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My Rocco.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
Rocky
“Honey! Where’d I put my…. Oooh, never mind. Found it!” I call back, slipping my watch back onto my wrist.
Groaning as I haul myself up from under the sink in the kitchen.
Smiling as I shake my head because I know she hasn’t heard me.
Too busy talking to Mrs. Peters.
The old lady neighbor who told me which apartment belonged to Jasmine the first time we met.
Washing my hands in the same sink, I test the drain and make sure my handiwork isn’t leaking.
One down, fifty-seven to go….
But I don’t have to do them all today. Or do I?
I guess that’s up to the owner of the building.
“All done, Mrs. Peters. Would you like me to fix anything else while I’m here?” I ask, moving into the living room and lifting baby Max into my arms, sitting myself on the edge of her couch next to my wife.
“Oh, you!” the old woman scolds me, shooing my words as she swats with a chubby, pale hand.
“I already told you, the maintenance men you lined up are due to report next week. They can fix everything.
I nod, recalling that it’s only taken so long on account of Jasmine and me getting waylaid on our honeymoon in Italy.
Plus, it took some time for the courts to prosecute the entire Portello family, except for Maria.
But it took them even longer to offer their profits from crime assets up for auction.
An auction only the Martinelli’s lawyers learned about.
Fast forward a little, and the deeds on everything that used to readPortellonow says,Martinelli.
And one of the first things I wanted to do was to make sure that Jasmine’s ex-landlord was out of the picture.
Old Mrs. Peters sprang to mind as the best candidate to take over the running of the place.
And if she owns it, even better.
Less tax for us that way, and well…Jasmine gets to revisit her old place anytime she feels like it, which is never.
“That man of yours,” she remarks to Jasmine, wagging her finger at me. “He’s a keeper. A real man of his word,” Mrs. Peters lectures her.
And Jasmine can only smile up at me. “Don’t I know it,” she replies with a smile and mouths the wordsI love youto me.
Something I never tire of hearing from her.
Little Max starts to kick and giggle, but both Mommy and I know his little routine heart by now.
“I’ll go,” I tell her, excusing myself and searching for Max’s changing bag by the couch.
