Chapter 15 - The New Donna of the OutfitLater that evening, after the grand feast of Italian delicacies, champagne toasts, and lively dancing had wound down into soft acoustic music and clinking crystal, Matteo and I stood together on the private master terrace overlooking Lake Michigan.
A gentle summer breeze rustled the sheer curtains behind us, carrying the clean, crisp scent of blooming roses and the distant twinkling lights of the Chicago skyline below.
Inside the softly lit salon, Francesco was sitting by the fire, holding baby Lily in his arms, softly singing an ancient Sicilian lullaby as our daughter slept soundly against his chest.
Matteo held me from behind, his arms wrapped securely around my waist, his chin resting gently on my shoulder.
My left hand rested over his, the platinum and sapphire rings catching the silver glow of the summer moon.
“Are you tired, Donna Leah?” Matteo whispered into my ear.
I leaned back against the broad, solid warmth of his chest, smiling up at the starlit sky, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against my shoulder blades.
I thought of cell 3C, the freezing concrete floor, the stolen tin of polenta, and the moment a paralyzed old man had lifted his hand and called down justice from the heavens.
“Not anymore, Matteo,” I whispered back, turning in his arms to cup his rugged face in my hands. “Tonight, I’m finally home.”
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He smiled—the soft, peaceful smile of a sovereign whose wars were won and whose soul was finally whole—and kissed his wife beneath the Midwestern stars.
THE END
