“YOUR SON WAS NEVER MAN ENOUGH FOR ME. HIS FATHER IS.” THE MAFIA BOSS’S MISTRESS SAID IT TO HIS WIFE ACROSS THEIR ANNIVERSARY DINNER TABLE

One Year Later.

The smell of garlic and roasting tomatoes filled the kitchen.

I stood at the stove, stirring the marinara sauce, humming softly to myself. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of our new home—a quiet, sprawling farmhouse in upstate New York, far away from the sirens and shadows of Chicago.

The back door banged open.

“Grandma!”

Five-year-old Leo ran into the kitchen, his boots covered in mud, holding a fistful of crushed dandelions.

“Look what I found!” he beamed.

I wiped my hands on my apron and took the flowers, kissing his messy forehead. “They’re beautiful, sweetheart. Put them in the vase on the table.”

Jack walked in right behind him, carrying a bundle of firewood. He looked healthier than he had in years. The dark circles under his eyes were gone, replaced by the quiet peace of a man who finally slept through the night.

“Wipe your boots, Leo,” Jack laughed, setting the wood by the fireplace.

Elena followed, carrying a tray of fresh vegetables from the garden. She smiled at me, a genuine, warm smile. We had spent the last year rebuilding trust, brick by brick. She was the daughter I had always wanted.

“Dinner smells amazing, Rose,” Elena said, setting the tray down.

“It’s your favorite,” I winked.

The sound of a tractor engine cutting off echoed from the yard. A moment later, Dominic walked through the back door.

He wore worn-out jeans, a flannel shirt, and work boots. The tailored suits and shoulder holsters were a lifetime away. His hair was completely gray now, but the hard, violent edge to his jaw had softened.

He walked over to the sink, washing the dirt from his hands, then came over and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. He kissed the back of my neck.

“Smells good, Mrs. Moretti,” he murmured.

I leaned back against him for a moment, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

We weren't a perfect family. We carried scars that would ache when the weather turned cold. Dominic and Jack still had days where they couldn't look each other in the eye, burdened by the ghosts of the things they had done to survive.

But we were alive. We were together.

I looked around the room. Jack was helping Leo build a tower out of wooden blocks on the rug. Elena was laughing at something Dominic said.

There were no red dresses. No guns. No secrets.

I picked up my grandmother’s rosary, which now sat safely on the kitchen windowsill, and silently thanked her.

“Dinner’s ready!” I called out.

The family gathered around the large, rustic wooden table. Jack pulled out a chair for Elena. Dominic pulled out a chair for me.

As Dominic poured the wine, Leo reached across the table and grabbed my hand.

“I love Sundays, Grandma,” he smiled.

I squeezed his small, warm hand, my heart completely full.