Chapter 10 - The Table under the Fig Tree
One year later.
The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow across the private garden of Villa Duca.
The old fig tree stood tall and green, its thick leaves rustling softly in the cool breeze blowing off Lake Como. The scent of roasted rosemary chicken, fresh sourdough bread, and sweet peaches drifted from the outdoor terrace.
Standing near the stone fountain was a long wooden dining table draped in a simple white linen runner.
Sitting around the table were Marco, Rosa the head cook, several senior estate managers, and Elena, who was holding a four-month-old baby boy wrapped in a soft blue wool blanket—little Paolo Lorenzo Duca, the newest addition to the family.
Pippo, now a full-grown, majestic golden retriever, lay contentedly under the bench, watching over four-year-old Mia, who was busy running through the grass, chasing butterflies with a small wooden net.
Lorenzo sat at the head of the table. He wore a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, holding a glass of rich red wine.
He didn't look like Il Corvo, the feared mafia boss of Northern Italy. He looked like a man who was deeply, completely, and permanently at peace.
Elena walked over to him, holding the sleeping baby in her arms, and sat on the bench beside him. Lorenzo reached out, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her close, and kissing the top of his infant son's head.
"He looks just like you when he sleeps," Elena whispered softly, resting her head against Lorenzo’s shoulder.
"Poor boy," Lorenzo murmured dryly, a warm, genuine smile touching his lips. "He inherited my stubborn jaw."
"He inherited your strength, Lorenzo," Elena corrected gently, looking down at their son. "And your good heart."
Mia came running up from the grass, her dark curls flying, her cheeks flushed pink. She stopped right beside Lorenzo’s knee, looking up at him with her big, dark brown eyes—the very same eyes that had breached his cold fortress walls two years ago.
"Daddy!" Mia called out happily.
Lorenzo’s heart swelled every single time she used that word. He reached down with his free hand, lifting her smoothly up onto his lap beside her mother and baby brother.
"Yes, my sweet girl?" Lorenzo asked, brushing a stray curl from her forehead.
Mia looked at the long table filled with laughing friends, delicious food, warm sunshine, and her loving family. Then she looked down at her feet, where Pippo was resting his heavy golden head on Lorenzo’s shoes.
She looked up at Lorenzo, offering him that same radiant, gap-toothed smile that had changed his life forever.
"We kept him," Mia announced softly, tapping Pippo with her toe. "And we kept you, too."
Lorenzo looked around his table—at his beautiful wife, his healthy children, his loyal friends, and the bright, peaceful future stretching out before them under the Italian sky.
May you like
He pulled his family tight into his arms, kissed his wife’s lips, and smiled into the warm afternoon sun.
"Yes, my love," Lorenzo whispered, his voice full of absolute, unshakeable joy. "We kept each other."
