Chapter 7 - The BreakthroughThat evening, dinner was served at 7:00 p.m.
Instead of sitting in his private study with a glass of bourbon, Vittorio Rinaldi walked into the dining room wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans.
The four boys stopped eating, their silverware hovering in mid-air as their father pulled out a chair at the head of the table and sat down.
For three years, Vittorio had eaten alone.
Marco stared at him, his small jaw tight. "Why are you sitting here?"
Vittorio looked at Marco, then at Nico, Alessandro, and Tommaso. He looked at Serena, who gave him a small, encouraging nod from the doorway.
Vittorio took a deep breath. The man who could face down mafia rivals without blinking looked visibly nervous.
"Because," Vittorio said, his voice softer than the boys had ever heard it, "I missed eating dinner with my family."
Nico looked suspicious. "Did Serena make you sit here?"
"No," Vittorio said quietly. "Serena made me realize that I’ve been a terrible father."
The four boys went dead silent. Alessandro dropped his fork. Tommaso’s big brown eyes locked onto his father’s face.
"When your mother died," Vittorio continued, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion, "I was broken. I thought the best way to protect you was to keep you away from me, away from my world, away from everything. I thought if I stayed cold, it wouldn't hurt as much if something bad happened."
He reached across the table and placed his large, scarred hand flat on the wood, palm up.
"I was wrong," Vittorio whispered, tears glistening in his dark eyes. "I was so wrong. You four are the only good things left in my life. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I left you alone in this big house."
Marco looked down at his father’s open hand. For six months, Marco had been the angry leader, the boy who threw orange juice, the boy who tried to burn the world down.
Slowly, Marco reached out his small hand and laid it inside Vittorio’s palm.
Nico moved next, placing his hand on top of Marco's. Alessandro added his.
And finally, Tommaso stood up from his chair, walked around the table, and climbed directly into Vittorio’s lap, burying his face in his father’s chest.
Vittorio wrapped his strong arms around all four of his sons, pulling them close, burying his face in Tommaso’s dark curls as heavy, silent tears finally broke through his iron armor.
Serena stood near the kitchen doorway, tears streaming down her face, holding her breath as she watched a broken family finally heal.
Late that night, after all four boys were fast asleep in their beds—their doors unlocked, their hearts at peace—Serena walked out onto the second-floor balcony to get some fresh air.
The rain had finally stopped, leaving a clear, star-lit sky over New York.
Footsteps echoed behind her. Vittorio walked out onto the balcony, holding two mugs of hot tea. He handed one to Serena.
"Thank you," she said softly, taking the mug.
"No," Vittorio said, leaning his arms against the stone balustrade, looking out over his estate. "Thank you, Serena. You saved my sons. You saved me."
"They're wonderful boys, Vittorio," Serena smiled. "They just needed their dad."
Vittorio turned his head to look at her. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look exceptionally handsome. "And what about you, Serena? What do you need?"
Serena looked down at her tea. "I need Monday to go well. I need my daughter."
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Vittorio reached out, his large, warm fingers gently catching her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.
"You're going to get your daughter back, Serena," Vittorio promised, his dark eyes burning with absolute determination. "I give you my word. And no one breaks a promise made by a Rinaldi."
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