The Mafia Boss Who Buried Me Alive Chapter 10

The Mafia Boss Who Buried Me Alive Chapter 10

Later on, everything that happened back in Chicago only reached me through word of mouth. 

I heard Luca filed for divorce, but Sofia refused to sign the papers. She threw endless tantrums, threatened suicide, and made life an absolute nightmare for the entire neighborhood. The two of them remained locked in a bitter stalemate, trapped in a hell of their own making. 

I heard Luca turned to heavy drinking, spiraling until he was hospitalized with a severe stomach bleed in the middle of the night. There wasn’t a single soul there to sign his authorization forms. 

I heard Sofia wasn’t doing well either. For some reason, she lost the baby she was carrying, and the grief drove her completely unstable. She became incredibly paranoid, telling anyone who would listen that people were out to get her. 

They were both living miserable lives. But none of it had anything to do with me anymore. 

My mother’s health began to deteriorate. First came high blood pressure, followed by a diabetes diagnosis that required multiple hospital stays. 

She sent messengers asking to see Leo and me, 

begging for an audience. I set up a monthly bank 

transfer to her account for parental support–not a 

penny more, not a penny less than what the law 

strictly required. But I never went back. 

My father fell ill too, his severe arthritis leaving 

him unable to walk, confining him to a chair in 

front of the TV all day. He called me a few times. I 

answered once. He remained silent on the other 

end of the line for a long time before finally 

whispering, “Nina, Dad is so sorry.” 

I simply said, “I know.” Then I hung up. 

There was no grand reunion, no explicit 

forgiveness, and certainly no reconciliation. Some 

wounds take a single second to inflict, but the 

person carries the scar for a lifetime. 

On Leo’s seventh birthday, I took him to the beach. 

He knelt in the sand, focused entirely on building a 

massive sandcastle. Whenever a wave crashed 

down and flattened his work, he just laughed out 

loud and started rebuilding it from scratch. 

I sat on a blanket nearby, watching his little back, and suddenly remembered that distant afternoon when I was soaked through with red wine. I remembered the cruel recording labeling him an unwanted orphan, and the sickening thud that had 

filled my world with blood. 

The setting sun painted the entire ocean in a brilliant, breathtaking gold. 

Leo ran over to me, his face and hands covered in 

sand, and threw himself into my lap. “Mommy!” he cried out happily. Then he tilted his head, his 

bright eyes searching mine. “Mommy, why are you crying?” 

I wiped my face, offering him a warm smile. “I’m 

not crying, sweetie. The wind just blew a little. sand into my eyes.” 

He didn’t press for answers. Instead, he used his tiny arms to hug my neck as tightly as he could. 

Holding him close, I felt the hollow, aching void. that had carved out my chest for five long years. finally begin to heal, filled in by something incredibly soft and warm. It was the ocean breeze, the golden sunset, the fierce embrace of my child, and the promise of the long, beautiful years ahead -the home I owed him, and the peace we had 

finally won.