseball, though Emma was more interested in placing flower crowns on Marco’s shaved, tattooed head. The giant caporegime sat completely still, looking ridiculous and blissfully happy, letting the little girl decorate him like a Christmas tree.
Dr. Mercer sat under the shade of a striped umbrella, drinking iced tea and chatting with the head housekeeper, who was laughing heartily at his stories from his navy days.
On the stone terrace, sitting in a comfortable padded armchair, was Sophia. She looked radiant, healthy, wearing a sunlit yellow dress, her dark hair falling softly over her shoulders.
In her arms, she held a two-month-old baby boy—Leo Mateo Moretti—named after Alessandro’s late father. The baby was fast asleep, swaddled in a soft blue fleece blanket, his tiny fist tucked under his chin.
Alessandro walked out onto the terrace carrying a tray of fresh lemonade and pastries. He wore a simple white linen shirt and light trousers—no tailored suits, no leather holsters, no heavy bulletproof vests. He looked younger, relaxed, his dark eyes shining with deep, contented peace.
He set the tray down on the side table, walked over to Sophia’s chair, and knelt beside her.
He looked down at his infant son, reaching out a large, calloused finger. Baby Leo opened his tiny hand, wrapping his miniature fingers around Alessandro’s thumb, letting out a soft, contented sigh in his sleep.
"He looks just like you, Alessandro," Sophia whispered softly, leaning over to kiss her husband’s cheek.
"God help him then," Alessandro joked quietly, a warm smile gracing his face. "As long as he gets your heart, he’ll be fine."
Sophia laughed softly, resting her head against Alessandro’s broad shoulder as they watched Emma place a third flower crown on Marco’s head across the lawn.
"Do you remember the night you came home early?" Sophia asked softly, her eyes reflecting the sparkling light of the ocean. "When you found Emma in the laundry room?"
Alessandro looked toward the main mansion, remembering the cold, dark corridor, the sound of running water, and a three-year-old girl scrubbing a coffee stain on a wet wooden stool.
"I remember," Alessandro whispered, leaning in to kiss his wife's forehead. "I thought I was coming home to an empty house."
"And what did you find?" Sophia asked softly.
Alessandro looked at his wife, his sleeping newborn son, and his daughter laughing happily in the sunshine.
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"I found my life," Alessandro said, his voice filled with endless love, peace, and gratitude. "I found my family."
And as the warm summer breeze swept across the rose garden, carrying the gentle hum of a lullaby no one had sung in that mansion for twenty-seven years, the Wolf of the East River sat in the sunlight, completely, utterly, and forever home.
