CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sasha
I SPEND THE rest of the morning and early afternoon in the kitchen, losing myself in the familiar rhythms of preparation. I make lists, direct staff to procure additional ingredients, and begin the slow, methodical process of creating a feast worthy of the occasion.
Traditional Irish comfort food seems appropriate. I prepare colcannon with fresh kale and creamy butter, slow-cook beef in Guinness until it falls apart at the touch of a fork, bake brown bread from my mother's recipe. The work is therapeutic, each chop of the knife and stir of the pot bringing me closer to the center I've been seeking since this nightmare began.
Lily joins me occasionally, eager to help and full of questions about the estate and its occupants. Her childish curiosity provides a welcome distraction from my constant worry about Marco. Each hour that passes without word from him stretches my nerves tighter, though I maintain a calm facade for Lily's sake.
Karen watches from the periphery, her disapproval gradually giving way to reluctant involvement as I cajole her into kneading dough and peeling potatoes. The familiar tasks seem to soften her slightly, or perhaps it's simply the normalcy of cooking together, as we did for family gatherings before my mother's death changed everything.
"You're really invested in this, aren't you?" she observes as I arrange flowers for the dining table—roses from Marco's greenhouse, their fragrance filling the kitchen. "Playing house in a mobster's mansion."
"It's not playing," I say quietly, focusing on the arrangement to avoid her judgmental gaze. "And it's not just about Marco."
"No?" Karen's skepticism is palpable. "Then what is it about, Sasha? Because from where I'm standing, you've dragged your nine-year-old sister into a very dangerous situation for the sake of a man who kills people for a living."
The blunt assessment stings all the more for its grain of truth. "I didn't plan this, Karen. Any of it."
"Then walk away," she urges, lowering her voice as Lily returns from helping set the dining room table. "Take Lily and leave. Before it's too late."
"It's already too late," I admit, the truth of it settling heavy in my chest. "I'm in love with him."
Karen stares at me, shocked by the confession. "Sasha..."
"I know it's insane," I continue, needing to finally voice the reality I've been dancing around for days. "I know it makes no sense. But it's true. And I can't just walk away."
"What about Lily? Your plans for culinary school? The life you were building before all this?"
These are fair questions, ones I've asked myself repeatedly. "I'm still figuring that out," I say honestly. "But I don't think it has to be all or nothing. Marco..." I hesitate, unsure how to explain the complexity of the man I've come to love. "He's not just what you see on the surface. There's more to him. And I think... I think he wants more than this life, too, even if he doesn't quite know it yet."
Karen shakes her head, unconvinced. "People don't change, Sasha. Not fundamentally. Whatever fantasies you're spinning about reforming a criminal—"
"That's not what this is," I interrupt firmly. "I'm not naive enough to think I can change who Marco is. But I believe there's a middle ground somewhere—a way for us to build something that honors both our worlds."
Our conversation is cut short by Lily's return, bursting with excitement about the dining room and how "fancy" everything looks.
As evening approaches, I send Lily with one of the staff to change for dinner while I put the finishing touches on the meal. The kitchen is warm and fragrant, a bubble of sensory comfort amid the tension of the estate. I've just removed the last loaf of bread from the oven when Tony appears in the doorway.
"Ms. Gillespie," he says, his formal address at odds with the familiar way we've interacted these past weeks. "Marco asked me to inform you he's on his way back. The meeting went...as expected."
I release a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "He's alright?"
Tony nods, his expression revealing nothing. "He'll be here within the hour."
"Thank you," I say, genuine gratitude in my voice. Tony has been a steady presence throughout this ordeal, his loyalty to Marco extending to me by proxy.
He hesitates, then adds, "The men appreciate what you're doing. The dinner. It's been a long time since..." He trails off, seeming to reconsider whatever he was about to say.
"Since what?" I prompt gently.
"Since there was anything like a family meal in this house," he finishes simply. "Not since Marco's mother was alive."
The revelation stuns me. I knew Marco's mother had died young—he's mentioned her only in passing, the wound clearly still raw—but I hadn't considered the impact her absence would have had on the daily rhythms of the Walsh household. Had there been no gatherings, no celebrations, no moments of simple domestic joy in all the years since?
"I hope I'm not overstepping," Tony adds, mistaking my silence for offense.
"Not at all," I assure him. "I'm glad you told me."
After he leaves, I return to my preparations with renewed purpose. This dinner isn't just about creating normalcy for Lily and Karen anymore—it's about reclaiming something long lost in this house.
By the time Marco returns, everything is ready. The dining room gleams with polished silver and crystal, fresh flowers adding color and life to the usually austere space. The food waits in the kitchen, keeping warm. Marco's men—those not actively on security duty—gather awkwardly in the foyer, clearly uncertain about their role in this unexpected social event.
I meet Marco at the door, scanning his face anxiously for signs of injury or distress. He looks tired but intact, the tension in his shoulders the only visible indication of what must have been a grueling confrontation.
"Everything's set," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "Your men are waiting. I thought we could all eat together."
Something in his expression shifts—surprise, perhaps, or a deeper emotion I can't quite identify. "All of us?"
"All of us," I confirm. "A proper dinner. Together."
