Chapter 10 - The Sunshine in the Garden
Three months later, autumn had returned to Long Island.
The leaves on the great oak trees surrounding the estate were turning brilliant shades of amber, gold, and deep red, drifting across the manicured lawns in the crisp October breeze.
The Romano organization was different now. The freight yards and card rooms were still running, but the shadows had been pulled back. Frankie Corsetti was handling the day-to-day operations with strict instructions: no dirty money, no unholy alliances, no shortcuts. The men who didn't like the new rules had been paid off and sent packing.
In the state Supreme Court downtown, Pauly Romano and Jimmy Vane had both been sentenced to life without parole. The story was finished in the papers.
I stood on the back patio holding a warm mug of black coffee, watching the garden.
Grace Bennett was sitting on a wooden bench near the flowerbeds, holding an open sketchbook while Nora sat in her lap, pointing at a drawing of a blue butterfly. Nearby, Olivia and Sophie were running through a pile of raked leaves, their bright laughter echoing across the yard.
Sophie stopped, picked up a large, perfect red oak leaf, and came sprinting across the grass toward the patio steps.
“Daddy! Look!” she shouted, her voice ringing out strong and clear in the crisp afternoon air. “Look how big this one is!”
I dropped to one knee on the cold stone steps, taking the leaf from her small, warm hand.
“That’s the biggest one in the whole yard, Sophie,” I smiled, smoothing down her dark hair. “Where are we going to put it?”
“In Mommy’s book,” she said without a trace of fear or sadness in her eyes. “Grace said we can press it between the pages so it stays red forever.”
I looked over at the bench. Grace looked up from the sketchbook, caught my eye, and offered a soft, quiet smile before returning to Nora’s drawing.
I pulled Sophie into my arms, lifting her up into the air as she giggled, her small hands resting on my shoulders. Olivia ran over, tackling my left leg, while Nora waved her drawing from the bench.
The house behind me was no longer a fortress built on fear and silence. It was a home.
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My hand didn't rest on a concealed gun. My mind didn't linger on warehouses or bloodied cuffs.
I looked at my three loud, joyful, living daughters, took a deep breath of the autumn air, and listened to the sweetest sound in the entire world: my children talking to their father.
