Chapter 10 - The Mother of LionsThree months later, a letter arrived from Sicily.
No threat.
No photograph.
No hidden camera.
Just a name.
Elena Vitale.
And an invitation.
Palermo.
Dominic wanted to burn it.
Marco wanted to leave immediately.
Sarah wanted information.
They compromised by spending seventy-two hours investigating everything they could find.
Elena Vitale had officially died in 1986.
Unofficially, a woman matching her description had controlled a chain of olive oil exporters, private clinics, and charitable orphanages across Sicily for decades.
“She built her own network,” Sarah said.
Marco studied the records.
“She survived Isabella.”
Dominic looked toward him.
“So did we.”
The White Table scandal had detonated across the United States.
Senators resigned.
Executives were arrested.
Centurion Medical collapsed.
Three hospitals faced criminal investigations.
Isabella remained in federal custody, refusing to cooperate.
For once, the Morettis were not the most controversial family in Chicago.
Sarah enjoyed the irony.
Their legitimate businesses remained intact.
Dominic had quietly begun dismantling several illegal operations, replacing them with above-board logistics and construction contracts.
He never called it reform.
Sarah did.
He called it reducing exposure.
Leo and Gabriel had become inseparable.
Marco purchased the neighboring estate.
Dominic complained.
Sarah knew he was pleased.
The brothers argued almost daily.
Usually about security.
Sometimes wine.
Once for forty minutes about whether carbonara could contain cream.
Sarah had left the room.
Now the four adults stood on the terrace preparing for Sicily.
Sophia would remain with the boys.
Leo hated the decision.
“I want to meet Grandma.”
Dominic nearly dropped his coffee.
Sarah crouched.
“She isn’t exactly Grandma.”
“She’s Dad’s mom.”
“Yes, but—”
“Then grandma.”
Dominic muttered, “Absolutely not.”
Leo smiled.
“Grandma Elena.”
“Stop.”
Sarah kissed Leo.
“We’ll be back soon.”
“Promise?”
Sarah looked at Dominic.
Then Marco.
“We promise.”
The villa outside Palermo stood on a cliff above the Mediterranean.
White stone.
Blue shutters.
Olive trees covering the surrounding hills.
No visible guards.
That meant nothing.
A woman waited beneath a pergola.
She was seventy-six.
Tall.
Elegant.
Her white hair fell to her shoulders.
When Dominic stepped from the car, she covered her mouth.
Marco froze beside him.
Elena whispered one word.
“Bambini.”
My babies.
Dominic did not move.
Marco did.
He walked toward her slowly.
Elena reached for his face.
He allowed her to touch him.
Then his composure broke.
“Why?”
That single word carried forty years.
Elena began crying.
“I searched.”
Marco’s voice rose.
“Forty years.”
“I searched for forty years.”
“You knew we were alive.”
“I knew one of you was.”
Dominic approached.
Elena looked at him.
“You are Domenico.”
“No one calls me that.”
Her face crumpled.
“Your father did.”
Dominic stopped.
Sarah remained nearby.
Not interfering.
Not yet.
Elena invited them inside.
The villa walls were covered in photographs.
Sarah noticed something immediately.
Children.
Hundreds of them.
Orphanages.
Clinics.
Schools.
Elena followed her gaze.
“I spent my life protecting children when I could not protect mine.”
Dominic’s expression remained hard.
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“No.”
Elena sat.
“It does not.”
She told them everything.
She had married Antonio Moretti at twenty-two.
They loved each other.
The marriage was opposed by both families.
When Elena became pregnant with twins, Antonio believed the children could unite the families.
Instead, Isabella’s father intervened.
Elena was drugged during labor.
When she woke, she was told both babies were dead.
Antonio was told Elena died.
Years later, Elena discovered the truth.
“I found Marco first,” she said.
Marco stared.
“When?”
“You were eleven.”
He stood suddenly.
“You knew where I was?”
“I watched you.”
“You left me there.”
“You were protected.”
“I was beaten.”
Elena went pale.
“What?”
“The man you thought protected me drank.”
Marco’s voice cracked.
“He broke my ribs when I was thirteen.”
Elena covered her mouth.
“I didn’t know.”
“That is the problem with watching from a distance.”
Dominic flinched.
The sentence mirrored Marco’s accusation about Marseille.
Marco realized it too.
He sat again.
Elena turned to Dominic.
“I found you when you were fifteen.”
“Then why didn’t you come?”
“Isabella threatened to kill both of you if I did.”
“She tried anyway.”
“I know.”
Elena began crying again.
Dominic remained silent.
Sarah finally spoke.
“Who is Alessia?”
Elena looked toward her.
“My granddaughter.”
Marco frowned.
“Whose daughter?”
Elena’s answer stunned them.
“Your sister’s.”
Dominic stared.
“We have a sister?”
“A younger half sister. Lucia.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
Another ghost.
Elena explained that Antonio had briefly reunited with her years later.
Lucia was born in secret.
She grew up in Sicily.
She later had a daughter.
Alessia.
“Why was Alessia listed as the primary White Table candidate?”
Elena’s expression hardened.
“Because Isabella could not control your sons.”
“So she chose Alessia?”
“No.”
Elena looked toward the window.
“Alessia chose them.”
Sarah frowned.
“She works for the White Table?”
“She believed she could reform it.”
Dominic laughed bitterly.
“Everyone thinks they can reform monsters.”
Elena looked at Sarah.
“Some people do.”
