Chapter 9 - Healing Wounds
Three months later, the chaos of the mafia world had faded into a quiet, peaceful memory. The Castellano estate on the East Coast was sold, replaced by a sprawling horse ranch under the warm, sunlit skies of Santa Ynez, California.
Vincent sat on a wide wooden rocking chair on the veranda, breathing in the sweet scent of dry hay and blooming jasmine. The scars on his chest would never completely fade, and he walked with a slight limp, but the haunted, cold look that had defined his face for thirty years was gone.
Camille was now the estate manager, overseeing the ranch’s vast operations, while Dr. Morales had accepted the position of chief medical director for a children’s hospital foundation Vincent had privately funded with fifty million dollars.
I walked up the porch steps, carrying a tray with two glasses of iced lemonade.
""You look too relaxed, Boss,"" I joked, setting a glass down beside him. ""If the old council could see you now, they’d think you were on vacation.""
""I am on vacation, Marcus,"" Vincent smiled, taking a sip. ""For the rest of my life. For thirty years, I thought power came from fear. I thought having five hundred men with guns made me invincible.""
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He looked out across the green pasture, where little Adeline was happily chasing a golden retriever puppy across the lawn, her laughter ringing out like wind chimes in the breeze.
""Turns out,"" Vincent added softly, ""the only thing that truly saved me was three minutes, an emergency button, and a little girl telling stories about a frog.""
