Emilio arrived late to his mother’s Mafia funeral carrying a suitcase from a tropical vacation.

The bodyguards escorted Emilio and Clarissa to a private room in the basement of the family estate.

I followed behind them. My legs felt like water. The portrait of my mother was still pressed to my chest, like a shield.

The funeral had ended abruptly after the slap. Mourners filed out, whispering. No one dared look my father in the eye. No one dared ask what would happen next.

In this family, we didn't air our dirty laundry in public. But Emilio had just hung our dirtiest secret from the highest flagpole.

The basement room was cold. Stone walls. A single wooden table. One bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was the room where my father conducted business he didn't want anyone to see.

Emilio sat in a chair, his hands folded on the table. His cheek was swollen. He wouldn't look at me. Wouldn't look at our father.

Clarissa stood in the corner, trembling. Her expensive dress was wrinkled. Her makeup was smudged. She looked like she'd aged ten years in the last hour.

My father paced the room. His footsteps echoed off the stone.

"Where were you?" he asked. His voice was dangerously calm.

Emilio swallowed. "Dad, I can explain—"

"Answer the question."

"Bali," Emilio said quietly. "We were in Bali."

"While your mother was dying."

"I didn't know she would—"

"You didn't know?" My father stopped pacing. He turned to face Emilio. "The doctors told us three weeks ago. Three weeks. And you chose that exact moment to take your wife on a tropical vacation?"

Emilio looked down at his hands. "I needed a break. The business has been stressful. And Mom—she didn't even know who I was half the time. What good would it have done if I was here?"

I felt something inside me snap.

"What good?" I stepped forward. The portrait shook in my hands. "She was your mother! She loved you! Even when you were too busy to visit, even when you forgot her birthday, even when you took her kindness for granted—she loved you! And you couldn't even be bothered to be here for her final goodbye?"

Emilio looked up at me. There was something in his eyes. Not guilt. Defensiveness.

"You don't understand, Lucia. You never do. You're always the perfect daughter, always here, always doing what's expected. Some of us have lives outside this family's suffocating expectations."

"Suffocating?" I laughed bitterly. "Mother gave you everything. She defended you when Father was angry. She covered your debts. She loved you unconditionally. And this is how you repay her?"

"Enough." My father's voice cut through the room.

He walked to the table and leaned down, his face inches from Emilio's.

"Your mother's will is to be read tomorrow," he said. "She updated it two months ago. Do you know what she did?"

Emilio shook his head.

"She increased your share," my father said. "Despite everything. Despite your gambling. Despite your absences. Despite the way you treated her. She still believed in you. She still thought you could change."

Emilio's eyes widened. I saw it then—the flash of something ugly. Greed. Relief. Not grief. Greed.

It made me sick.

"She was a better woman than any of us deserved," my father continued. "And you betrayed her. You betrayed this family. You betrayed everything we stand for."

He stood up straight and turned to the bodyguards.

"Keep them here," he said. "No phone calls. No contact with anyone. Not until I decide what to do."

"Dad, you can't do this!" Emilio stood up. "I'm your son!"

My father didn't even look at him. He walked toward the door.

"Today, you are not my son," he said quietly. "Today, you are just a man who missed his mother's funeral to go on vacation."

He left the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

I stood there, facing my brother. The brother I'd grown up with. The brother who used to protect me from bullies. The brother who had taught me to ride a bicycle.

That brother was gone. In his place was a stranger.

"Lucia," Emilio said. His voice was soft now. Pleading. "Please. You have to help me. Talk to Father. He'll listen to you."

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

"Help you?" I said. "You want me to help you? After what you did to Mother? After you humiliated our family in front of everyone?"

"I made a mistake," he said. "I know that. But I'm still your brother."

I clutched the portrait tighter. Mother's smile seemed to fade, as if even she couldn't bear to look at him.

"No," I said. "Not today. Not anymore."

I turned and walked to the door.

"Lucia!" he called after me. "Lucia, don't leave me here!"

I didn't look back.

I stepped into the hallway and leaned against the cold stone wall. The tears I'd been holding back finally came. Silent, heavy tears.

My mother was gone.