Chapter 8 - The Queen's Garden
One year later.
Spring had returned to the Duca estate, bringing with it bright green grass, blooming pink cherry blossoms, and the warm scent of salt water carried by the sea breeze from the Sound.
Along the eastern boundary—where the twelve-foot limestone wall used to stand—the stone had been lowered to four feet, replaced by a beautiful wrought-iron fence surrounded by hundreds of vibrant red, yellow, and white rosebushes.
It was no longer a fortress wall. It was the Queen's Garden.
Inside the garden, four-year-old Mia ran across the lush grass wearing a light blue summer dress, her bright red hair flying in the wind as she chased a golden retriever puppy that Lorenzo had bought her for her birthday.
"Slow down, Mia!" Clara called out with a warm laugh.
Clara stood near the stone gazebo, looking radiant in a white linen dress that highlighted her healthy, happy glow. Her dark blond hair was pinned up loosely, and on her left hand, a breathtaking emerald-cut diamond ring caught the afternoon sunlight.
Lorenzo walked up behind her, wrapping his thick arms securely around her waist and pulling her back against his chest.
"She has too much energy," Lorenzo chuckled softly, resting his chin on Clara's shoulder as they watched Mia tumble into the grass with the playful puppy.
"She gets it from her mother," Clara teased, turning her head to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Or maybe from her stepfather, who refuses to slow down."
"I've slowed down plenty," Lorenzo said softly.
It was true. Over the past year, Lorenzo had systematically dismantled his illegal operations, transferring his family’s massive wealth into legitimate shipping logistics, real estate development, and charitable foundations across New York. The feared mafia boss of Long Island had stepped out of the shadows, becoming one of the state's most respected business leaders and philanthropists.
Rocco Bellini walked out to the gazebo carrying a silver tray with fresh lemonade and fruit tarts, a huge smile spread across his elderly, wrinkled face.
"Everything is set for the evening, Mrs. Duca," Rocco announced proudly, bowing slightly to Clara. "The guests from the hospital foundation will arrive at six."
"Thank you, Rocco," Clara smiled brightly. "Make sure you save two tarts for Mia before she spots them."
Rocco laughed heartily, nodding as he walked back toward the mansion.
Lorenzo turned Clara in his arms, looking down at her face with a quiet, unyielding devotion that had only grown stronger with every passing day.
"Are you happy, Clara?" Lorenzo asked softly, his dark eyes searching hers.
Clara reached up, resting both hands against his chest, feeling the steady, calm rhythm of his heart beneath his linen shirt. She looked out over the sunlit grounds, at her daughter laughing in the roses, at the beautiful home they had built together, and back into the eyes of the man who loved them with everything he had.
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"I'm more than happy, Lorenzo," Clara whispered, stepping onto her tiptoes to press her lips to his in a deep, sweet, eternal kiss. "I'm home."
Behind them in the garden, Mia kicked her red rubber ball high into the air, her joyful laughter echoing across the Long Island Sound as the sun dipped toward the horizon, bathing the estate in a warm, everlasting golden light.
