Our cousin from Sicily, the one who runs security for Mamma and her sister, Carmela.
"How long?" Pietro asks, though his expression says he already knows.
"As long as needed." Mamma's fingers trace the rim of her coffee cup. "The situation in Sicily is... delicate."
Translation: someone's trying to kill our family there.
Nico looks up from his phone. "The Grecis?"
"Among others." Pietro's voice carries that particular tone that means bodies will start dropping soon. "We'll need Valentino's connections."
"Vittoria, you'll upgrade his security clearances when he arrives," Pietro says.
I nod.
"Good." He stands, signalling breakfast is over. "Nico, my office. We need to discuss the shipment from Miami."
They file out and I stay seated, staring at my cold eggs.
Nora gathers the empty coffee cups, her movements efficient and quiet. She catches my eye for a moment before disappearing through the kitchen door.
The silence stretches.
Mamma doesn't leave. Instead, she moves to the chair beside mine.
"Vittoria." Her hand covers mine on the table. Her fingers are cool, elegant, adorned with the diamond wedding ring Papà gave her thirty years ago. "When did we become like this?"
I stare at our hands.
"Like what?"
"Strangers." The word comes out soft, wounded. "You used to tell me everything. When you were little, you'd crawl into my bed during thunderstorms and whisper your secrets into my ear."
That was before I learned what secrets really meant.
"I grew up." I pull my hand away, reaching for my orange juice like I need something to hold. "Things change."
"They don't have to." She shifts closer, and I catch the slight tremble in her voice. "I know I wasn't... I know you were always your father's daughter. His little shadow. But I loved watching you together. The way your eyes lit up when he walked into a room."
My throat tightens.
Stop. Don't do this.
"He's gone, Mamma."
"I know." Her voice cracks. "I miss him too. Every day. But losing him doesn't mean we have to lose each other."
I force myself to look at her.
Aria Sartori is still beautiful. Silver streaks through her dark hair, and fine lines frame her eyes, but she carries herself like the queen she's always been. Strong. Graceful.Kind.
That's the worst part.
She's genuinely kind. She donates to charities, remembers every staff member's birthday, sends flowers to the wives of men who work for our family.
My mother is a good person.
And I'm lying to her face.
