Matteo’s jaw works. He looks back at the peaks. "Dom says there are no graves in Pine Valley. But I’ll be carrying one in my chest for the rest of my life."
"We all are," I say. The words taste like copper—my own truth finally surfacing. "I’ve got a grave for a brother who never got to see me grow up. Alessio has graves for parents he remembers too well and a mother the war found later. But that’s the thing about moving to the mountains, Matteo. The ground is harder. It’s harder to dig. Maybe it’s time we stopped digging altogether and just started building on top of it."
I reach out, my hand resting on his arm. His muscles are like bridge cables, but they relax under my touch. Just a little.
"You’re one of the hearts of this family," I tell him. "If you can’t breathe, they’ll all feel it. They’re all watching you, waiting to see if it’s okay to stop hurting."
Matteo looks at my hand, then up at my face. "You’re a piece of work, Osei. No wonder Alessio is so obsessed with you."
"He’s not obsessed," I huff, stepping back. "He’s just... territorially challenged."
Matteo actually laughs. It’s a short, dry sound, but it’s there. "Same thing. Come on. If we stay out here much longer, he’s going to come out and perform surgery on the railing just to get closer to you."
We walk back inside together. The room is still humming, but the tone has shifted. It’s lighter. Dominic is talking to Natalia about the land transfer, and Vincenzo is already on his laptop mapping out the fastest fiber-optic route to the mountain.
I find Alessio exactly where I left him. He hasn't moved an inch, his eyes locked on the door. The moment I step over the threshold, his gaze snaps to mine. The air around him practically hums with the relief of having me back in his sightline.
He reaches out, his hand finding the small of my back and pulling me flush against him. It’s a public claim, a silent "mine" that I’ve stopped trying to fight. In fact, I lean into it. I’m tired of being the only thing holding me up.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
"I’m fine," I say, looking around the room. "Is it really happening? We’re just... leaving? Closing the door on Chicago?"
"The door is already closed," Alessio says. "We’re just walking away from the house."
"I’ve never lived in a house for more than six months," I admit, my voice small. "The idea of building one... of staying... it’s still a little terrifying, Alessio."
He tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are dark, intense, and filled with a certainty that I don't quite possess yet.
"You’re not building it alone," he says. "And you’re not staying because you have to. You’re staying because this is where you belong. With me. With them."
He gestures to the chaos of the brothers. They aren’t only a crime family anymore. They’re a collection of trauma and violence trying to figure out how to put the pieces back together into something that looks like a future.
"I need to finish the scholarship paperwork," I say, though I don't make a move to leave his arms. "I want the first check to be cut before we even see the Pine Valley sign."
The afternoon passes in a blur of activity. The Costas don't do anything halfway. If they’re moving, they’re moving with the force of a tectonic shift. Boxes appear from nowhere. Lists are made. Calls are placed. I stay tucked in my corner with my laptop, finalizing the details.
Every time I type Curtis’s name, it feels a little less like a bruise and a little more like a heartbeat. The scales are finally moving. Vane’s blood money is being stripped and turned into something that might actually save a life.
As the sun starts to dip below the peaks, casting long, purple shadows across the valley, the house finally starts to quiet down. Most of the brothers have drifted off to their respective rooms or out to the garage to check the vehicles.
I’m sitting on the porch swing, my legs tucked under me, watching the sky turn purple over the peaks. The cold is starting to seep through my sweater, but I don't want to go inside yet. I want to sit in this silence.
The door creaks. I don't need to turn to recognize the weight of his presence. Alessio walks out, carrying two mugs of something that smells like cinnamon and bourbon. He handsone to me and sits down on the swing, his weight making the chains groan.
"Thinking about leaving?" he asks, his shoulder brushing mine.
"No," I say, and the truth hits like a cold snap. "I was thinking about the furniture. Do you think we should go for mountain rustic or something a little more... not-mafia?"
Alessio chuckles, a deep sound that warms me more than the bourbon. "Whatever you want, Amara. You want a house made of glass and chrome? I’ll build it. You want a log cabin with a bear rug? I’ll find the bear."
"No bears," I shudder. "I’ve had enough things trying to eat me for one lifetime."
I take a sip of the drink. It’s hot, sweet, and kicks like a mule.
"Dominic is leaving at dawn," Alessio says. "He wants to be in Pine Valley by tomorrow night to meet with Lucia and the builders. The rest of us will follow in waves."
"And us?" I ask.
