Chapter 9 - The Baptism of Snow
The spring thaw arrived in April, turning the white hills of the estate into a vibrant, brilliant green as the wildflowers began to break through the softened earth. The lake was no longer black; it was a deep, sparkling blue that reflected the high, clear Wisconsin sky.
It was the twins’ third birthday. We had set up a long wooden table on the stone terrace overlooking the water, decorated with bright yellow balloons and a massive chocolate cake shaped like a steam engine. Leo and Matteo were sprinting across the manicured lawn, their small legs tireless as they chased Victor—who had transitioned from my security chief to the estate manager, his tactical harness replaced by a surprisingly bright linen shirt as he carried a plastic bubble machine across the grass.
Isabel’s brother, Leo, was there too, looking healthy and sober, working the outdoor grill with a genuine, relaxed laugh that hadn't been seen since his days in the casinos. The danger had receded so completely that the past felt like a story told about different people in a different city.
I stood by the terrace railing, a glass of iced tea in my hand, watching my sons roll down a small grassy hill, their laughter echoing across the water.
"They have your laugh, you know," a voice said beside me.
I turned to see my mother, Francesca Rienzi, who had flown in from her villa in Florence the week before. She looked at her grandsons with an expression of pure, unadulterated pride that she hadn't worn since before my father’s death.
"They have the Rienzi jaw, Mother," I smiled, taking a sip of my tea. "But I think they have Isabel’s heart. Thank God."
"A man who gives up his empire to build a garden for his children is not a weak man, Alessandro," she said, her elegant hand resting on my arm. "Your father would have called you a fool. But your grandfather... the one who built the first logistics trucks before the money turned bad... he would have kissed your face and called you a king. You did well, my son."
She walked down the steps to join the boys on the lawn, leaving me alone in the sun.
Isabel walked out from the French doors, carrying a tray of fresh lemonade glasses. She set them on the table, then walked over to stand beside me, her shoulder pressing comfortably against mine.
"Molly’s taking photos," she said, looking out at the family gathered on the grass. "She wants us in the center for the big birthday picture."
I turned to face her, taking both of her hands in mine, the silver signet ring on my finger catching the brilliant afternoon sun. "Isabel, before we go down there... there’s something I need to ask you. Something I should have asked you in a kitchen in Lakeview three years ago."
She smiled, her amber eyes reflecting the gold of the afternoon light. "What is it, Alessandro?"
I pulled a small, classic velvet box from my pocket. Inside was a simple, uncut grey diamond set in a band of textured rose gold—a ring that carried no history of the Rienzi outfit, no blood, and no corporate power. Just pure, unrefined strength.
May you like
"Will you marry a man who doesn't own a single street in Chicago?" I asked softly. "A man who only has twelve acres of pine trees, a woodshop, and a heart that belongs entirely to you and our sons?"
The tears that filled her eyes were bright and happy, spilling over her lashes as she let out a soft, breathless laugh. "Yes, Alessandro. I will marry the carpenter."
