I woke up before the sun came up not really sure what to do with myself. It was my first night sleeping in Lucas’s bed alone. After checking emails and sending one to Isabel in California, I took Gatsby for a long stroll around the property as dawn was rising over the sound. The sounds of the birds waking up somehow quieted the thoughts in my head. I know I’m overthinking this, but what else am I supposed to do when the person with the answers shuts me out?

I’m sure when Isabel wakes up on her side of the country and finds my email, she’s going to flip her shit. I fully expect an immediate phone call, but I have no intentions of having that girls chat until I’m home and able to speak freely . . . or as freely as I’m capable of. Let’s be honest; I’ve never given anyone all of me. Matteo got a big part, and I was an open book to him, but he made it easy because he never criticized or judged. But Lucas, he got the most.

When I emailed Isabel, I told her I woke up feeling a strong urge to do yoga this morning, among other things. Stupid yoga. Isabel dragged me out of bed more times than I can even count to go to yoga with her during our years together at NYU. I hated everything about it, but especially the early morning sessions. It wasn’t until after Matteo was gone that I figured out that I still needed it even if I hated it. It was the only time I consciously remembered to breathe. So here I am, on this gorgeous two-tiered deck having spent the past forty-five minutes breathing, stretching, and trying to clear my head. I’m not really sure it’s done much for the last part, but as I say, there’s good and bad in everything.

This property is a truly remarkable place. It’s so peaceful here, and until yesterday, it’s probably been the most relaxing and rigorously intense week of my life. Not that I’ll admit it, but I’m a little sad the week has ended this way. It is what it is. I just need to keep reminding myself that this situation is exactly what I’ve never wanted, but forcing myself to accept fate and let go of the impossible is easier said than done.

After we returned from dinner, Lucas and Tony retreated to the library for a closed-door meeting. It was a little uncomfortable, and for the first time since I’d arrived, I felt like an unwanted guest. Lucas never tried to come back to the room last night. I’m not sure why I was surprised after the things we’d said and the way we treated each other, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not disappointed, though.

For a short time, this thing with Lucas really mattered to me, and I let down my guard for him. I opened myself up to possibilities that were never actually possible. I can’t have the man without the life, but convincing my heart that Lucas isn’t everything I want and exactly what I need is proving to be my biggest challenge. It’s not fair, though. Any relationship that would require either of us to give up who we are can never withstand the tests of time, and some things are non-negotiable for us both.

Now, all I can do is breathe and know that like every other unfortunate situation I’ve endured, I’ll get through it. What other choice do I have? I just need to find a way to keep living. There’s no way I can take a step backward to the colorless existence I called a life for the past three months.

In an effort to put my best foot forward and keep my slate fresh, I bite the bullet and call Aunt Luci before I head upstairs to pack my things. I do feel bad for making her worry, and since I know she’s an early riser and I’ll probably catch her during her morning coffee routine, I expect this not to be quick.

* * *

I’m dressed and packed with all of my and Gatsby’s belongings ready by the door. It was probably a good thing I didn’t talk to my aunt while she was in panic mode because all she wanted to discuss today was the romantic rendezvous. I tried to downplay it and explain that Lucas and I were just friends, but she wasn’t buying it any more than I was. In the end, she told me I could keep my secrets close for now, but reminded me that she was there when I was ready to discuss it. I’m not sure that day will ever come for her, but it’s nice that she cares.

Lucas hasn’t come down yet even though it’s almost ten thirty, but he’s a night owl, so I never really expected to leave before noon, especially since I’m not sure when he went to bed. Gatsby and I are sitting on the chaise lounger on the back deck enjoying the sunshine. I have a cup of tea and a book loaded on my iPad that I’ve yet to flip off of the title page. I guess when my own life closely resembles what could be its own fictional story, it’s hard to get outside my own head.

The back door opens, startling me and exciting Gatsby as Tony comes out carrying a cup of steaming hot coffee. “Good Morning, cara mia. Did you sleep well?” he asks, looking showered, clean shaven, and well dressed. I’m not sure what it is about made-men, but it’s rare to see them without a collared shirt or button-down. Tony, of course, is dressed in designer clothing that’s been freshly dry-cleaned with extra starch. I’d expect nothing less from a man in his position, but it must be a hard life never having the opportunity to wear sweats outside the house. I’m not sure I’d survive if I had to put real clothes on every day.

“Tony, what a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you before I left. Good morning to you as well, and I slept great, thanks. How about you?” I ask. Even though I definitely don’t approve of this life and all it entails, I’m finding it hard not to really like Tony. I think maybe it’s because he reminds me of my father in some ways. He’s not arrogant and domineering the way my uncle is, and I don’t recall my father being that way either. It always seemed like he was just one of the guys even though technically they worked for him.

