Chapter 9 - The Shadow Lifted
The following evening, a quiet dinner was held in the private dining hall of the villa.
For the first time in five years, Alessandro sat at the head of the long mahogany table not to review ledgers or interrogate captains, but to eat in silence that wasn’t suffocating.
Marco stood near the corner, watching his boss with an expression of quiet astonishment. Over the past week, the dark, brooding atmosphere that had hung over the estate like a shroud since Salvatore’s death seemed to have lifted just a fraction.
“Signore,” Marco began cautiously. “Marta and her daughter have settled into the upgraded quarters in the east wing. The staff says the girl has already named the courtyard fountains.”
Alessandro cut a piece of roasted meat on his plate without looking up. “What did she name them?”
“The big one is ‘The Whale,’ and the small one is ‘The Bath,’” Marco said, a faint hint of a smile touching the corner of his mouth.
Alessandro paused his knife. A ghost of a smile flickered across his stubbled jaw. “Ridiculous.”
“Indeed, Signore,” Marco agreed. “Shall I have the security team install extra child-proofing around the lower terrace? Now that she’s... well, exploring.”
Alessandro set his cutlery down, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. He stared out the tall arched windows toward the west lawn, where the ancient oak tree stood tall against the twilight sky.
“No child-proofing,” Alessandro said firmly. “Let her walk.”
Marco blinked in surprise. “Are you sure, Alessandro? The perimeter is safe now, but an estate like this is never truly free of danger.”
“Danger has always been inside these walls, Marco,” Alessandro replied quietly, turning his gaze back to the table. “Vincenzo proved that. The enemies outside are predictable. It’s the ones hiding in the shadows of our own routine that nearly destroy us.”
He reached into his inner coat pocket and touched his father’s silver pocket watch. It ticked steadily against his ribs. In sanguine veritas. In blood, truth.
He used to think that meant vengeance, violence, and the cold calculation of survival. But looking back at the past week, he realized truth could also be found in something as simple as a child’s unfiltered gaze, walking past all his armor and refusing to be afraid.
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“Increase the guards at the gates,” Alessandro instructed, his voice regaining its commanding edge. “But leave the garden paths open. If she wants to climb the oak tree again, let her.”
Marco nodded respectfully. “Understood, Signore.”
