The wind off the ocean carried the scent of salt and eucalyptus. La Jolla was quiet, the waves below murmuring against the cliffs like old gods sleeping. Dante sat on the rooftop terrace, elbows on his knees, a glass of cold water sweating in his hand. He hadn’t gone back inside after dinner. Too full of thoughts.
The door creaked behind him. Rachel appeared, wrapped in a hoodie that used to be his. She padded over barefoot and dropped into the chair beside him with a sigh.
They sat in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, staring out over the rooftops and moonlit water. The kind of silence built by blood, time, and the things they’d lost together.
“He would’ve loved tonight,” Rachel said eventually.
Dante didn’t answer right away.
“Dad,” she added softly, like he didn’t already know.
Dante’s jaw flexed. “Yeah.”
Rachel smiled. “He would’ve been all over the grill. Trying to cut the fish before it finished resting. Arguing with Mom over wine pairings.”
“Wearing that stupid apron that saidKiss the Chef or Else.”
Rachel let out a quiet laugh. “He would’ve spoiled the hell out of this kid.”
Dante’s gaze flicked over to her belly, then back to the sky. “He’d be proud of you.”
Rachel’s voice wavered, just a little. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
Another silence settled, heavier this time.
Rachel looked over at him. “You ever think about it? Having kids?”
Dante exhaled through his nose. “Sometimes.”
She tilted her head. “And?”
He was quiet for a beat. “And I don’t know what I’d give them. Not like Dad did.”
Rachel frowned. “You’d give them safety. Loyalty. A spine.”
“Dad gave us more than that,” Dante said. “He gave us a name that meant something.”
Rachel looked at him. “You think you haven’t carried that forward?”
He didn’t answer.
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “You protect people who don’t even know they need it. You walk into danger without a second thought. And tonight? You sat there and interrogated my husband like a CIA recruiter because you care. That’s not failing your legacy. That’s living it.”
Dante swallowed, jaw working. “Still doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It wouldn’t to him either,” Rachel said. “That’s why he’d be proud. Because we get it. The work. The responsibility. We still show up.”
Dante leaned back in his chair, staring at the stars.
Rachel bumped his shoulder. “You’d be a good dad, you know.”
He shook his head. “Not the soft kind.”
“Neither was he.”
Dante smiled, small but real. “You’re just saying that so I’ll babysit.”
