Chapter 6
I had imagined my sister as a ghost.
A child frozen in smoke.
A five-year-old with a rabbit.
Instead, Sofia Conti stood in a convent garden with a pistol, firing back at men hidden beyond the wall.
She moved like someone who had survived by refusing softness.
Marco grabbed my arm.
“East gate!”
I lifted Lucia.
She clung to my neck, rabbit crushed between us.
Serena ran beside me.
My mother followed slower, Sister Angela supporting her.
Sofia fired twice more, then backed toward us.
“Move,” she snapped.
I stared at her.
She glared.
“You can have your reunion after we are not dead.”
That sounded fair.
We ran through a stone corridor as bullets struck the outer walls.
My guards returned fire from the courtyard.
Marco led us through the chapel, past candles and statues, toward a narrow rear passage.
Lucia cried silently against my shoulder.
I hated that.
Children should sob loudly.
Silence meant practice.
Outside the east gate, our second car waited.
Sofia shoved my mother inside first.
Then Serena and Lucia.
I turned to help her.
She pointed the pistol at my chest.
“Not with them.”
I froze.
Marco raised his weapon.
“Put it down, Sofia.”
She laughed once.
“You always were loyal to the wrong Conti.”
My eyes shifted to Marco.
His jaw tightened.
“What is she talking about?”
Sofia backed toward the second car.
“Ask him about the night Matteo died.”
Serena went still.
“What?”
Sofia got into the front passenger seat.
My mother shouted, “Damiano, come!”
I looked at Marco.
His face said everything.
Secrets.
Guilt.
Fear.
I climbed into the second car with Serena, Lucia, my mother, and Sofia.
Marco stood outside for half a second.
Then got into the first car.
We sped down the hill as more shots cracked behind us.
No one spoke until Palermo blurred past the windows.
Finally, Serena said, “Tell me about Matteo.”
Sofia looked back at her.
Something softened.
Pain.
“You loved him?”
Serena’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“He loved you too.”
“Then tell me why he died.”
Sofia looked at me.
“Because he found proof Antonio Conti traded me to Salvatore Vitale and planned to silence everyone who knew.”
“My father was already dead when Matteo died,” I said.
“Yes,” Sofia replied. “But your father’s orders outlived him.”
I thought of my mother’s warning.
Old loyalties rot slowly.
“Who gave the order?”
Sofia’s eyes moved toward the car ahead.
Serena whispered, “Marco?”
“No,” Sofia said. “Marco failed him. That is different.”
That did not make me feel better.
My mother spoke from beside me.
“Tommaso.”
The name landed like a stone.
Tommaso Rinaldi.
My father’s old adviser.
A man I still trusted with portions of the organization.
A man who had kissed my mother’s hand at my father’s funeral.
A man who had told me my father’s legacy was mine to protect.
I felt sick.
“He ordered Matteo killed?”
My mother nodded.
“Matteo discovered Sofia’s identity. He planned to tell Serena, then you. Tommaso could not risk the old debt becoming public.”
Serena looked at me with devastation.
“Your family killed my husband.”
“I didn’t know.”
She laughed through tears.
“You never know. Powerful men never know until bodies are already buried.”
I had no defense.
Lucia lifted her head.
“Mommy, is Daddy still dead?”
Serena broke.
She pulled Lucia from my arms into hers.
“Yes, baby.”
Lucia cried then.
Loud.
Heartbroken.
Human.
Sofia turned away, her face tight.
We reached a safe house near the harbor.
Inside, with guards posted and wounds counted, the truth came in pieces.
Sofia had been given to Salvatore Vitale after his son died in a bombing ordered by my father.
She was raised under another name.
Told her birth family was dead.
Matteo was not her son.
He was Salvatore’s adopted nephew, raised like a brother to her.
When Matteo discovered old letters proving Sofia’s identity, he hid the photograph in the rabbit and gave it to Lucia before confronting Tommaso’s men.
He died two days later.
Marco had been sent to watch Matteo.
He saw the sabotage too late.
He buried the truth out of fear that telling me would start a war before he knew whom to trust.
I listened.
Then I punched him.
Once.
Hard.
He took it.
Serena did not look away.
Neither did Sofia.
Marco wiped blood from his mouth.
“I deserved that.”
“You deserve worse.”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
He looked at Lucia.
“Because the rabbit came back.”
Sofia stepped closer to me.
“You want justice? Start by asking how many men in your house answer to Tommaso before they answer to you.”
My phone rang.
Tommaso.
As if summoned by rot.
I answered.
His voice was calm.
“Damiano, I hear Palermo has become unsafe.”
I looked at my sister.
Then at Serena holding Lucia.
Then at Marco, bleeding.
“No,” I said. “It has become honest.”
Tommaso paused.
Then he said, “Come home. We should talk as family.”
I smiled without warmth.
“We are not family.”
His voice cooled.
“Then choose carefully who is.”
I ended the call.
May you like
For the first time in my life, the Conti empire felt less like power and more like a house full of locked rooms.
I was going to open them all.
