Chapter 82

Aldo

The months following the war were spent rebuilding the city it had destroyed in so many ways. Physically, so much of it had been tarnished and ruined. Its infrastructure was tentative at best—corruption running rampant through the ranks of the government and the police.

And its people were still frightened, the trauma of the war preventing normal life from resuming its usual bustle and him. And I intended to right all these wrongs.

I threw myself into my work, Layla right beside me. While she focused her energy on medical work and improving healthcare efforts, I sought to reform the Mafia and the families it ruled.

There would be no more dissidence within my Mafia, I decided. No more underlings vying for power. No more battles that erupted from someone trying to claim something that wasn’t theirs.

Either they bowed to my rule and my ways—or they left my city. I wouldn’t rule with an iron fist by any means, but in this there would be no exception to my power.

I would see peace—and that meant order amongst the families.

“We need to show them there’s another way,” I told Carlo over a late-night glass of whiskey in my office. We’d poured over a map until I’d gone cross-eyed and the lines had blurred in front of my vision. “No more drugs, no more chaos. No more goddamn fighting.”

Carlo snorted, though the following roll of his eyes I thought was more fondness than disrespect. “Good luck with that.”

“I mean it.” I persisted anyway, my voice earnest as I leant forward to meet his gaze. “We focus on legitimate operations—transport, construction, trade. We work with the police and the government to instate policies and procedures that work for everyone.”

“Sure. Sure.”

I lifted a brow at his skepticism. “Peace and prosperity can be pretty convincing motivators.”

“But there will always be people who want more.” Carlo tipped back his glass to drain it. “And who will do anything to get it.”

He wasn’t wrong. The past few months had more than proven them—first with Marco and the Morettis, then with Aurora and the Falcones. Aurora herself was a good person. A true, genuine person corrupted by want.

It was her desire that had driven her to desperation. Not her nature, not her personality.

“I like to think those people are the exception,” I said softly. “Not the norm.”

“You’re turning into some kind of saint, Vas.” Carlo arched an eyebrow. He seemed dangerously clos to rolling his eyes at me again. “Don’t know if the other families will go quietly.”

“They don’t have to go quietly.” My teeth gritted, and I drained my glass, too. “They just have to fall in line. Anyone who doesn’t will be dealt with accordingly.”

Dissidence would not be tolerated in my family. Not anymore.

In this one matter, I would be unflinching. For all that she’d been wrong, Aurora was right, too. For the men to follow me, they had to respect me.

And I was right—funny how people fell into line when you gave them two such stark alternatives: become rich doing what I want, or become dead trying to resist.

There weren’t many who chose the latter.

There weren’t many who wanted to resist when they realized I truly wanted what was best for the city and everyone in it. When they realized they could have more wealth, better lives, and safer families.

When they realized that we didn’t have to live as criminals, paying our way out of shady deals and twisted legality. That we could live as people alongside the law, as part of our community—rather than lurking in its shadows.

Funny, how much we all wanted to stand in the light.

Soon enough, the tentative peace that had followed the war had started to feel like something lingering. Lasting. Permanent.

No man was an island, just as Dmitri had said, and true peace relied on cooperation between the powerful families. Marcello and Orlov had joined forces. Falcone and Moretti—what was left of them—followed suit. The smaller families fell into line behind them.

For the first time in a long, long time, the families had found our cooperation.

Layla

While Aldo concentrated his efforts on bringing the families back under his thumb as a unified whole, I focused on efforts on the community. The hospital welcomed me back with open arms, though I never returned full time.

I had more to give, I’d come to realize, than a needle and thread.

I partnered with local clinics to improve healthcare and provide extra efforts and supplies to some of the neighborhoods hit hardest by the violence. I organized free check-ups and injury aid to those who’d been directly affected. I trained nurses and doctors to better deal with patients of violent crimes.

I visited local hospitals and doctor’s offices to ensure they were fully staffed and equipped. Even frequented schools and daycares to ensure that their needs were being met.

Sometimes, I taught first-aid clinics, CPR classes, or simply talked to students about careers in the medical field. About ways they, too, could give back and improve their communities.

Between Marcello and Orlov, our resources were nearly endless—and it was time we started putting them to good use. Time to use that money and power to build our city, rather than to blacken its foundations. To bolster, rather than to cut off its legs.

All of us working together—we had so much to give. And our city would bloom in our hands, like a well-tended plant with its face tipped towards the sun.

One afternoon, after a long day divided between work and outreach efforts, I sat with Melissa on the veranda, watching Eli play soccer with a group of neighborhood children.

Their laughter rang out through the quiet afternoon air, and my heart thrilled, full to bursting with unfettered joy. This … this was the meaning of life. Right here. This one beautiful moment.

I’d never get used to this, never learned to love it enough—watching my son partake such normal, human childhood experiences. After so many dark months, it was a blessing I wasn’t sure I’d get to enjoy.

“He’s so happy.” Melissa lifted her tea mug to sip her hot chai.

My gaze never left my son. “He deserves to be.”

“As do you.” Melissa’s hand curved over the top of mine on the arm of my chair. “You’ve been through so much, and yet, here you are. Stronger than ever.”

“Of course I am.” I scoffed, though a smile curled my mouth. “I will never be anything else for Aldo and Eli.”

“I know.” Melissa smiled. “Trust me, I know. And I’m only sorry that it took me so long to see it in you.”

“Is that what makes me a good Mafia woman?” I asked, arching a teasing brow.

“No, dear.” Melissa’s smile softened, and her eyes went distant. “It’s what makes you a good mother.”

I blinked back the sudden onslaught of tears from my eyes. I had no words, no response. I could only watch Eli play through the haze of moisture.

“I mean it,” said Melissa, her gaze also tipped towards the children on the lawn. “But I do think you’ll make an amazing wife for my son. It’s why I want to throw you the biggest and grandest wedding the Marcello family has ever seen.”

I groaned. “But you know neither Aldo nor I want that.”

“I do.” Melissa sighed. “Which is why I didn’t say I was going to do it. What I’ve actually got planned will be much simpler. Much more … you.”

A smile bloomed across my face. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with.”