Sarah knew she meant Dominic.
“Where is Alessia?”
“Here.”
Everyone turned.
A girl stood in the doorway.
Nine years old.
Dark curls.
Brown eyes.
She looked at Dominic without fear.
“You’re my uncle.”
Dominic stared.
Apparently mafia bosses who frightened senators did not know what to do with nine-year-old relatives.
Sarah almost smiled.
“Yes.”
Alessia looked at Marco.
“And you.”
“Yes.”
She considered them.
“You both look angry.”
Marco muttered, “Accurate.”
Alessia walked toward Sarah.
“You’re Aunt Sarah.”
Sarah smiled.
“I suppose I am.”
“You saved Leo.”
“Yes.”
“And Gabriel.”
“Yes.”
Alessia nodded as though confirming a report.
“I told Isabella you would.”
Dominic became still.
“You spoke to Isabella?”
“All the time.”
Elena looked uncomfortable.
“Alessia—”
The girl continued.
“She wanted me to become the next chair.”
Sarah looked at her.
“And what did you want?”
“To shut it down.”
Dominic blinked.
Marco laughed.
A genuine laugh.
“I like her.”
Alessia sat beside Sarah.
“I sent the files to Claire.”
Marco froze.
“What?”
“When?”
“I was little.”
“You are little.”
“Smaller.”
Elena explained.
Alessia had discovered some of Isabella’s records through encrypted correspondence.
With Elena’s help, she began leaking pieces.
Claire had received several.
“That’s why Claire investigated Centurion,” Marco whispered.
Alessia nodded.
Marco looked overwhelmed.
“Your wife knew someone inside the network was helping,” Elena said. “She never knew who.”
Sarah looked at Alessia.
“What do you want now?”
The child shrugged.
“To go to school.”
Dominic almost laughed.
“And?”
“To see Chicago.”
Marco said, “Bad weather.”
Dominic looked offended.
“Better food.”
“Sicily is literally outside.”
“Chicago has steak.”
“Children love steak?”
Alessia looked at Sarah.
“Are they always like this?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry.”
“So am I.”
That evening, they ate beneath the olive trees.
For the first time, Dominic and Marco sat beside their biological mother.
Nobody pretended the past could be repaired over dinner.
There were too many wounds.
Too many missing years.
But questions were asked.
Some answered.
Some not.
Elena showed them photographs of Antonio.
Their father laughing.
Fishing.
Holding two tiny bracelets he had bought for twins he believed were dead.
Dominic stared at the picture for a long time.
“He loved us.”
Elena nodded.
“Very much.”
Marco looked toward the sea.
“Then why did he marry Isabella?”
“Because powerful families convinced him compromise would keep everyone alive.”
Elena’s voice softened.
“He learned too late that surrender does not create peace.”
Sarah squeezed Dominic’s hand.
That night, she found him standing on the balcony.
Of course.
He always stood near windows when his world changed.
She wrapped her arms around him from behind.
“How are you?”
“No idea.”
“Good answer.”
“My mother is alive.”
“Yes.”
“My brother lives next door.”
“Yes.”
“I have a nine-year-old niece who appears to understand international finance.”
“Yes.”
“My wife exposed a century-old criminal conspiracy.”
“Yes.”
Dominic turned.
“I had a quieter life before you.”
Sarah laughed.
“You pointed a Glock at a pediatrician the night we met.”
“Quiet is relative.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Do you regret it?”
“What?”
“The hospital.”
“Saving Leo?”
“All of it.”
Sarah looked toward the Mediterranean.
“No.”
“Not even me?”
“Occasionally.”
He smiled.
She touched his face.
“You?”
Dominic answered immediately.
“No.”
The conviction in his voice made her chest tighten.
“No matter what happens?”
“No matter what happens.”
Below them, a car entered the villa gates.
Elena appeared in the courtyard.
She looked concerned.
A man stepped from the vehicle and handed her an envelope.
Sarah and Dominic went downstairs.
“What is it?” Marco asked.
Elena opened the letter.
Her face drained of color.
Sarah knew instantly.
This story was not finished.
Elena handed the page to Dominic.
Only one sentence was written.
THE WHITE TABLE WAS NEVER NINE.
BENEATH IT SAT TWELVE.
Dominic stared.
Marco cursed.
Sarah took the paper.
A black symbol appeared below the message.
Not an eagle.
A crown.
Elena whispered, “I have seen that mark before.”
“Where?” Sarah asked.
“On Antonio’s documents.”
Dominic looked up.
“Our father?”
Elena nodded.
“He believed the White Table answered to someone else.”
Marco’s expression hardened.
“Who?”
Elena looked toward the dark sea.
“He never found out.”
Sarah folded the letter.
Dominic looked at her.
He already knew what she was thinking.
“No.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“We just finished one conspiracy.”
“Exactly.”
“There is another.”
“We have children.”
“We have a city.”
“We have a life.”
Sarah smiled.
“And we’re keeping it.”
Dominic sighed.
Marco grinned.
“I vote with Sarah.”
Dominic pointed at him.
“You don’t get a vote.”
“We’re twins.”
“That does not give you voting rights in my marriage.”
Sarah walked toward the study.
“Both of you stop talking.”
They followed.
Behind them, Elena laughed.
It was the first genuine laugh her sons had heard from her.
The White Table had fallen.
But beneath it waited something older.
Something their father had feared.
And the Moretti family had learned one thing across generations.
May you like
When someone came for one of them, they did not run.
They gathered.
