Chapter 8 - THE HEALING FIELDSA month later, the Westchester estate looked entirely different.
The heavy iron gates, once a symbol of isolation and fortress-like paranoia, stood wide open during the afternoon sun, letting the cool autumn breeze sweep across the manicured lawns.
In the center of the backyard, surrounded by vibrant beds of red and yellow chrysanthemums, Sesto Bruno was running.
Her laughter—a sound that Allesia and Ricardo had begun to fear they would never hear—ricocheted off the stone walls of the mansion like music. She wasn't clutching the red silk cloth anymore; it was buried deep in the bottom of a keepsake box in the nursery, replaced by a bright yellow rubber ball.
Chasing her across the grass was Sabia.
The cream-colored retriever bounded with joyous, uninhibited energy, keeping his pace perfectly matched to the toddler’s stumbling, ecstatic sprints, making sure she never ran too fast or stumbled too hard.
From the shaded porch, Ricardo watched them with a cup of black coffee in his hand. The deep crease between his brows—the permanent brand of the criminal underworld—had softened. The shadows under his eyes were gone.
Allesia stepped out onto the porch, wrapped a soft cashmere shawl around her shoulders, and leaned her head against Ricardo’s shoulder.
"Valerio called this morning," she said softly, watching their daughter trip over a patch of clover and tumble into the grass into a fit of giggles, with Sabia immediately flopping down beside her to lick her nose. "He said there are more dogs like Sabia at the shelter. Dogs that know how to reach children whom doctors write off as broken."
Ricardo wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close, inhaling the scent of lavender and home.
"Tell him we’ll fund the entire program," Ricardo said without a moment's hesitation. "Every shelter in the tri-state area. If an empire is worth anything at all, it should be able to build a bridge for children who are lost in the dark."
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Allesia smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You're getting soft in your old age, Ricardo Bruno."
"No," Ricardo replied, watching Sesto throw the yellow ball with all her might, the retriever darting off to retrieve it with joyful speed. "I just finally learned what real power looks like."
