Chapter 10 - The Prince of the House
One year later.
Spring had arrived on Long Island, blooming with vibrant white roses, blooming hedges, and warm, gentle breezes blowing off the sound.
The Moretti mansion was no longer an empty, echoing tomb of leather and cold coffee.
It was alive.
Children’s laughter echoed through the high marble hallways. A massive wooden playground had been built near the rose gardens, complete with a swing set, a sandbox, and a miniature stable for a real pony I had bought for Lucas’s fourth birthday.
In the grand dining room, a large painted portrait hung above the stone fireplace.
It depicted Isabella smiling under the Italian sun, with a small silver frame set right beneath it containing a picture of Rosa Mendes sitting in the garden.
Two women who had given everything to ensure that a little boy in moon pajamas survived to take his rightful place.
I stood on the terrace porch, wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, watching Lucas run across the green lawn with Matteo, who was patiently teaching the boy how to ride his new pony.
“He has your posture, Boss,” Matteo called out with a warm smile, holding the pony’s reins.
“And his mother’s heart,” I smiled back, taking a sip of my morning espresso.
Lucas looked up at the terrace, saw me watching, and raised his hand high in the air, waving with a giant, toothy grin.
“Daddy! Watch me ride!” Lucas cheered, his happy voice carrying across the sunlit gardens.
I raised my glass to my son—the prince of my house, the light of my life, and the miracle that had saved my soul from the dark.
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The empty mansion was empty no longer.
It was a fortress of love, built on blood, sacrifice, and the enduring truth inside a crumpled cream letter handed to me by a little boy wearing yellow moons.
