Chapter 6 - A Table for EveryoneSix months later.
The autumn leaves in Pinecrest Heights burned in brilliant shades of amber, gold, and deep red. The evening air was crisp and sweet, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and crisp apples.
Inside the grand dining room of the Moretti estate, the massive mahogany table—the very table where syndicate bosses had once negotiated territories with blood and steel—was set for a very different kind of gathering.
Linen tablecloths, crystal goblets, and glowing candles lined the long wood. Plates piled high with handmade pasta, roasted lamb, fresh bread, and rich wines covered every inch of the surface.
Seated around the table were no longer mobsters and bodyguards, but people who had survived the dark and stepped into the light.
At the far end sat Capo Moretti, now retired from street operations, laughing heartily as he shared stories of old Chicago with Dr. Vance. Beside them sat Marco, looking completely out of place in a formal suit, patiently feeding scraps of roasted chicken beneath the table to Sophia’s retriever.
At the center of the table sat Sophia. She wore a stunning emerald green dress, her scar tissue now barely noticeable beneath her glowing, happy smile. She was actively debating art history with a young professor from the University of Chicago—where she had officially enrolled for the fall semester to pursue the degree she had missed out on a decade ago.
And at the head of the table sat I, with my hand resting warmly over Beatrice’s fingers.
Beatrice sat beside me, wearing a simple, elegant ivory dress, the sapphire crest ring sparkling on her left hand. She looked around the filled room, her eyes shimmering with overwhelming contentment.
Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper who had taken over after Beatrice was elevated to my side, stepped out of the kitchen holding a large silver platter.
"Don Dominic," Mrs. Gable smiled warmly. "We have three full trays of prime rib and roasted vegetables left over from the main course. Should I pack them for the morning staff?"
The entire room went quiet for a moment.
I looked at Beatrice. Beatrice looked at me. A soft, shared smile passed between us—a silent nod to the night that had changed our destiny forever.
"No, Mrs. Gable," Beatrice spoke up, her voice smooth, confident, and filled with warmth. "Pack them into insulated delivery boxes. Marco’s drivers will take them down to the St. Jude Community Shelter in the South Side tonight. No one in this city goes hungry while this house has food."
"Right away, Lady Beatrice," Mrs. Gable bowed respectfully and returned to the kitchen.
Sophia raised her glass, looking down the table at me and Beatrice.
"A toast," Sophia announced, standing up gracefully.
Everyone at the table raised their crystal goblets, turning their attention to my sister.
"To the ghosts we left behind," Sophia said, her voice rich with emotion. "To the courage of a girl who refused to let me die in the dark. And to my brother, who taught this city that love is stronger than any empire."
"To family!" the table echoed in unison.
"To family," I repeated, clinking my glass against Beatrice’s.
I leaned over and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against Beatrice’s temple. She rested her head against my shoulder, her fingers intertwining with mine beneath the table.
I looked out across the grand room—at the laughter, the warmth, the abundance, and the living proof that even the darkest lies could be shattered by a single act of courage.
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There were no more secrets in the shadows. No more fear in the cold.
We had survived the fire, survived the storm, and built a kingdom where everyone—no matter how broken, no matter how lost—always had a place at the table.
