Page 64 of Luca

Finn shoots his brother a glare that would make most men wither, but Eoghan just lets out a bark of laughter.

Maeve comes back into the room and announces dinner is ready. We all gather in their large dining room to see a beautifully set table with a large arrangement of red calla lilies as the centerpiece. Finn and Alessia share a knowing smile before she mouths, “I love you.” His finger gently swipes across her red lips, then he leans in to kiss her softly before pulling her chair out for her.

Once we’re all seated, everyone begins passing trays of food around the table. It’s so different from the dinners I’d had growing up. Everyone here is family, made evident by the comfortable conversations taking place around me. I don’t know why I was ever nervous about coming tonight. This isn’t some formal, stuffy affair. It’s a family eating together, celebrating one of their own on her birthday.

“This veal is amazing,” Alessia tells Maeve.

“Finn said it was one of your favorites,” she replies.

It's amazing to me he knows that and his mother made her favorite for her birthday. The most I remember is one of my nannies baking me a cake when I was little.

Tears threaten to prick my eyes when I think about how I’ve missed out on having a family like this my entire life. I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the lump that suddenly appeared. Luca’s hand finds my thigh, and he squeezes gently. When I meet his gaze, he smiles slightly and gives me a wink. Yeah, he knows what I’m feeling. It’s unexpected and overwhelming but in the best way.

After everyone has finished eating, I offer to help with clearing the plates, but Maeve waves me off. “The cook will take care of it. I actually wanted a minute to talk with you, if you don’t mind.”

Unsure of what she has to say, I nod and follow her into another room next to what looks to be Cormac’s office.

Maeve leads me into a room with bookshelves lining the walls. There’s a small desk in one corner and a pale-gray overstuffed chair in the other that looks like the perfect spot to curl up with a book.

“Cormac set this space up for me. We went to dinner at the Amattos’ one night not too long ago and I fell in love with their library. I’d been hounding my husband to build me one, and I think seeing Mario’s lit a fire under his ass.” Maeve chuckles. “Never let it be said my husband will stand by and be outdone by an Italian.”

“Our families certainly enjoy showing off our wealth.” I think about the difference in our estate and the Monaghan’s. Granted, I haven’t seen where Finn lives, but Maeve and Cormac’s house, even though it’s huge, has that comfortable, lived-in feel, not the cold museum I grew up in.

Maeve walks to the other side of her desk, pulls out an envelope and stares at it for a few moments before shutting the drawer and walking toward me.

“I met your mother once,” she starts, and I can tell whatever she’s about to tell me is going to be hard for her. “She found me at church one day after I attended a Wednesday mass. When she introduced herself, I had no idea what to expect. Our husbands were not business associates; quite the opposite. Your mom was so…nervous but determined for me to hear her out. She gave me a letter to give to you when I had a chance. To say I was surprised she came to me is putting it mildly. I told her I may never get the opportunity to speak to you and she said she knew it would find its way to you when the time was right. From one mother to another, she asked me to keep this for you. She was worried that she wouldn’t be around to explain things to you. I asked if I could help her, but she said she had everything handled. This was a just-in-case situation. Quite the long shot, if you ask me. But she had this knowing look in her eye like she had faith that one day I would meet you and be able to talk to you.”

Surprise and shock have my head spinning as I listen to her. She met my mother before she died?

Maeve lets out a huff of air. “Cormac absolutely forbade me from approaching you. Said it would do nothing but cause problems, and we already had enough of those with your father.” She hands me the letter. “I know what she did the night Luca disappeared. I can’t say I forgive her for telling Frank to leave with my nephew, but part of me understands. To raise children in this life…is a decision not everyone is comfortable with. I’m sure there’re plenty of people who think we raise murderers and thieves. That we were having kids to churn out more criminals. But that’s not what this life ever meant to me. It’s not only my husband and our boys that live by their own code. I do too.” Maeve gives me a sad smile. “I’ll never fully understand what was going through your mom’s mind that night, but I won’t keep this from you. Our mistakes are ours, and you and Luca don’t deserve to pay for anyone else’s sins.”

I take the letter from her hand and immediately recognize my mother’s handwriting. I don’t move, don’t breathe, just stare. I haven't seen her handwriting since she died.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Maeve says, squeezing my arm on the way out.

I nod absentmindedly, still staring at the envelope in my hand. She leaves, and I sit on the edge of the overstuffed chair and open the envelope. When I unfold the note inside, there’s a picture tucked in the paper. It’s me when I was probably barely one and a man holding my arms up like he’s helping me stand. He’s smiling into the camera. It matches the wide, toothy grin on my young face. He’s dressed in the usual uniform of one of the guards, white shirt, black pants, and a gun holster around his shoulders. It’s his smile that captivates me. It’s not just wide like mine is in the picture—it looks exactly like mine. My hands shake as I start reading the letter.

Dearest Giada,

Oh sweet girl, how I hope you never read this letter. If you do, it means I’m not there with you, living a happy life far away from Francesco. It will mean that he found out about my plan to leave him and this life. I can only pray that he kept you safe as best as he could and he never discovered what I have spent the last six years hiding from him. Francesco isn’t your real father. Your real father is the man in the picture with you. His name is Marco Talesio. He’s my personal guard, and we didn’t mean to, but we fell in love. He doesn’t know you’re his. I was too afraid if he knew, he wouldn’t be able to hide the truth. It kills me every day to not be able to be honest with him. But if I am and Francesco finds out, it will mean death for us all. Although if this letter finds you, it means I’m gone.

Marco already loves you so much, my sweet baby girl. This is the only picture I have of him and it’s my favorite of you. You have his smile and his big heart. I can see it in you now and you’re only five. I’m so sorry I won’t see you turn into the woman you’re going to become. I’ve made so many mistakes, Giada, but falling in love with Marco isn’t one of them. Having you will never be one of them. He was the only man I felt truly happy with, and I hope one day you can find the same. If you never read this letter, then it means you have a shot at it. If you do read this letter, then I’m not sure what your future will hold. But know I will always love you and your brother, even if I’m only able to watch over you from heaven.

I love you so much,

Mama

Tears are pouring down my face as I read her words. Carlo told me all of this over the phone, well, most of it. But seeing it in her words—in her handwriting—there’s none of the disdain that was in Carlo’s voice when he explained Francesco wasn’t my real father. My mother loved my real father and wanted a life where we would be safe away from the clutches of this world and Francesco.

A knock sounds at the door, and Luca peeks his head in.

As soon as he sees the tears dripping down my cheeks, he rushes over and kneels in front of me. “What’s going on?” he asks, cupping my cheeks in his strong palms. “Did someone say something to you?”

I shake my head and hand him the picture. “This was in a letter my mom asked Maeve to give me.”

Luca’s eyes scan the letter. “Why would she ask Maeve?”

“I don’t know. She was probably the only person my mom didn’t have to worry about reporting back to my father.”

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