This time, I did not retreat to my room. I did not curl up with his photograph and cry in the dark the way I had done every night for months. I walked through the main hall, past the portraits of three generations of Moretti men, past the soldier who held the study door open for me, and I knelt on the floor in front of Don Hale.
The old man looked down at me. The amber rosary bead between his thumb and forefinger went still.
"Grandfather. I've made my decision."
"I'm letting go of Julian Moretti. I'm leaving the Family."
Ever since Julian Moretti had "died," I had been the one suffering most. Even though Don Hale was drowning in grief of his own, the first thing he thought to do was come to me. He told me I was still young, that life stretched out ahead of me, that I shouldn't remain trapped in this marriage. He wanted me to leave the Moretti compound and start over, find someone who truly cared for me.
I knew he meant well. But back then, I refused without a second thought. I couldn't bear to let go of Julian. Couldn't bear to leave this house still heavy with his presence. I had already resolved to keep faith with his memory for the rest of my life.