Cristiano has emerged from the back rooms and is standing on the upper level, looking down at the casino floor. His eyes find mine across the distance.
He raises his glass in a small salute.
A toast.
Just like the one Dad made that ended his life.
Cristiano turns away, and I’m left wondering what the gesture meant. A chill goes down my spine, and Vincenzo must feel it.
“Stop worrying,” Vincenzo murmurs as we step out into the cool night air. “Whatever he knows or doesn’t know, we’ll handle it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He opens the car door for me. “Now let’s go home.”
The word settles warm in my chest.
Home.
Later that week,as Vincenzo and I walk into the house, the smell of garlic and tomato sauce greets us at the door. I realize what this means. Sofia emerges from the kitchen, flour on her apron, her face lighting up when she sees us.
“Finally! I was about to send Matteo to drag you home.”
A family Sunday dinner.
Vincenzo pulls Sofia into a gentle hug. “Smells like heaven in here,Zia. What did we do to deserve you?”
“You married a wonderful woman,” Sofia says, beaming. “That’s what.”
Matteo appears behind her, grinning. “Food’s ready. I’ve been dying here.”
“Dramatic,” Sofia chides, but she’s smiling. “Come, sit. Everything’s hot.”
We gather around the dining table, the same table where we once sat planning how to survive Dashamir and my father. Now we sit simply to enjoy a meal with the people we love.
Sofia has outdone herself. Manicotti stuffed with ricotta and covered in rich red sauce, garlic bread that’s perfectly crisp, a simple salad with fresh basil.
Vincenzo reaches for the wine bottle and moves around the table, pouring for Sofia, me, and Matteo, before filling his own glass. The gesture is so natural that it makes me ache with happiness.
“This is incredible,” I say around my first bite.
“It’s nothing special.” But Sofia looks pleased.
“It’s perfect,” I insist.
Vincenzo raises his wineglass. “To the best cook in Malus.”
We eat, and for a few minutes there’s just the comfortable sounds of forks on plates, appreciative murmurs, and Matteo reaching for seconds.
Then Sofia clears her throat. “It’s been over a week now since the police came to the hospital. Have they contacted you again?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Not a single call.”
“That’s good, right?” Matteo looks between us. “It means they’ve moved on?”
“It means they have no witnesses and no evidence,” Vincenzo says, and adds with a tinge of irony, “three hundred guests at that wedding, and not one of them saw anything. It’s a mystery.”
Sofia reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. “You’re safe now. Both of you. That’s what matters.”
