Chapter 19 - The Road Home
Vincent was released on a cold November morning.
No press had been told.
That was intentional.
He expected his lawyer.
Perhaps Nico.
Instead, Tony stood beside an old Buick near the prison entrance.
Vincent stopped.
Tony wore a fishing hat.
Vincent stared at it.
“What happened to you?”
Tony opened his arms.
“Retirement.”
“It looks fatal.”
“Get in the car.”
Vincent hugged him first.
Tony stiffened.
Then embraced him.
“You got sentimental in prison.”
“Tell anyone and I’ll deny it.”
Tony laughed.
Inside the Buick, Vincent looked around.
“This is your car?”
“My boat cost money.”
“You bought a boat without knowing how to fish.”
“I’m learning.”
“Slowly?”
“Very.”
Vincent stared through the window as they drove.
The world had changed slightly.
New buildings.
Different signs.
Cars he did not recognize.
Chicago still felt familiar.
But no longer his.
That was strangely comforting.
“How is Nico?”
“Good.”
“Luca?”
“Still annoying.”
“Elena?”
Tony glanced toward him.
“You’ll see.”
Vincent frowned.
“Where are we going?”
“Lunch.”
“Tony.”
“Relax.”
“I was in prison four years.”
“You would think that might teach patience.”
“It did not.”
They turned onto Elena’s street.
Vincent’s heart stopped.
The flower shop stood where it always had.
But larger.
The second floor had been renovated.
A new sign hung above the entrance.
ELENA & SOPHIE’S FLOWERS.
Vincent stared.
“She put Sophie’s name on it.”
“Kid owns ten percent.”
“How?”
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“Everyone isn’t a criminal.”
Vincent smiled.
Tony parked.
Vincent did not move.
“You coming?”
“In a minute.”
Tony understood.
He got out.
Vincent sat alone.
Four years of letters had not prepared him for the door.
He had faced gunmen with less fear.
Finally he entered.
A bell rang.
Flowers covered the shop.
Sunflowers.
Lilies.
Roses.
Rosemary.
A teenage girl stood behind the counter with dark hair tied back.
Vincent stared.
She looked up.
Her mouth fell open.
“Mr. Vincent?”
Sophie ran.
He barely had time to brace before she collided with him.
She was eleven now.
Too tall.
Too old.
Still Sophie.
Vincent held her.
“You grew.”
“You got wrinklier.”
He laughed.
“That seems unnecessary.”
She pulled back.
“You’re really home?”
“Yes.”
“For good?”
He looked toward the back of the shop.
Elena stood there.
Vincent stopped breathing.
She had changed.
A few lines near her eyes.
Hair slightly shorter.
Same gaze.
Same strength.
Same woman who had once told him gratitude did not make her his.
Sophie looked between them.
“I’m going upstairs.”
Vincent blinked.
“Why?”
“Because this is awkward.”
She disappeared.
Tony laughed from outside and closed the door.
Elena walked toward Vincent.
Neither spoke.
Finally she said, “You’re late.”
“Four years.”
“Two months.”
“Thirty-seven days.”
Vincent smiled.
“You counted.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Maybe.”
He stepped closer.
“Hello, Elena.”
“Hello, Vincent.”
Silence.
Then she slapped his shoulder.
He stared.
“What was that?”
“For not telling me your parole hearing date.”
“I didn’t know if—”
She kissed him.
Vincent stopped talking.
When they separated, Elena was crying.
“So you still know how to come home.”
“I followed the rosemary.”
She laughed.
He touched her face.
“Is there really a room upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Can you cook?”
“No.”
“Clean?”
“No.”
“Fix plumbing?”
“Probably not.”
She shook her head.
“This is not promising.”
“I can intimidate contractors.”
“We’re trying to reduce that behavior.”
Vincent smiled.
“I have money.”
“So do I.”
He looked surprised.
“The shop did well.”
“Very.”
“I’m glad.”
Elena studied him.
“You really are different.”
“Not entirely.”
“Good.”
He frowned.
“Good?”
“I never asked you to become someone else.”
She took his hand.
“I asked you to become responsible for the man you already were.”
They went upstairs.
Sophie had decorated a room.
Vincent recognized Maria’s photograph on the dresser.
Beside it sat Daniel’s.
Two people whose deaths could have turned the survivors into permanent ruins.
Instead, they were remembered inside a living home.
Vincent stared.
Elena touched his arm.
“I thought they belonged here.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“They do.”
That evening Nico arrived.
He brought groceries.
Luca brought wine.
Tony brought fish he claimed to have caught.
No one believed him.
Isabel, older but still sharp, came with Sophie.
They ate at a crowded table.
Vincent had never imagined such noise could feel peaceful.
At one point Sophie complained that Nico cheated at cards.
Nico denied it.
Tony defended him.
Luca accused Tony of cheating too.
Elena told everyone to stop shouting.
Vincent sat back.
