Chapter 27 Nico
The dining room looks different tonight.
Not physically, it’s still the long walnut table, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Manhattan skyline, the low lighting Matteo insists sets the “mood.”
But there’s something else here now.
Warmth. Laughter. Family.
Something I wasn’t sure we’d get back after my father died. Everything felt fragile, unmoored, like we’d lost our way. It’s that the woman I thought had pulled the pin on the grenade that would splinter us, is the one putting us back together.
Isabella sits beside me, cheeks pink from cooking, her hair twisted up, a stray curl escaping to frame her face. Letty is across from her, coloring with unnerving focus. My mother-in-law, no, not that, not yet, Isabella’s mother sits to my right, posture relaxed but eyes taking in everything.
Matteo carved the turkey (perfectly, of course, nobody touches his kitchen kingdom, except maybe a bossy Italian mother), while Adi handled vegetables and gravies, and Letty made a mess of cookies that look like meteor impacts but taste good enough to forgive.
Now the food is spread in front of us, an obscene amount of it:
Roasted turkey, crispy potatoes, green beans with garlic, mac and cheese (Matteo’s “secret” recipe he pretends isn’t a family treasure), fresh bread, four pies, and a cinnamon apple crumble Isabella’s mother made.
I clear my throat. “We’re doing this the proper way,” I announce. “Somebody start. What are you thankful for?”
Matteo immediately points at the turkey. “Him.”
Letty giggles.
Adi shakes his head. “Take it seriously.”
Matteo lifts a hand. “I am serious. I’m thankful for the turkey and the woman who helped brine it with me last night.”
That wasn’t the end to the evening I expected last night, a late visit from Matteo with a huge bird and a bag of spices.
Isabella blushes.
Her mom beams.
Then Adi goes next. “I’m thankful for Letty, for my brothers, and for… a quiet year.” He stops, expression flickering. “Well. Quieter now.”
We all feel the weight of it.
Dad’s absence is a ghost at the table.
A silence settles, heavy, but not suffocating. Familiar.
Then Letty lifts her chin and whispers, “I’m thankful for my papa. And Uncle Nico. And Uncle Matteo. And cookies.”
Nobody breathes for a moment.
Rossi lifts his glass, having joined us for dinner like he has for the last five years and glances at us. “I’m grateful for you boys keeping me on, and for my latest blood pressure result, by some miracle, being lower.”
There’s a titter around the table at that and I nod when I catch his eye. Rossi is family and there was never a question he would remain when my father passed, at least not for me.
Then Isabella’s mom says softly, “I’m thankful for my daughter… who survived something no mother should ever watch her child endure. And I’m thankful she found people who stepped in where I could not.”
Something like shame and pride collide in my chest. I nod once, unable to speak.
Matteo clears his throat and mutters, “She’s… good. For us.”
Her mom glances at him. “I see that.”
I squeeze Isabella’s hand under the table and she lifts her head. “I’m thankful for the people around this table, for protecting me, for loving me, and for making me smile.”
Then it’s my turn.
And I know exactly what needs to be said. “I’m thankful for the family that raised me,” I begin. “For the one who stands with me now. And for the new pieces of it that we didn’t expect.” I look straight at Isabella. “And I’m thankful she didn’t run when she should have. I’m thankful she stayed.”
Her eyes shine, and I swear I feel the pull of her in my chest.
Then I raise my glass. “To new beginnings.”
They echo it.
“To new beginnings.”
We eat.
We talk.
We laugh.
Letty falls asleep halfway into her second helping of mashed potatoes and curls up in Isabella’s lap. Adi takes her home with a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
Matteo carries leftovers like they’re national artifacts.
Eventually, the apartment quiets.
Isabella heads to the kitchen with her mother to store food in the fridge, and I take the opportunity to step outside to the balcony for some air.
The door slides open behind me.
I expect Isabella, but it’s her mother.
She stands next to me, her gaze on the city lights. “The decorations…” she says softly, “They’re beautiful.”
I shrug. “She wanted them. If it makes her happy, then it’s right.”
She looks up at me, eyes searching, piercing. “You’re in love with her.”
It isn’t a question, so I don’t treat it like one. “I am,” I say. There’s no use denying it. Not anymore. “I never saw it coming. But… she’s part of me now.”
Her mother breathes slow, steady. Then, with more courage than most people ever show, she nods. “Then listen carefully, Nico Mancini,” she says. “My daughter is brave, but she’s breakable. She loves hard. She trusts deeply. If you hurt her, you’ll destroy something irreplaceable.”
I nod once. “I know.”
“And?”
“And I won’t.”
Her shoulders drop slightly, not relaxed, but accepting. “I believe you,” she says finally. “Against my better judgment… I believe you. But if you let me down, I’ll hunt you down with my heaviest pan and beat you with it. Mafia Don or not.”
