Chapter 5
The convent stood on a hill above Palermo, white stone glowing under the afternoon sun.
Bells rang as our car climbed the narrow road.
Lucia pressed her face to the window.
“House with bells.”
Serena’s hand tightened around hers.
Marco sat in front, tense in a way I rarely saw.
He had been quiet since landing.
That meant he was either afraid or thinking.
With Marco, those were often the same.
A nun met us at the gate.
Old.
Small.
Unimpressed by armed guards.
“I am Sister Angela,” she said.
I stepped forward.
“Damiano Conti.”
“I know who you are.”
Most people said that with fear.
She said it with disappointment.
Interesting.
“I need to see my mother.”
“No.”
Marco coughed.
I stared at the nun.
“No?”
“She is in prayer.”
“She can pray after.”
Sister Angela did not blink.
“You Conti men always believe God takes appointments around you.”
Lucia giggled.
Serena whispered, “Lucia.”
The nun looked down.
“And who are you?”
Lucia lifted the rabbit.
“I’m Lucia. This is Bunny. He knows secrets.”
Sister Angela’s face changed.
Her eyes filled so fast it startled me.
“Where did you get that?”
Lucia hugged it.
“Daddy gave him to me.”
The nun crossed herself.
Then she opened the gate.
“Come.”
We followed her through a courtyard lined with lemon trees.
Inside, the convent smelled like wax, stone, and rosemary.
Sister Angela led us to a private garden.
A woman sat beneath an olive tree.
She wore a gray dress and a white veil.
Her hands rested in her lap.
My mother.
Caterina Conti.
Older.
Thinner.
Still regal in a way prayer had not erased.
She looked up.
Her eyes found me.
No surprise.
Only sorrow.
“Damiano.”
I stopped ten feet away.
For years, I had imagined meeting her again.
I thought I would ask why she left.
Why she abandoned me to my father’s empire.
Why she chose silence over motherhood.
Instead, I held out the photograph.
“Sofia lived.”
Her face crumpled.
Not from shock.
From confirmation.
Serena inhaled sharply beside me.
My mother looked at the rabbit in Lucia’s arms and began to cry.
“Where is Matteo?”
Serena’s voice broke.
“Dead.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“No.”
“You knew him?” Serena asked.
My mother looked at her.
“You are Serena.”
Serena stiffened.
“How do you know my name?”
“Matteo wrote to me.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“For years.”
I stepped closer.
“You knew where my sister was. You knew Matteo. You knew Lucia. And you never told me.”
My mother looked at me.
“Your father would have killed them.”
“He’s dead.”
“And his men are not.”
“His men are mine now.”
She smiled sadly.
“Are they?”
That stopped me.
Marco shifted beside me.
My mother looked at him too.
“You know better than anyone, Marco Bellini, that old loyalties rot slowly.”
Marco’s face went pale.
I turned.
“What does she mean?”
Before he could answer, a gunshot cracked through the garden wall.
Stone exploded near the olive tree.
Serena screamed.
I grabbed Lucia and pulled her down.
Marco drew his gun.
The nuns scattered.
Another shot hit the fountain.
My mother did not move.
She looked almost relieved.
“They found her,” she whispered.
“Who?” I demanded.
She looked at the convent doors.
Before she could answer, a woman appeared.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
Face thin.
Eyes like mine.
She held a pistol in both hands.
“Sofia,” my mother sobbed.
My sister looked at me once.
No recognition.
No tenderness.
May you like
Only command.
“Take the child and run.”
