Page 101 of Ruthless Grace

We walk around the side of the house to Mama’s garden table, sitting under the canopy of ancient live oaks where sunlight filters through the green leaves in golden dapples.

The air is rich with the smell of fresh pomodoro sauce, roasted garlic, sweet basil, and the blooming white jasmine along the brick walls.

Cassia is already seated near the head of the table holding baby Lucia, while Izzy sets down a basket of warm garlic bread and Mila finishes pouring red wine into crystal glasses. At the far end, sitting in her carved wooden armchair like a queen, is Nonna Rosa.

“Look who decided to join us!” Izzy calls out with a bright laugh, waving a serving spoon. “We were starting to think Luca was going to stay on that port couch forever.”

“He’s much too polite to leave me sleeping alone, Izzy,” I laugh, stepping up to Cassia to kiss the top of baby Lucia’s soft head.

Cassia looks up at Luca, giving him a warm, welcoming nod. “Sit down, Luca. You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

Nonna Rosa doesn’t wait. She pushes her small frame up from her chair, lifts the massive, steaming porcelain bowl of fresh rigatoni from the center of the table, and carries it directly over to my husband.

She passes the bowl straight into Luca’s hands, bypassing Dante, Nico, and Renzo completely.

“Eat, Luca,” Nonna commands in her sharp, loving Creole cadence, tapping his forearm. “You take care of our principessa, so I feed you first.”

Luca receives the heavy bowl with reverent, careful hands, giving the elderly matriarch a low, respectful bow of his head. “Grazie, Nonna.”

He pulls out my chair first, waiting until I am comfortably seated before taking his spot beside me. Throughout the meal, his focus never leaves me for long. He fills my wine glass before pouring his own, passes me the freshest bread, and leans in close to whisper a quiet comment about Nonna’s sauce that makes me laugh against his shoulder.

Across the table, my brothers watch us. They see the way Luca’s eyes follow my every breath—not as a jailer watching a captive, but as a man completely, helplessly head-over-heels in love with his wife.

As the main course winds down and wine glasses are refilled, Dante clears his throat, his face turning serious, though the tension isn’t hostile.

“Before we get to dessert, there’s one thing left between us,” Dante says, setting his fork down and looking across the table at Luca. “Any other man who played me the way you did would be in the river by now. You know it, and I know it.”

My hand tightens over my napkin, but Luca remains completely unbothered, nodding slowly. “I know.”

“You played my protective panic, and you engineered a threat against my sister,” Dante continues, turning Papa’s onyx ring. “Normally, the debt would be wiped out with iron. But you gave my sister total ownership of Casa Lucia Hospital, and you stood unarmed when she confronted you.”

Dante leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “So here is the fine, Don Valentino: A permanent, one-hundred-percent exemption on all Santoro shipping tariffs through Berths 1 through 14, plus a thirty-percent annual contribution from your private logistics revenue directly into the Casa Lucia Memorial Trust for the next ten years. That is the penalty for playing the Santoro family.”

Luca doesn’t hesitate for a single second. He doesn’t counter-offer, and he doesn’t consult his capos.

“Agreed,” Luca replies without a beat of hesitation, lifting his wine glass. “You could have asked for triple, Dante. She’s worth more than everything I own.”

Dante lets out a low chuckle, raising his glass in return. “Done.”

The table exhales. Izzy passes the cannoli platter, and the conversation loosens into the easy chaos of family.

While Nico argues with Izzy over the last cannoli, Renzo leans across to refill my wine glass. He doesn’t look at me while he pours.

“When Dante brought us into that room, Marco and I went along with it blindly,” Renzo says, low, just for me. “We obeyed our Don without standing up for you the way brothers should. I’m sorry, little sister.”

Marco catches it from the end of the table and dips his head once, his eyes carrying the same quiet weight.

I wrap my hand over Renzo’s scarred knuckles before he can pull the bottle back.

“You were protecting the family,” I say softly. “We were all surviving the same storm.”

Renzo exhales, a rare, warm smile touching his face as Marco grins with relief.

“Well, now that everyone has made peace, I stand by my original promise,” Nico chimes in from the side, slinging his arm around Mila’s chair with a smirk. “I’m still going to give you absolute hell, Luca. Every Sunday. Just so you remember who her twin is.”

Luca smiles, a genuine, relaxed curve of his lips that lights up his dark features. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, Nico.”

A lighthearted burst of laughter ripples around the table. Cassia adjusts baby Lucia in her lap, and Nonna Rosa nods approvingly from the end of the table as the afternoon sun dappling through the live oaks turns golden.