My father didn’t treat anyone in the family like they were less important. I don’t know Tony Ruffinelli enough to be sure, but I don’t think he would either. Well, except for Vinny, but that guy had it coming, and they can’t be too heartless if they had the doctor check him out. Plus, since they let him stay and didn’t kill him by the end of that night when he wanted to stay to show his loyalty and make amends, I doubt they’ll kill him at this point. He seemed to be back into the fold pretty quickly that evening even with his broken nose and busted lip, though I think they were still pissed at him.

“I slept like a baby. It’s peaceful here, and unfortunately, I often forget how much I enjoy being here and have to force myself to relax. I suppose I could be somewhat of a workaholic.” He laughs, and I smile back at him. Yeah, I’m pretty confident he’s a good guy deep down.

“I remember my dad being a workaholic too, but even if he wasn’t working, he always seemed to busy himself. I remember one Sunday, not too long before he passed, he came in and kissed us all goodbye, saying he had to go to work, but he didn’t usually work on Sundays. That was our family day. Plus, he wasn’t dressed nicely like normal. I’ll never forget. He was wearing old jeans and a polo shirt that had seen better days too. I was still young, so it was before I knew not to question the things he’d tell us. So I asked him why he was dressed badly, in a very typical six-year-old manner. My dad was very patient with me even when I was out of line.” I pause, silently remembering how the other kids in the neighborhood used to speak of punishments and spankings, neither of which I’d ever had. When I was young, I attributed that to me being a good kid, but really, I just had exceptional parents who taught me to do right by speaking to me in ways I could relate. “That day, my dad took a few extra minutes to sit down with me and explain that sometimes work is helping people who need a hand and not just making money. Mrs. Fiore, the woman who owned the corner bakery where we bought our bread, was newly widowed at eighty-two, living in the apartment above her store. A pipe burst, causing a lot of damage. She was without insurance coverage to make the repairs, but the money didn’t matter to my father and his men. They only cared that Mrs. Fiore was taken care of. I know now Mrs. Fiore would’ve lost not only her home but possibly her bakery too if the family hadn’t stepped in and all that after recently losing her husband. I can’t imagine. My dad probably could have contractors to come in and make the repairs, but he was a doer, not just a director. I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought of that day over the years,” I finish, feeling affected by the memory. I don’t really have many people I can talk to about my parents, so it’s not often I tell the stories I can remember.

“Cara mia, your father was a very good man. You’re probably right; your dad could have paid contractors to do that work. More than likely, he had contractors on staff who could’ve done it for the cost of supplies, but what would his men have learned from that. Back in that time, our families believed in lifting up the communities where we lived. You know, neighbors helping neighbors. Did you know that your dad was the one to start that? When the other families would get word on what was going on in the Nicchi family, most of the time they’d laugh and think your father was cheap, but after a while, when they saw how much support the Nicchi family received from their neighbors, the naysayers stopped laughing and started doing the same in their communities.” He pauses for a second, likely recalling the times. I wait patiently, hoping he continues, and am excited when he does.

“The Nicchi fathers had a golden rule while serving as heads of the family. Don’t ask your men to do anything you wouldn’t do yourself. A lot of men say they share that same value, but saying it and living it have different outcomes, and I only know of one man who lived that golden rule with pride. The Nicchi family earned great respect and had honor. That, cara mia, is where the power was. It wasn’t about control, greed, or fear, in spite of what others may believe. I saw it firsthand, so I know the truth. The Nicchi family didn’t need control or to instill fear in their territory because they earned the trust and respect of the people. A man can’t take what’s freely given. I was very lucky to have your father as long as I did, and it was a sad day for all, myself included, when he died. You have good reason to stand tall with the Nicchi name. Your father may very well have been the pride of us all. If you ever wonder why the Ruffinelli family would risk their own to protect the mafia princess, remember this story, cara mia. Your father may not be physically here with you now, but he’s here in the spirit of others. A considerable number of men would give their lives to repay your father with the honor of safeguarding his beautiful girl, just as he’d have done for many others. You are our tresoro, Elianna.” I listen in interested amazement, hearing stories of my father that I’ve never been privy to knowing but understanding the way my father led the family is the most precious gift I could’ve asked for.

The tenderness in Tony’s expression astounds me, and I’m moved to tears. My precious father was a good man. Oh, how many years I’ve wondered, hoped, and wished. Before I’m able to get a handle on the emotions, I stand from my position on the lounger and move toward Tony. Seeing me approach, he calmly sets his coffee aside and looks at me with a smile. With that, I launch myself at the man who has truly changed my heart for the better. Wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, I squeeze, hugging him tightly as my tears flow.

“Thank you, Tony. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this information . . . these stories . . . mean to me. Thank you. Thank you,” I repeat over and over as he pats my back softly, comforting me just as I’d want my own father to do.