They have a point. What I thought was nonsense babbling is actually toddler Italian.
“She speaks Italian as well as you do,” Luca observes proudly.
“Hey!” I say, and poke him. Everyone laughs, but it’s a nervous kind of laughter. They’re still waiting for my reaction, although I’m not sure why they’re so concerned with what I think. I miss Celia very much, it’s true, but I think we can all agree that Frank is better off far away from New York.
I smile down at Marcy as she walks unsteadily across the room to me, showing me a golden star that she’s plucked from the tree. I hope it symbolizes a wonderful, joyful life for her. The next generation of Morelli-D’Amatos deserves a much better life than the one I had.
And I’ll make damn sure Marcella Constance Aïda gets that chance.
“As long as you’re happy for Luca and me to come visit you whenever we want,” I say, grinning over at Cee and Frank as I dangle the gold star from my fingers for Marcy’s amusement. I rub my thigh against Luca’s as I pretend to understand exactly what Marcy is telling me in jumbled Italian about the star she has pressed into my hand.
When she dashes off to retrieve another ornament from the tree, I think about how perfect today has turned out to be. Tonight, everyone except me will go to Midnight Mass, and I’ll have a chance to be alone with my newfound fullness of spirit. Maybe I’ll light a candle of my own, remember the people I’ve lost.
And then after mass, all of my favorite people will come back here to open the first presents of Christmas Day. Aidan and Teo will be here, and I’ll get to see Aidan’s face all lit up with the joy of the Christmas miracle, and tease him about it. Nick and Carlo are coming, after Carlo finally agreed he could takeonenight off work. And I’ll get to see Marcy enjoy the sparkly unicorn toy I bought for her with my own eyes, instead of by video call.
Tomorrow, Tara and Róisín will arrive from Boston for Christmas Day, and they’ll stay all week. I’m hoping Róisín and I will get a chance to move past our prickly détente—and if not, I’ll still have a chance to charm her during our time working together in All One Family.
Tara said she’s persuaded Conor to come with her as well. I plan to show him a great time, get him drunk and maybe laid at Kismet while he’s here. Poor bastard deserves it.
And the biggest news story of the holiday season has been about the dismantling of an Irish-based, internationally-active terrorist group, believed to be responsible for an attack on a New York hospital a few months back. A recent intelligence breakthrough has led to a seizure of assets and, various law enforcement agencies have promised, the beginning of an avalanche of arrests.
All in all, life really couldn’t be more perfect than it is now.
“Sure you don’t want to come?” Luca asks as they prepare to leave for church. He’s pulling on his winter coat, and I make him take a scarf, too, because snow is forecast.
“I’m sure,” I tell him, smiling up at his frowny-brows. “It’ll give me a chance to chill. Literally, if it snows.”
“Okay. Well, the guards will be outside, front and back, like always, and you have your personal alarm—”
“Luca,” I say firmly. “Go and enjoy your boring church stuff and then come back fast so we can open presents. Love you.” I press my mouth to his, but have to back off halfway into an intense tongue kiss, because Cee is coming downstairs with a sleepy Marcy in her arms.
Once they’ve gone, I go out to offer the house guards some eggnog, and the presents I got for each of them. They’re way too excited about them, but it makes me happy. I make sure each of them has a hand-warmer heat pack, and then I go back inside and wander around the mansion on my own.
Luca doesn’t think of me as a loner, and it’s true that I’m naturally more extroverted than he is. But I think he forgets, sometimes, that before him, I spent much of my life alone—in hiding from assassins, kidnappers, even my own father—or the man I called Pops, at least.
Tonight I want to remember my other father, the one I never got to know. So I troop down the stairs, leaving the door at the top open so the Christmas jazz I’ve been playing through the house can pipe down here as well, make it less creepy. I take a bottle of Tino’s preferred whiskey with me, and when I reach the bottom of the stairs I walk straight over to the place where it happened.
We’re in the process of rearranging things down here. There’s a vast wooden wine rack covering the wall now, only half-stocked, but Luca is keen to keep collecting.
I picture Tino Morelli, his smiling face from that video, his confidence in the face of death. He thought of me in his last moments. Me, and Marcy, and Luca, too. He thought about the legacy he was leaving the world.
I unstop the whiskey and raise the bottle up. “Merry Christmas, Tino,” I say, and then, I’m not sure why—it just feels right—I pour out a measure of the golden liquid on the still-to-be-sealed cement floor. It puddles and then soaks in, the rich, boozy scent wafting up toward my face.
I wait a few minutes, just in case ghostsarereal, and Tino has anything to say, but nothing happens except that my balls start shriveling up in the cool air.
But as I hurry back upstairs to the warmth, I’m smiling. Happy. Everything is going to be okay from now on.
I’m sure of it.
I exit the cellar door but as I come out into the hallway, I hear the front door opening. It’swaytoo early for anyone to be returning from church already, but no alarms have gone off, no guards have run in to hustle me to one of the safe rooms. Heart beating only a little faster, I make my way through to the foyer, where I find my husband hanging up his coat and scarf and pulling off his gloves.
Luca grins when he sees me, shaking his head ruefully. “I’m sorry, baby bird, I just couldn’t bear to see in Christmas Day without you. I hope that’s okay.” He holds open his arms, and I jump into them as the grandfather clock upstairs starts chiming midnight. I wind my arms around his neck, hugging him close. “Merry Christmas,” Luca whispers into my ear.
There’s no mistletoe over us, but I’ve never needed an excuse to kiss him—which is exactly what I do now, passionately, with my whole heart on fire for him.
Epilogue
FINCH
