Chapter 7 - The Scars We Carry
By noon, the estate was silent once more.
The police cruisers, the federal Suburbans, the news vans that had gathered at the front gates, and the moving trucks carrying federal evidence had all departed. The Vale family had been scattered into county holding cells and federal detention centers across two states.
The house was empty.
I stood on the second-floor terrace, wrapped in a heavy, soft black cashmere coat that Luca had brought for me. A cool Atlantic breeze was blowing through the cedar trees, carrying the clean, sharp scent of rain.
Behind me, the door opened softly.
Marco walked out onto the stone terrace, holding two cups of steaming black tea. He handed one to me, his fingers brushing against mine.
"How are the ribs?" he asked quietly.
"They ache," I said, taking a slow sip of the tea. "The doctor Matteo brought said they’re just bruised, not broken. The wrists will take a couple of weeks."
Marco looked out over the sprawling lawn—the tennis courts, the manicured rose gardens, the Olympic swimming pool that now belonged to a bankruptcy trust.
"The papers are signed," Marco said, pulling a slim envelope from his suit pocket. "Adrian signed the unconditional divorce waiver at the federal courthouse twenty minutes ago in exchange for the U.S. Attorney declining to recommend maximum sentencing on the domestic terrorism enhancements."
He handed me the document.
I looked at it. My name was restored: Anna Moretti.
"You're free, Anna," Marco said softly.
"I was never trapped, Marco," I whispered, watching a hawk circle above the distant tree line. "I just forgot who I was. I wanted so badly to believe that people could be good without fear. I thought that if I was quiet enough, kind enough, patient enough, Adrian would see me as a partner."
"Men like Adrian Vale do not see partners," Luca’s voice came from the doorway.
The eldest brother walked out onto the terrace, his hands in his pockets, his tie loosened, looking tired for the first time since midnight. He stood beside me, leaning against the stone balustrade.
"They see mirrors," Luca said. "They only value people who reflect their own vanity back at them. When you refused to be his mirror, he tried to break you so you would fit into his frame."
I looked up at Luca. "What happens to the house?"
"Matteo wants to bulldoze it," Luca said with a faint, rare smile. "He says the architecture is offensive. But Dante thinks we should sell the land to a regional hospital trust and turn the main ballroom into a public children’s library."
A quiet laugh escaped my lips—the first genuine sound of amusement I had produced in months.
"A library," I said. "I like that. Books instead of whips."
Luca placed a heavy, protective arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. "Then it’s done. We leave for Brooklyn in twenty minutes. Leo is already loading the cars."
"Luca?"
"Yeah, Anna?"
"Thank you."
May you like
Luca looked down at me, his gray eyes softening with an ancient, unshakeable tenderness that belonged only to the five boys who had raised me in the cold tenements of New York.
"You never have to thank us for coming home, Anna," he said. "The wolves protect the pack. Always."
