Chapter 19
One year after the broken plate, Angelo invited us back to the Torrisi house.
I said no twice.
Luke said maybe.
That was what changed my mind.
“I want to see the garage,” he said.
“Only the garage?”
“And maybe the kitchen,” he admitted. “Rosa makes good pasta.”
So we went.
But not to the courtyard dinner.
Not to the old table where Milena had humiliated him.
Angelo had changed the house.
The portrait of Vittorio remained.
Milena’s portrait was gone.
The locked rooms were opened.
The staff moved through the halls without fear.
Bianca lived in the east wing now, turning it into offices for a foundation that helped women threatened into silence.
She named it The Grace Fund.
I yelled at her for that.
She ignored me.
Rosa cried when she saw Luke.
Carlo cried too.
Everyone seemed to cry in that house now.
Maybe because they were finally allowed to.
Angelo took Luke to the garage.
The real Alfa waited under a silver cover.
Luke pulled it back like treasure.
His face lit up.
Angelo handed him a small key.
Luke’s eyes widened.
“No way.”
“You cannot drive it yet,” Angelo said quickly.
“I know that.”
“But it is yours when you are ready. If your mother agrees.”
Luke turned to me.
I crossed my arms.
“When you are thirty.”
“Mom.”
“Twenty-five.”
Angelo smiled.
Luke laughed.
The sound echoed off the garage walls.
Later, we walked through the courtyard.
A new table stood there.
Smaller.
Warmer.
No sharp lights.
No audience.
Luke stopped where the plate had shattered.
I felt him remembering.
Angelo did too.
“I am sorry,” he said.
Luke looked at him.
Then he reached for Angelo’s hand.
“I know.”
May you like
Angelo closed his eyes.
And this time, I let myself cry openly.
