Chapter 10 - The Master's Table
One Year Later.
The warm golden light of a late summer afternoon streamed through the high floor-to-ceiling windows of the estate’s grand dining hall.
The long mahogany table—where cold mafia bosses had once sat discussing territory wars and shipping profits—was now covered in colorful tablecloths, fresh flowers, and platters of delicious homemade pastries.
It was Lily’s fifth birthday party.
Children’s laughter echoed through the high ceilings. Marco was currently sitting on a low chair, letting three little girls tie pink ribbons into his dark hair, while the other enforcers were happily supervising a bouncy castle set up on the rose lawn outside.
In the kitchen, the grand double doors were pushed open, and I walked out carrying a massive, three-tiered birthday cake covered in strawberries and white buttercream frosting.
Beside me walked Vincent, holding our eighteen-month-old son, Enzo, on his hip. Enzo was laughing, clapping his chubby hands as he pointed at the cake.
"Happy Birthday to you!" the crowd sang in unison as I set the cake down in front of Lily, who was sitting at the head of the table wearing a glittering plastic princess crown.
"Make a wish, Lily!" Vincent encouraged, leaning down beside her, holding Enzo close.
Lily closed her eyes, squeezed her hands together, and blew out all five candles in a single big breath.
Everyone cheered, clapping warmly.
After the cake was served, Vincent took my hand, leading me out onto the private sunlit terrace overlooking the sprawling green estate.
Below us on the lawn, Lily was running through the sprinklers with her friends, her sweet laughter floating up on the warm summer breeze. Enzo was sitting on a soft blanket with Marco, happily playing with wooden blocks.
Vincent wrapped his strong arms around my waist from behind, pulling my back against his broad chest, resting his chin gently on top of my head.
"What are you thinking about, Mrs. Moretti?" Vincent murmured softly into my ear, his hands resting over mine against my stomach.
I looked out at the bright, beautiful life we had built together—from the cold tiles of a service kitchen to the sunlit heights of a true, unbreakable family.
"I was thinking about that morning," I admitted softly, turning around in his arms to look up into his handsome face. "The morning I woke up on the kitchen floor with a bump on my head, listening to my three-year-old daughter feed your crying baby through the crib rails."
Vincent smiled—a warm, breathtaking smile that reached all the way to his eyes.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small object, and held it out in his palm.
It was the frayed red strip of cloth—the tag from that suspicious bottle long ago. He had kept it, framed in silver, as a reminder of the day everything changed.
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"A three-year-old girl with a warm bottle brought an empire to its knees," Vincent murmured, leaning down and pressing a tender, sweet kiss against my lips. "And her mother gave that empire a soul."
I smiled up at my husband, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, holding him close as the golden sun set over our home—a house no longer ruled by fear, but forever built on love.
