“Hours, maybe less. The financial networks are already compromised. It’s only a matter of time before they connect her signatures to everything.”
I look around the destroyed study, at the bodies of the two men who controlled my life, at the evidence of violence that will bring federal investigators down on us like wolves.
I guess the only way to be truly free is to die completely.
And be reborn as someone else entirely.
EPILOGUE
ELENA
One Year and Six Months Later—Positano, Italy
The Mediterranean stretches endlesslybefore us, gold melting into turquoise as I nurse our daughter on the terrace overlooking the Amalfi Coast. Isabella Elena Rossi—named for a grandmother she’ll never meet and the woman I’ve become—makes soft sounds of contentment while seabirds circle fishing boats in the harbor below.
“Beautiful morning,” Alessandro says, emerging from our small kitchen with coffee and fresh cornetti from the village bakery.
“Every morning is beautiful here.”
He settles beside me on the wrought-iron chair, his silver hair catching the early light. At almost forty-four, he looks younger than he did a year and a half ago. Running a legitimate wine export business suits him better than ruling a criminal empire ever did.
The official story is simple enough. Kasimira Vale-Moretti and Alaric Moretti died in a car accident on a remote highwayoutside Albany while escaping the feds. Their bodies burned beyond recognition in the resulting explosion. The closed-casket funeral drew hundreds of mourners, including federal agents who finally closed the books on the investigation.
The truth is more complicated.
Within hours of the shootout that left Dante, Marco, and Boris Petrov dead in our mansion, Alessandro’s contacts had arranged new passports, bank accounts, and a complete digital history for Elena and Alessandro Rossi. The car crash was meticulously staged using dental records from unclaimed bodies and DNA evidence that pointed to a conclusion without providing certainty.
The shell companies died with their legal owner, their assets frozen in bureaucratic limbo that will take years to untangle. Fifty million in laundered money sits in legal purgatory while federal prosecutors debate jurisdiction, and international law enforcement agencies point fingers at each other.
The trafficking networks Alessandro spent weeks dismantling remain broken, their victims repatriated or relocated to safe homes across three continents. That work continues under new management now.
“Papà!” Isabella makes a demanding sound that we’ve learned means she wants attention from her father.
“Coming, principessa,” he says, lifting her from my arms with practiced ease.
We never discussed what to call him in our new life, butPapàemerged naturally during the long nights when she had colic and he walked the floors singing Italian lullabies his grandmothertaught him. The tenderness in his voice when he talks to her erases any doubt about his capacity for redemption.
“Dr. Marelli says she’s developing perfectly,” I tell him as he bounces her gently. “Above average weight, strong reflexes, excellent lung capacity.”
“She gets that from her mother. The strong lungs, I mean.”
“Very funny.”
Our daughter has his green eyes and my dark hair, plus a stubborn streak that suggests she’ll never let anyone control her destiny. When she grows up, she’ll know her parents chose love over legacy.
She’ll never know that her mother was once trapped in a golden cage or that her father was one of the most feared men in America.
“The Torrino shipment arrived this morning,” Alessandro mentions, settling into his chair with Isabella in his lap. “Klaus wants to expand our German distribution by thirty percent.”
“Can we handle that volume?”
“With the new facility in Naples, yes. The Benedetti family has connections with shipping companies that specialize in temperature-controlled transport.”
It takes a moment for the name to register. “Benedetti? As in…?”
“Tony’s cousin runs legitimate wine import operations. Completely separate from family business, but the expertise transfers well to legal enterprises.”
Some threads from our old life have followed us to Italy, but only the ones that serve legitimate purposes. Tony Benedetti—the man who once handled our security—now manages vineyard operations for small family businesses throughout Tuscany. His skills at logistics and personnel management translate perfectly to agriculture.
