Chapter 11 – The Guardian Angel

The morning air was crisp and biting, the grey Chicago sky heavy with the promise of snow.

The cemetery was quiet. Only the sound of our footsteps crunching on the frosted grass broke the silence.

I stood in front of Matthew’s modest headstone. It read: Matthew Foster. Beloved Husband.

Soon, we would replace it. We would give him back his real name. Matteo Moretti.

I knelt and placed a small, potted basil plant at the base of the stone. I smiled through my tears, remembering the day he had proudly declared he bought me flowers and groceries.

Luca stood a respectful few feet behind me, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his black wool coat. He was giving me space, but his presence was a solid, comforting wall against my back.

“I know the truth now, Matt,” I whispered, touching the cold granite. “I know how brave you were. I’m so proud of you. And I’m going to be okay. I promise.”

I stood up and took a deep, cleansing breath. The heavy, suffocating weight of grief I had carried for eighteen months finally felt lighter. The anger was gone. Only the love remained.

I turned around.

Luca was watching me, his expression soft and unguarded.

“Are you ready to go home?” Luca asked quietly.

“I am,” I nodded.

We walked back toward the black SUV waiting at the cemetery gates.

“My mother wants to throw a dinner party next week,” Luca said, a small, wry smile on his lips. “She says it’s time to formally introduce you to the extended family. Not as staff. As a Moretti.”

“A dinner party,” I laughed softly. “I promise I won’t spill the sparkling water this time.”

Luca stopped walking. He turned to me, his dark eyes intensely serious.

“You never have to serve anyone in that house again, Abigail,” he said. “You belong at the table. Right beside me.”

I looked up at him. The mafia boss who had risked his life for a maid. The nephew of the man I had loved.

I reached up and touched the new gold chain resting against my collarbone. Matthew’s ring was still there, tucked safely against my heart. It would always be there. But the cold, empty space beside me was finally beginning to fill.

“Right beside you,” I agreed softly.

Luca reached out and took my hand. His fingers intertwined with mine, warm and steady against the winter chill.

We walked through the iron gates of the cemetery together, leaving the ghosts behind, stepping out of the shadows and into the morning light.