“Not. My father spent the last ten years of his life pulling us away from that life, so we could be the men my mother wanted. ISM Holdings is clean and it’s because of him and his love for her.”
“She must have been quite a woman.”
I nod, looking across the skyline and feeling the ghosts of their love around me. “She was, and I miss her every day. I wish she and my father could have met Isabella. They would’ve adored her.”
Her hand touches my arm, and I look down at this fierce mother. “I’m sorry for your loss, Nico. Grief is a brutal thing, like an ache you can’t get rid of. Some days it’s easier and others it is not, but it’s a sign of love and, for that, we’re lucky.”
“Agreed.”
“The men who came after Isabella, will you deal with them?”
A hard look shuts down my face. “They’ll be dealt with, and you have my word they’ll never hurt her again.”
“Thank you. She’s my heart.”
I don’t say it, but I’m pretty damn sure she’s mine too.
When Isabella steps out to join us, her mom wraps an arm around her shoulders, and I watch the two most important women in the world, mine, side by side.
And in that moment, I know with absolute certainty: Whatever comes next, danger, betrayal, fights, revelations, I’d burn the world to protect the family sitting at that table tonight.
And I’m not afraid of it anymore.
It feels like home. Something I haven’t been able to say about any gathering since my mother died.
“I should get going. It’s been a long day,” Mrs. Romano says.
I clear my throat, trying not to sound like I’m choking on my own emotions. “Rossi,” I call gently.
He stands, instantly alert, putting his head through the door to the balcony.
“Could you take Isabella’s mother home? Make sure she gets to her door safely and text me when you’re back.”
“Actually, I’m treating myself to a night in a fancy hotel tonight. I didn’t want to worry about getting home and I like the thought of taking a bath in a big tub and ordering room service breakfast.”
I smile and make a mental note to pay for an upgrade before she gets there, and settle her tab before she leaves.
“Then Rossi will take you.”
He nods. “Of course.”
Isabella’s mom rises, coming to say goodbye to her daughter first. Their embrace is quiet, fierce, intimate in the way only mother–daughter love can be.
Then she turns to me.
She extends her hand.
I take it.
Her grip is small but firm. “Thank you for having me in your home,” she says softly.
“You’re welcome any time,” I reply.
She studies me for a long moment before nodding to Rossi. “Alright. Let’s go before I start crying like a fool in front of strangers.”
“They’re not strangers,” Isabella murmurs.
Her mother kisses her cheek one last time, then lets Rossi lead her to the door.
When it shuts, the room feels strangely still.
For the first time since morning, it’s just the two of us.
I turn to her.
She’s watching the Christmas tree glow in the dimmed lights, quiet music drifting from the speaker in the corner.
I walk up behind her and sit on the couch, then gently tug her toward me until she’s settled between my knees, her back against my chest, her fingers tracing lazy shapes against my thigh.
“This was…” she whispers, voice fragile with something soft, something real.
“Good,” I finish for her.
“Surprising, but yes, good.”
“You’re a surprise, Isabella. I never imagined you’d crash into my life and implode it in the best way.”
She turns to face me, fingers skimming my face. “And I never expected to fall for a Mafia CEO.”
“Mafia CEO?”
“That’s what you heard?”
Her face is incredulous, and it makes me grin like an idiot. “No, I heard the rest, and I feel the same way.”
“Is this crazy, Nico? Are we heading for a huge fall, jumping in like this?”
I shrug because I don’t know. “I don’t know and, honestly, I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. You’ve bewitched me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Good.”
I hold her tighter, just feeling her against me.
We sit there a moment, just breathing, grounded, full, exhausted, but the good kind.
Her voice is small when she speaks again. “Thank you. For today. For letting me bring my mom. For… all of this.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Belle.”
“I do,” she insists gently. “Because I know this wasn’t easy. All the noise. The chaos. The glitter.” Her laugh warms me in the ribs. “But you let it happen anyway.”
I press a kiss to the side of her neck. “It made you happy. That’s enough of a reason.”
Silence settles again, comfortable as a blanket.
She shifts slightly, turning her head just enough to catch my gaze. The lights from the tree reflect in her eyes, sparkling, gold, shot through with something vulnerable.
“Nico,” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
She kisses me.
Slow. Soft. Nothing like the hungry, consuming heat we share behind closed doors.
This one is… tender.
The kind of kiss people give when they’re grateful. When they care. When they’re afraid of how deep it’s getting.
My hand slides up her back, cupping the base of her skull, pulling her closer. She melts into me like she was meant to fit there.
When we break apart, she rests her forehead against mine, breath a warm exhale against my lips.
“I’m really glad I’m here,” she whispers.
“Me too,” I answer.
And for the first time in years, the ache inside me eases.
The ghosts are quieter.
And the future, dangerous and uncertain as it is, doesn’t feel like something to fear.
Not with her here.
Not with this.
Not with us.
“Come, I have a surprise for you.” Then I take her hand and lead her to the bedroom.