Chapter 7 - THE NEW ESTATE
Six months later, autumn had arrived in upstate New York.
The leaves across the rolling hills of Saratoga County had turned brilliant shades of crimson, gold, and deep amber.
We had left the Long Island mansion behind forever. The old estate had been sold, its cold, blood-stained marble floors replaced by a wide, two-story timber-and-stone farmhouse sitting on two hundred acres of private forest and pasture land.
There were no high stone walls here. There were no armed bodyguards standing at the front gates in leather jackets.
I had formally stepped down from the executive leadership of the Syndicate, handling control of the legitimate commercial freight shipping lines to Frank, while completely dissolving the illegal gambling and protection operations.
The Commission had agreed to my retirement—a rare, unprecedented exception made out of respect for the complete, merciless destruction I had visited upon the Moretti family six months ago.
I stood on the wide wooden porch of the farmhouse, wearing a comfortable gray wool sweater and dark trousers, holding a steaming mug of fresh black coffee.
Down in the green meadow below the porch, three little girls were riding two small white ponies, their clear, joyful laughter bouncing off the surrounding birch trees.
Olivia was nine now, her dark hair tied back in a ribbon, guiding her pony with confident hands. Sophie and Nora were riding together on the second pony, shouting happily as the gentle animal trotted through the autumn grass.
The kitchen door behind me opened softly.
Grace stepped out onto the porch, wearing a warm cream cardigan, carrying a basket of freshly picked apples from the orchard behind the barn.
She walked over to the rail, leaning her shoulder gently against mine, looking out at the girls.
Over the past six months, Grace had transitioned from housekeeper to the foundation of our new life. She was the anchor that kept our family grounded, the warm light that had chased away every remaining shadow of our past.
"They're getting better at riding," Grace smiled, resting her head against my arm.
"Olivia wants to enter a local jumping competition next spring," I said, setting my coffee mug down on the wooden railing and wrapping my arm around Grace's waist. "I told her I'd build her a practice ring behind the barn."
"You're spoiling them, Dominic," Grace teased softly, turning her face up to look at me.
"I am making up for lost time," I corrected her gently, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
Grace wrapped her arms around my neck, resting her face against my chest, listening to the steady, calm beat of my heart.
"They talk about their mother now, you know," Grace murmured quietly. "Olivia told me this morning that she remembers Isabelle singing 'You Are My Sunshine' in the garden when she was four."
I looked out at the meadow, feeling a sweet, peaceful ache in my chest.
For a long time, I had believed that reminded Isabelle was holding onto the violence and rage of her death. But Grace had shown us that honoring Isabelle meant living—truly living—with joy, courage, and love.
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"Isabelle would have loved you, Grace," I said softly, meaning every word from the bottom of my soul. "She would have thanked you for bringing her girls back to life."
Grace looked up into my eyes, her hazel eyes shining with deep, unshakeable affection. "She brought us all back to life, Dominic."
