Chapter 8 - The Legacy
Two years later.
The Oak Brook estate was no longer just a home; it was a sanctuary filled with life, laughter, and the endless scent of fresh bread.
On a warm autumn afternoon, the broad back lawn was dotted with colorful toys and picnic blankets.
Ellie sat on a wooden bench beneath a sprawling oak tree, wearing a comfortable floral dress. In her arms, she held a four-month-old baby boy with dark, unruly hair and bright, curious hazel eyes—little Victor Dominic Moretti, named not out of honor for the traitor, but as a symbol of victory over the past.
Beside them, Elena was sitting on the grass, playing happily with a set of wooden blocks with her nephew. Through months of intensive physical therapy in Switzerland—arranged and funded by Dominic and Ellie—Elena had regained partial feeling in her legs and could now walk short distances with the aid of light crutches.
A dark SUV pulled into the driveway, and Dominic stepped out. He was dressed in a casual sweater and jeans, holding a leather briefcase. He had spent the morning at the headquarters of the Moretti Educational Foundation, which provided full scholarships to underprivileged children across Illinois.
He walked across the lawn, his face instantly softening into absolute bliss as he saw his family.
"Hey," Dominic called out, jogging over and dropping to his knees beside the bench.
He leaned down, kissing Ellie deeply on the lips, then leaned over to press a soft kiss against his son’s forehead.
"How was the foundation meeting?" Ellie asked, running her hand through his hair.
"We just approved fifty new nursing scholarships in Chicago," Dominic smiled warmly, taking the baby into his strong arms and gently rocking him. "All named after Eleanor Whitfield."
Ellie flushed softly, bumping his shoulder with hers. "You're terrible."
"I'm a man who knows a good investment when he sees one," Dominic countered, gazing down at his son. "He has your eyes, Ellie. God help him if he inherits your temper with a skillet."
Elena laughed from the grass. "I’ve already bought him his first iron frying pan for his fifth birthday!"
"Don't encourage her, Elena," Ellie teased, resting her head against Dominic’s shoulder as the cool autumn breeze rustled the orange leaves above them.
Dominic looked out over the quiet lake, feeling his son’s soft breathing against his chest and his wife’s warm hand holding his.
The billionaire mafia boss who had once installed cameras to watch for killers in the dark had finally found what he was looking for.
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He didn't need security screens anymore.
Because the only thing living under his roof now was love.
