Chapter 10 - The Garden After the Storm
Three weeks later, the estate looked entirely different.
The press had officially classified the incident as a localized criminal raid targeting a high-profile businessman, completely insulating my children from the darker realities of my past. Vanessa Vale was currently sitting in a maximum-security federal holding facility awaiting trial for wire fraud, embezzlement, and conspiracy, with no possibility of bail.
The east wing had been fully repaired. The audio monitors and hidden cameras Vanessa had installed were melted down into slag at the bottom of the local recycling plant.
And in the rose gardens, the soil was freshly turned.
I stood on the terrace in a faded denim shirt, mud on my boots, trimming the deadheads off a row of deep red roses.
Behind me, the French doors slid open.
Sophie and Caleb ran out onto the marble terrace, laughing—really laughing, with that high, bright sound of children who had finally learned that the world was safe again. Caleb was clutching his blue-stitched rabbit, its torn ear now securely sewn back together with thick, neat thread.
Grace followed them, carrying a tray of lemonade, wearing a crisp linen blouse instead of a housekeeper's uniform. She walked over to the edge of the rose bed and handed me a cold glass without a word.
I set the shears down, wiped my hands on my jeans, and took the glass.
May you like
"You know," Grace said, looking out over the sprawling lawn where the security gates stood quietly open in the afternoon sun, "for a mafia boss, you're actually not a terrible gardener."
I took a sip of the lemonade, a slow, genuine smile touching my face for the first time in years.