Marco looks past me to where his men stand waiting, their usual stoic demeanor softened by evident bewilderment at being included in what they clearly perceive as a family affair. His gaze then moves to Lily, who has changed into her best dress for the occasion. It’s a simple, plain yellow dress that Marco’s men retrieved from our home, but it was Lily’s Sunday dress, only pulled out for church and special occasions. Karen, with stiff posture, can't quite disguise her curiosity about how this strange scenario will unfold.
For a moment, I fear he'll refuse—retreat into the hard shell of the crime boss, dismiss the entire affair as unnecessary sentimentality. Instead, he nods once, decisively.
"Let me change first," he says. "Five minutes."
True to his word, Marco reappears shortly in fresh clothes, the battle armor of his business suit exchanged for dark jeans and a simple button-down. The transformation is subtle but significant—less Walsh family enforcer, more, just...Marco.
Dinner unfolds better than I dared hope. The initial awkwardness that had hung across the men gives way to genuine camaraderie as Marco's men relax enough to share stories—carefully edited for Lily's sake—of their experiences working for the Walsh family. Lily, delighted at being included in such grown-up company, asks a thousand questions, her natural charm drawing smiles from even the most hardened security personnel.
Karen remains reserved but civil, her disapproval temporarily set aside in the face of such unexpected normality. When she compliments the food, it feels like a small victory.
Marco, seated at the head of the table with me to his right, maintains a careful balance between authority and accessibility. He doesn't quite relax fully—I suspect he never does—but he allows his men to see a side of him they rarely witness: attentive, occasionally even humorous, engaging with Lily's questions with surprising patience.
Once or twice, I catch him watching me with an expression that makes my heart skip. Something like wonder, or perhaps disbelief, as if he can't quite fathom how this scene—this moment of peaceful domesticity—has materialized in his world of violence and control.
When dinner concludes, Lily insists on showing Marco the drawing she made of Buddy earlier in the day. To my amazement, he agrees, following her to where the artwork is proudly displayed on the refrigerator door. I watch from a distance as she chatters away, his tall figure bent slightly to better hear her excited explanations.
"This doesn't change anything, you know," Karen says quietly, appearing at my side. "One nice dinner doesn't make this normal."
"I know," I acknowledge. "But maybe it's a start. A glimpse of what could be."
She sighs, some of her rigid opposition softening. "You're determined to see this through, aren't you? Whatever this is with him."
I nod, unable to articulate the certainty I feel despite all logic and self-preservation instincts to the contrary. "I am."
"Then I hope you know what you're doing," she says simply. "For all our sakes."
After Lily is tucked into bed, the house gradually quiets. Marco's men return to their posts. Karen retires to her room with a final meaningful look in my direction, leaving Marco and me alone in the kitchen.
I busy myself with cleaning up, though the staff has already handled most of it. Marco watches me from the doorway.
"Thank you," he says finally. "For tonight."
I glance up, caught off guard by the simple gratitude. "Everyone seemed to enjoy it."
"More than that." He enters fully, closing the distance between us. "You gave them something they've been missing. Something I didn't realize we needed."
"And what's that?" I ask softly.
"Connection," he says, the word clearly unfamiliar on his tongue. "Humanity. A reminder that we're more than just soldiers in an endless war."
The admission—so honest, so unlike the carefully controlled Marco I first met—touches something deep inside me. I move to him, drawn by an invisible force I no longer have the strength or desire to resist.
"It's what I needed, too," I confess, resting my hands against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. "To remember who I am beyond all this. Beyond the fear and the violence and the constant uncertainty."
Marco's arms encircle me, pulling me against him. "And who are you, Sasha Gillespie?" he asks, his voice a low rumble against my ear.
"I'm the woman who loves you," I say simply, the words falling from my lips with natural ease, as if they've been waiting there all along. "Despite everything. Because of everything. I love you, Marco Walsh."
He freezes for a heartbeat, as if my declaration has physically stunned him. Then his grip tightens, almost painfully.
"Say it again," he demands, his voice rough with emotion.
"I love you," I repeat, looking up to meet his gaze, letting him see the truth of it in my eyes. "I love you, and I'm not running anymore."
The kiss that follows is different from any we've shared before—not driven by desperation or fear or pure physical need, but by something deeper, something that feels dangerously like hope. Marco's hands cradle my face as if I'm something precious, something to be cherished rather than possessed.
When we finally part, both breathing hard, I see in his eyes a vulnerability I never thought possible for a man like him.
"I don't know how to do this," he admits, the confession clearly costing him. "How to love someone without destroying them."
"We'll figure it out," I promise, reaching up to touch his face. "Together."
For once, Marco doesn't argue, doesn't try to warn me away, or remind me of the dangers that shadow our relationship. He simply holds me closer, as if I might vanish if he lets go.
In this moment, in this kitchen still warm from the dinner we shared, I allow myself to believe in possibilities I once thought impossible. A future where Marco and I find our way between his world and mine. Where Lily grows up safe and loved. Where the violence that has defined the Walsh family for generations gives way to something different, something better.
It's a fragile hope, perhaps even a foolish one. But as Marco's arms tighten around me, his heartbeat steady against my cheek, I cling to it with everything I have.
For tonight, at least, it's enough.