Chapter 9 - TWO YEARS LATER
Alessandro served time.
Less than he might have because of cooperation.
More than he wanted.
He did not romanticize it.
Prison was prison.
Loss of choice.
Loss of privacy.
Consequences.
Mila wrote letters.
Mostly drawings.
The first:
THIS IS A BETTER CAT.
Underneath, she drew one herself.
Alessandro laughed in a room where laughter rarely sounded normal.
Elena wrote less often.
But she wrote.
Updates.
Mila started first grade.
Then second.
Elena left the hospital-cleaning job after receiving compensation from Daniel’s reopened workers’ case and finding a stable position coordinating environmental services at a rehabilitation center.
Management.
Benefits.
Predictable hours.
She was good at it.
The landlord eventually sold their building.
Elena moved.
Not to a mansion.
A two-bedroom apartment with real heat.
Mila got her own room.
Purple curtains.
New boots.
No dumpsters.
Elena kept the old bakery bread bag folded in a kitchen drawer.
Not as trauma.
As evidence of distance traveled.
Alessandro lost much of his fortune through seizures, settlements, and liquidation.
Enough legitimate money remained for him to live comfortably after release.
Not king comfortably.
Human comfortably.
Carlo—Victor’s investigator, not related to the other Carlo—helped sell the Beacon Hill mansion.
Alessandro did not want it.
Too many rooms built for intimidation.
When release came, Elena waited outside.
She told herself she was doing it for Mila.
Mila knew better.
“Sandro!”
The child ran.
Eight now.
Longer legs.
Missing front tooth.
Alessandro crouched.
She hit him with a hug hard enough to nearly knock him backward.
“You got old.”
He laughed.
“So did you.”
“I’m eight.”
“Ancient.”
Elena stood several feet away.
He looked at her.
Neither knew what to do.
So Alessandro asked:
“Can I hug you?”
Her eyes filled.
The question mattered.
“Yes.”
She stepped forward.
The hug was careful.
Short.
Nothing promised.
Everything acknowledged.
Later, over pizza, Alessandro told Mila he had a job.
She stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Doing what?”
“Compliance consulting.”
Elena choked on her drink.
Alessandro glared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re laughing.”
“A little.”
The former mafia boss who once terrified dockworkers now advised shipping companies on ethics, subcontractor oversight, and financial controls.
Life had a sense of humor.
Mila asked:
“Do people listen?”
“Sometimes.”
“And if they don’t?”
Alessandro smiled.
“I write it down.”
Elena laughed harder.
May you like
Progress.
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