Chapter 16
Milena appealed.
Carlo appealed.
Both failed.
Their names slowly left the news.
Luke’s did not.
Reporters waited outside school.
One shouted, “How does it feel to be the hidden son?”
Luke froze.
I stepped in front of him.
My old self wanted to destroy the camera.
My new self called Matteo.
Within a week, court privacy protections were enforced.
The reporter lost access.
The school installed better security.
Luke watched me handle it through law.
Later, he said, “You didn’t yell.”
“I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“That’s better.”
It was.
Harder too.
We found Isabella’s real resting place in spring.
Carlo had buried her under a false name in Pennsylvania.
No marker.
No flowers.
No dignity.
We brought her home.
Not to the Torrisi family mausoleum.
Luke refused.
“She didn’t like your family.”
Fair.
We buried her on a hill overlooking the water, near the lavender garden.
The funeral was small.
Grace.
Lucia.
Rosa.
Rocco.
Me.
Luke placed the photograph on her coffin before it was lowered.
“I found him,” he whispered. “You were right.”
I broke then.
Not like a boss.
Like a man who had loved too late and lost too much.
Luke took my hand.
His fingers were cold.
But he held on.
After the burial, he asked to hear the good stories.
So we sat under the trees and told him.
Isabella dancing barefoot in my father’s kitchen.
Isabella beating me at cards.
Isabella calling me arrogant before kissing me anyway.
Luke listened like he was building her from sound.
That night, he placed lavender on his bedside table.
“Her room smelled like medicine,” he said. “I want to remember different.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Do you think she forgives you?”
I closed my eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“I think she’d want to.”
“Why?”
“Because I do. Sometimes.”
May you like
Sometimes was enough.
Sometimes was everything.
