Todos os capítulos de The mafia king’s substitute husband: Capítulo 121 - Capítulo 130

WHAT REMAINSELIAN’S POVSalvatore turned seventy that autumn, a few months after Sofia’s wedding. He wanted a quiet dinner, but Rosa had already made up her mind.“You’re not spending your seventieth birthday hiding in the house,” she told him. “We’re celebrating, and that’s final.”He tried arguing, but none of us took him seriously. By late afternoon, the garden was full of family. The grandchildren ran between the tables while Leo and Sofia took turns saying a few words about their father.“My father taught me that family isn’t just about blood,” Leo said, raising his glass. “It’s about the people who stay, the people who choose you even when things get difficult. He gave me that, and I’ll always be grateful.”Salvatore lowered his eyes, blinking a few times before looking up again.When it was his turn to speak, he stood with his glass in hand.“For most of my life, I thought I knew how my story would end,” he began. “I thought I’d become like my parents. Someone people feared, s

THE GARDENELIAN’S POVEvery spring, I plant something new in the garden. This year, Sofia chose sunflowers.She knelt beside her daughter, showing her how to press the seeds into the soil.“They follow the sun,” she explained. “Your great-grandmother used to say good people should do the same. Always look for the good in life.”I watched from the porch, smiling. It was strange how quickly the years had passed. Once, this house had been filled with tension and silence. Now, the garden was full of children, laughter, and memories.Salvatore came out and settled into the chair beside me.“She sounds like you,” he said, watching Sofia.“She learned from someone.”He chuckled. We had been making that joke for years, and somehow, it never got old.Leo’s children are grown now. Young Salvatore was studying business, hoping to continue the work his grandfather and uncle had built. His sister, named after my mother, wanted to study law. She had always cared about fairness, especially when it

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SALVATOREELIAN’S POVSalvatore turns eighty the autumn Leo’s youngest grandchild is born.We celebrate in the garden, just family, because Salvatore says he has no interest in a big party. He wants good food, familiar faces, and a quiet evening with the people he loves. At his age, I think he has earned the right to celebrate however he pleases.Later that evening, when everyone else is busy talking, eating, or chasing the younger children around the garden, I sit beside him on our old bench.“Eighty years,” he says, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d make it this far.”“Neither did I,” I tease.He gives me a look, and I laugh.“I’m serious,” he says. “There was a time when I couldn’t imagine growing old, let alone being happy about it.”I take his hand. His fingers are thinner now, his grip not as strong as it used to be, but it’s still the hand I’ve held for more than fifty years.“And now?” I ask.He looks around the garden. Leo is arguing with one of his sons,

THE LAST LETTERELIAN’S POVSalvatore turned eighty-six that winter, and I began to notice the changes. He got tired more easily, took his time on the stairs, and spent more afternoons resting in his chair. The doctors explained his condition, but I could tell from their faces that things were getting worse.“I don’t want a fuss,” he told me one morning. “I don’t want everyone looking at me as if I’m already dead. I want to enjoy the time I have left.”So we did our best to let him.The family still visited, and the house was rarely empty for long. Leo’s grandchildren loved sitting with Salvatore, especially when he told them stories about our past. They were always asking questions, and he rarely turned them away.One afternoon, young Salvatore’s son asked about the warehouse.Salvatore chuckled. “That story can wait until you’re older.”“Why?”“Because you’re not old enough to understand all of it yet.” He patted the boy’s hand. “I made some bad choices when I was young. I spent a l

A VISIT ELIAN’S POVSofia’s granddaughter came to see me one afternoon with a request I hadn’t expected.“Will you write down the whole story?” she asked. “Everything that happened between you and Salvatore. From the beginning.”I looked at her. “Why?”“Because one day you won’t be here to tell it.” She shrugged. “And I don’t want people forgetting what really happened. Everyone knows bits and pieces, but nobody knows the whole story.”I couldn’t argue with that.Over the years, stories had been passed around at family dinners, each person remembering something different. Some remembered the difficult beginning. Others preferred talking about how much Salvatore and I loved each other. Very few talked about what it had taken for us to get there.So I agreed.It took me several months to finish. I wrote about the fear, the anger, the chain around my ankle, the warehouse, and the letter I once wrote calling Salvatore a terrible man. I wrote about the mistakes we made and the years it to