Chapter 15 - The True Donna of the Caruso DynastyLater that evening, after the grand banquet at the Plaza had wound down into soft music, clinking crystal, and joyful laughter, Dante and Clara stood together on the private master terrace of the Hudson Valley fortress.
A gentle summer breeze rustled the sheer curtains behind them, carrying the clean, crisp scent of the river and the distant twinkling lights of the valley below.
Inside the softly lit salon, Mrs. Higgins was sitting by the fire, holding baby Antonio in her arms, softly singing an ancient Sicilian lullaby as our little eagle slept soundly against her chest.
Dante held Clara close, his arm wrapped securely around her waist, his chin resting gently on her shoulder.
Clara’s fingers traced the platinum feathers of the crowned eagle pinned over her heart, the Burmese rubies catching the silver glow of the summer moon.
“Are you tired, Donna Lucia?” Dante whispered into her ear.
Clara 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 her shoulder blades.
She thought of the freezing basement corridor, the wet cleaning rag, the fifty thousand dollars of debt in Queens, and the moment a man with hazel eyes had dropped into broken glass to lift his sister from the stone floor.
“Not anymore, Dante,” she whispered back, turning in his arms to cup his rugged face in her 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 held his sister beneath the Hudson stars.
THE END
