Chapter 7 - A Scent of Bitter Almonds and RainBy 2:00 AM, the last of the syndicate capos had departed under heavy armed escort, having signed emergency covenants recognizing the complete dissolution of the Bellini syndicate without a single objection.
In the private master sitting room on the second floor, a massive fire of split hickory crackled in the limestone hearth, driving away the cold autumn draft blowing off Lake Michigan.
Sophie had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep on the velvet chaise lounge beneath a plush cashmere duvet, clutching her stuffed rabbit against her chest.
Teresa sat in an armchair beside the hearth, sipping warm chamomile tea, holding Sophie’s hand while she slept.
I sat on the deep sofa, wrapped in a warm wool shawl, looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the rain falling across the dark water of the lake.
The double mahogany doors swung open softly.
Luca walked into the room, holding two porcelain mugs of hot spiced cider.
He sat beside me on the sofa, setting the mugs on the low cherrywood table, his shoulder resting warm and solid against mine.
“How does your wrist feel, Hannah?” he asked softly, his gray eyes searching mine with profound, protective tenderness.
“It doesn't hurt anymore, Luca,” I whispered, a faint, radiant smile touching my lips. “Dr. Harris gave me a soothing salve. For the first time in eleven months, nothing hurts.”
Luca leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his large, warm hand gently taking my fingers into his own.
“My mother told me what you did every evening at five o'clock, Hannah,” he murmured, his deep baritone rumbling with emotion. “When the nurses left the room, you sat on the floor beside her chair. You brought her flashcards with pictures of Sophie. You held her hand while she practiced the vowels.”
Tears welled in my eyes, spilling hot and fast down my cheeks.
“She was a mother who loved her son, Luca,” I whispered through my tears. “I saw the way she looked at your photograph on the desk. She wasn't senile. She was trapped in the dark, fighting to reach you.”
Luca leaned closer, his large, calloused hand reaching up to gently cup the side of my face, his thumb wiping a tear from my cheekbone with breathtaking gentleness.
“And you pulled her out of the dark, Hannah,” he whispered, his gray eyes burning into mine with an intensity that took the breath straight out of my chest. “You gave my daughter her father back. You gave this house its honor back.”
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He reached into his pocket and produced an antique velvet jeweler’s box lined with white silk.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.
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