Chapter 56

Layla

Golden morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a glow on the woman and the little boy bent over the marble counters. Eli perched on his stool, his lower lip between his teeth as he watched Melissa Marcello expertly roll dough across the floured countertop.

In the doorway of the kitchen, I bit back my own smile at the sight. It was undeniably adorable and heartwarming.

Eli’s small voice broke the comfortable silence. “Nonna, can I help?”

The name he’d so effortlessly taken for her still took me by surprise—it was the same name I called my own grandmother.

Melissa turned to him with a soft smile, her hands never pausing on the dough. “Of couse, caro. But dust your hands with flour first.”

She guided his small hands, her movements so patient, so tender. My son giggled as a puff of flour speckled his shirt and cheeks.

I bit back another smile. Eli and Melissa had grown unexpectedly close in the past months. Melissa, who’d once seemed so cold and stern—the quintessential Mafia wife—now had a gentler edge.

I could see her as a mother for the first time, and it softened something inside me.

“Morning, chefs.” I stepped fully into the kitchen, making my presence known. I stood behind Eli to ruffle his straight blond locks.

“Buon giorno, Layla.” Melissa greeted me with a bright smile. As she’d bonded with Eli over the past months, she’d likewise warmed up to me as well. “Sfogliatella today.”

“Nonna says I am a natural pastry chef.”

I chuckled, propped a hip against the counter. “I’m sure it helps to have a good teacher.”

“It does,” Melissa agreed with a low laugh. “But I think the love of cooking is in his blood.”

The word—the implication behind it—hung in the air between us. It carried a weight I couldn’t ignore, and I shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond.

Melissa wiped her hands on her apron, then tilted her head towards the stools at the kitchen island. “Sit with me a moment, Layla?”

My eyes strayed to Eli, still rolling dough with deliberate, focused movements. I nodded, followed her to the stools on the far side of the counter. She sat. I perched.

For a moment, silence hung between us as the older woman studied me. There was something in her sharp eyes that softened them, though I couldn’t have named the emotion.

“I owe you an apology,” she said without warning, surprising me with both the suddenness of her speech, and the words themselves. “When you first came back here … It wasn’t right. How I treated you.”

I had no response for that.

Melissa folded her hands on the counter, like she could sense my hesitation. “When I first realized what you were to my son, I didn’t understand. I thought … I thought you were a distraction. A weakness.”

My chest tightened, and I thought back to that first meeting in this same kitchen. That woman needs to be moved out of this estate.

The first words I’d ever heard her speak. It was hard to think they’d been spoken by the docile, grandmotherly woman beside me now.

“But I know you’re much more than that.” Melissa’s voice was a low hum, barely more than a whisper. “He loves you, my Vasco. I see that now.”

A tiny gasp left my throat. But I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. What would I possibly have to say to something like that? I wasn’t about to admit my own feelings—that, surely, was a dangerous game.

Melissa exhaled in a slow, soft sigh. “You know, he was never meant to take over the family business. He should have had a different life. A quieter, happier life.”

More pain clenched at my chest, a vice around my ribs. “That’s why he was in Alaska.”

That was why he’d married me. Why he’d never mentioned the family business.

“He was never meant to be its leader.” Melissa nodded. “As a child … he was so quiet. Serious, yes, but soft. Thoughtful. Caring. Kind. Intelligent. Just like Eli. When he—”

She stopped, and when her gaze drifted sideways, lashes fluttering, I realized she was blinking back tears. I looked away, giving her privacy to compose herself.

“When he started his own business,” she continued, her voice firmer now, more certain. “I was happy for him. I didn’t want to see him leave the family, but I knew he was meant for better things.”

“His father died,” I guessed, though that still left a piece of the puzzle missing. How had his father never expected him to follow in his footsteps?

“His father died,” Melissa agreed, her voice unwavering. “And his brother soon after.”

“His brother.” My heart ached at this new revelation. Aldo had had a brother. A brother who should have been the don. A brother who should have been heir to the Marcello dynasty—leaving Vasco to live his own life.

And yet, it hadn’t worked out the way the family had planned. The senior Marcello had died. Aldo’s brother had died. And Aldo now carried the weight of the world—the Marcello family—on his broad shoulders.

He’d do anything for his family.

He always had.

He always would.

“I see so much of him in Eli.” Melissa’s soft voice was little more than a whisper. “And I see how much you’ve done to raise him to be a good, kind, and caring young man. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t enough. You’re more than enough, Layla.”

Unexpected tears pricked my eyes, as equally unexpected emotion pricked my chest. But I blinked them away. I was stronger than that. “Thank you, Melissa.”

She reached across the countertop to place a hand atop mine. Her palms were callused but warm—strong and sure. “We’ve both lost so much. But maybe we can find some peace in what we still have.”

I could only imagine, the pain of losing a husband and a son. Of watching the son you’d wanted to be free take on the burden of an entire family instead. She bore her own burden with such ease, I’d never thought twice.

“Eli adores you, you know,” I informed her, the words tumbling off my tongue without my permission. “It’s been good for him, having you around.”

Melissa smiled, her gaze on the boy. “And he’s been good for me. He reminds me of Aldo when he was that age.”

Silence fell between us, as we both studied the boy, lit to an angelic glow by the morning sunlight. His little hands worked tirelessly at the dough.

A sudden thought flitted through my mind, and I debated whether to ask. Finally, my curiosity won out. “Do you think Aldo resents having to take over the family business?”

Melissa sighed, her expression turning wistful. “I think he regrets what it’s cost him. But Aldo is a man of duty. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he’d turned his back on the family.”

I nodded, thoughts drifting to the man who had once been my world. Did he feel the same longing and loss that I did? Did he wonder what might have been?

“He still loves you, you know,” Melissa said, her soft voice breaking through my thoughts. “I think he always will.”

My breath caught, but the words didn’t surprise me so much as they hurt me. I knew the truth of them—I’d always known it. But the reality of this world was, “I wish that was enough, Melissa. I really do. But love isn’t everything.”