Chapter 7 - The Autumn Festival
By mid-October, the New York autumn had painted the sprawling lawns and ancient maple trees of the Vescari estate in breathtaking strokes of amber, crimson, and gold.
To celebrate Ellie’s recovery of her normal, joyful routine, Marianne Vescari had insisted on organizing a private, family-only autumn festival on the estate grounds, complete with a miniature pumpkin patch, hayrides, and a custom caramel apple station set up near the garden fountain.
On a crisp, crystal-clear Saturday afternoon, the estate grounds echoed with the sound of childish laughter and acoustic guitar music playing softly from hidden garden speakers.
Ellie, wearing a cozy orange sweater and a matching knit beanie with little bear ears, was currently attempting to herd three massive golden retrievers across the clover lawn, squealing with delight as the dogs bounded around her in circles.
Luciano stood on the wide stone terrace overlooking the gardens, holding a cup of black coffee, watching his daughter in the golden light.
He wore an ordinary cable-knit wool sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, looking completely relaxed, entirely detached from the cold, ruthless boardroom persona he wore in the city.
Marianne walked out onto the terrace, holding a warm mug of spiced cider, and stepped up beside her son.
“You’ve been remarkably quiet this afternoon, Luciano,” Marianne observed softly, watching Ellie toss a tennis ball for the dogs. “Is the Rotterdam expansion keeping you awake, or are you still wondering how I knew about Celina’s little packing scheme?”
Luciano turned his head, a faint, amused smile touching his lips. “I stopped wondering about your intelligence networks thirty years ago, Mother. I’m simply enjoying the quiet.”
“It’s not quiet because of luck, my son,” Marianne said, resting her hand gently on his arm. “It’s quiet because we finally pruned the dead weight from the tree.”
Luciano looked down at his mother, nodding in silent agreement. “She’s safe. That’s all that matters.”
“She’s more than safe, Luciano,” Marianne smiled, taking a sip of her cider. “She’s loved. And a child wrapped in true love can weather any storm this city tries to throw at her.”
Down on the grass, Ellie suddenly turned around, caught sight of her father watching from the terrace, and waved both arms wildly in the air.
May you like
“Daddy! Come play tag! You’re it!” she shouted across the lawn.
Luciano laughed—a deep, resonant sound that carried across the gardens—set his coffee mug down on the stone balustrade, and vaulted down the terrace steps to chase his daughter through the autumn leaves.
