Chapter 15 - The Sovereign Emperor of the Eastern SeaboardLater that evening, after the grand reception at the Moretti Boardwalk Hotel had wound down into soft jazz music, clinking crystal, and lively laughter, Elena and I stood together on the private master terrace of our oceanfront estate.
A gentle summer breeze rustled the sheer curtains behind us, carrying the clean, crisp scent of ocean salt and the distant twinkling lights of the boardwalk below.
Inside the softly lit salon, Mrs. Gable was sitting by the fire, watching Toby play an acoustic arrangement of Sofia’s lullaby on the Steinway, his small fingers striking the keys with effortless grace.
Frank Russo stood near the doorway, watching the clear harbor waters with a peaceful, happy smile.
I held Elena from behind, my arms wrapped securely around her waist, my chin resting gently on her shoulder.
Her left hand rested over mine, the platinum and sapphire rings catching the silver glow of the Atlantic moon.
“Are you tired, Donna Elena?” I whispered into my wife’s ear.
Elena leaned back against the broad, solid warmth of my chest, smiling up at the starlit sky, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of my heart against her shoulder blades.
She thought of the cold basement laundry, the heavy tuning fork striking the wheelchair wheel, the oilcloth dispatch pouch with its faded violet ink, and the moment a man with slate-gray eyes had risen from his chair and demanded the truth from his uncle.
“Not anymore, Dante,” Elena whispered back, turning in my arms to cup my rugged face in her hands. “Tonight, the Emperor is whole. And we are finally home.”
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I smiled—the soft, peaceful smile of a sovereign whose wars were won and whose soul was finally whole—and kissed my wife beneath the Atlantic stars.
THE END
