Chapter 8
The next few months were a blur.
The trial started in September.
It was the biggest trial Boston had seen in 20 years. My father, three city councilmen, two police officers, and half a dozen of the Rizzo family’s old enforcers all in the dock together, charged with everything from racketeering to bribery to attempted murder.
I testified.
For three days.
Told the court everything. About the engagement. About the debts. About the party. About the night at the docks. About every bribe, every payoff, every threat I’d ever witnessed.
It was hard.
The defense lawyers tore into me. Called me a liar. Called me a jilted ex-fiancée. Called me a spoiled brat who’d made up the whole thing to get revenge on her father.
I didn’t break.
I looked the jury right in the eye.
Told them the truth.
All of it.
Dominic testified too.
Told them about his life in the mafia. About the things he’d done. The things he’d seen. The way he’d walked away from it all for Lila and the baby.
The jury deliberated for four days.
When they came back, the verdict was guilty.
On every count.
My father got 45 years.
No parole.
The others got between 10 and 30.
When the judge read the sentence, I didn’t feel happy.
I didn’t feel victorious.
I just felt… empty.
Like a chapter of my life had finally closed, and I didn’t know what to write in the next one.
We left the courthouse together.
Me, Dominic, Lila.
Cameras flashed. Reporters yelled questions. We didn’t stop. Just walked to the truck, got in, and drove away.
Dominic kept his promise.
He shut down all the illegal Rizzo operations for good.
Sold the penthouse. Sold the fancy cars. Sold all the things that tied him to the old life.
He used the money to open a community center in the projects where he and Lila had grown up. After-school programs for kids. Job training for teens. Free meals for families who couldn’t afford them.
He built the swing set in the front yard of the blue house.
Painted the baby’s room soft yellow.
Put together the crib, the changing table, the little dresser covered in animal stickers.
Lila glowed.
She was eight months pregnant now. Big, clumsy, happy. She spent her days volunteering at the community center, teaching the little kids how to draw, how to braid each other’s hair.
She’d grown her hair out a little.
It fell to her shoulders now, soft and wavy. She wore it down most days. No more braids. She said it felt like a new start.
I got a job at the community center too.
Running a support group for young women. Girls who’d grown up like me. Girls whose families used them as pawns. Girls who thought they had no choice but to be what everyone else wanted them to be.
I told them my story.
Over and over.
About the party. About cutting Lila’s hair. About the docks. About how I’d learned that it’s never too late to change. That your past doesn’t have to define you. That you can always choose to do the right thing, no matter how hard it is.
The girls called me Ms. Elara.
They brought me drawings. Told me their secrets. Asked me for advice.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I had a purpose.
Like I was actually making a difference.
Dominic and I still had our moments.
We didn’t always get along. We were both too stubborn, too used to being in charge. But we respected each other. We trusted each other. We were family, in a way no blood relation could ever be.
One night, we were sitting on the back porch, drinking beer, watching the sun set over the backyard.
Lila was inside, asleep on the couch, her feet propped up on pillows.
“Have you heard from him?” Dominic asked.
I knew who he meant.
My father.
He’d sent me a letter a week earlier. From prison.
Said he was sorry. Said he’d made mistakes. Said he wished things had been different between us.
I hadn’t written back.
I didn’t know if I ever would.
“No,” I said. “Not really.”
Dominic nodded.
“Are you okay?”
I thought about it.
For a long time, I’d thought being okay meant having the fancy house, the expensive clothes, the perfect life everyone expected me to have.
I thought it meant being loved by a father who was never capable of loving me back.
I thought it meant being Dominic’s wife, even though he’d never loved me.
Now I knew better.
Being okay meant waking up in the morning and looking forward to the day.
Meant having people who loved me for who I was, not for what I could give them.
Meant going to bed at night knowing I’d done the best I could.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m okay.”
Dominic smiled.
“Good.”
He took a drink of beer.
“Lila wants you to be there,” he said. “When the baby comes. She says she doesn’t want anyone else in the room but me and you.”
My throat got tight.
“Really?”
“Really,” he said. “She says you’re her sister now. Family.”
I looked out over the backyard.
The swing set Dominic had built. The tomato plant Lila had tended all summer, heavy with red fruit. The fire pit we’d built together, where we roasted marshmallows every weekend.
Family.
I’d spent my whole life craving a real family.
And I’d finally found one.
Not the one I’d been born into.
The one I’d built.
With a man who’d once been my enemy.
With a girl I’d once hurt so badly.
With a baby who wasn’t even born yet, but who already loved me just for being me.
Tears ran down my face.
May you like
I didn’t wipe them away.
For the first time in a long time, they were happy tears.