“What?”
Elena asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I am aware.”
Sophie pointed.
“He does that more now.”
Vincent looked around.
Family.
Messy.
Complicated.
Imperfect.
Alive.
Months passed.
Vincent worked at the Golden Palm.
Not as boss.
As consultant.
The employee trust owned it.
He hated committee meetings.
He hated budgets even more.
He learned to make coffee.
Badly.
Sophie mocked him.
Elena taught him flower delivery routes.
Nico helped convert old Torino properties into legitimate businesses.
Luca established a legal-defense fund for small merchants victimized by extortion.
Tony continued pretending he could fish.
Vincent visited Maria’s grave every November.
The first year after release, Elena came with him.
She placed rosemary beside the stone.
Vincent looked at her.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“She would have liked you.”
“You don’t know that.”
Vincent smiled.
“No.”
“But I think she would.”
Elena touched the gravestone.
“Thank you.”
Vincent frowned.
“For what?”
Elena looked toward Maria’s name.
“For telling him to live.”
Vincent’s eyes filled.
Then they visited Daniel’s grave.
Vincent stood back.
Elena placed white lilies.
“Thank you.”
She whispered.
Vincent waited.
When she returned, he took her hand.
No jealousy.
No competition.
Only remembrance.
Spring arrived.
One evening Vincent found Sophie at the Golden Palm sitting in his old corner seat.
“That is my table.”
“Was.”
She looked at him.
“Employee trust.”
He sighed.
“You all enjoy saying that.”
“Yes.”
She closed her homework.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Apparently.”
“Are you going to marry my mom?”
Vincent nearly dropped his coffee.
“Sophie.”
“What?”
“That is not how these conversations happen.”
“How do they happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re old.”
“I am increasingly aware.”
“You should know.”
Vincent sat.
“Would you want that?”
Sophie thought.
“Yes.”
His chest tightened.
“But only if Mama wants it.”
“Correct.”
“And only if you don’t become scary again.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“I am still scary.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You wear gardening gloves.”
Vincent looked offended.
“They are practical.”
Sophie laughed.
Then became serious.
“You didn’t replace Daddy.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t try.”
“No.”
“That’s why I like you.”
Vincent looked down.
Sophie reached across the table.
“You can be something different.”
“What?”
She shrugged.
“Vincent.”
He almost laughed.
For most of his life, titles had mattered.
Boss.
Don.
Mr. Torino.
The man Chicago feared.
Sophie offered him only his name.
It felt like enough.
That summer, Vincent bought a ring.
He kept it hidden for three months because every time he planned to ask Elena, something went wrong.
A delivery truck broke down.
Sophie got the flu.
Tony fell off his boat.
Luca had a legal hearing.
Finally Elena found the ring herself.
Vincent entered the apartment and saw her holding the box.
He stopped.
She raised an eyebrow.
“You are terrible at hiding things.”
“That is objectively untrue.”
“It was in your sock drawer.”
“No one goes in my sock drawer.”
“I do laundry.”
Vincent sighed.
“This is ruined.”
Elena smiled.
“Probably.”
He took the box.
Then knelt.
She stared.
Vincent Torino had once made men kneel.
Now he did it willingly.
“Elena Martinez.”
Her eyes filled.
“You walked into my life because your daughter refused to let me remain dead inside.”
She laughed through tears.
“You challenged me.”
“Infuriated me.”
“Corrected me constantly.”
“Still do.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow you taught me that love is not a door enemies walk through.”
He swallowed.
“It is the door you come home through.”
Elena covered her mouth.
“Marry me.”
She stared.
Vincent waited.
Then she frowned.
“That was not a question.”
He closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
She laughed.
Vincent tried again.
“Will you marry me?”
Elena smiled.
“Yes.”
Sophie screamed from the hallway.
“I knew it!”
They turned.
She had been listening.
Vincent pointed.
“Privacy.”
Sophie ran toward them.
“Family.”
She hugged both.
Vincent could not argue.
The wedding was scheduled for November.
Small.
Family only.
At least that was Elena’s plan.
Then a letter arrived.
No return address.
Vincent opened it.
His face changed.
Elena saw.
“What?”
Inside was a photograph.
Salvatore Bellini.
Older.
In prison.
Standing beside another inmate.
On the back was a message.
BELLINI TALKED BEFORE HE DIED.
THERE IS ONE LAST TRUTH ABOUT DANIEL.
Elena went pale.
Salvatore had died three weeks earlier in federal custody after a heart attack.
According to the official report.
Vincent looked at the handwriting.
Unknown.
Below the message was an address.
New York City.
And a date.
Three days before the wedding.
Elena stared.
“Do we go?”
Vincent looked at her.
Four years earlier, he would have ordered twenty men onto planes.
Now he asked.
“What do you want?”
Elena took his hand.
“I want the truth.”
May you like
Vincent nodded.
“Then we go together.”
