Chapter 5
An unnerving silence descended upon the hall. Everyone froze, their eyes locked on the scene unfolding before them.
A child had called Elena “Mama.”
The Don’s child.
Three–year–old Matteo threw himself into my arms, his small hands trembling as he touched the swelling on my
face.
His small voice, thick with tears, trembled. “Mama, who hurt you?” he sobbed. “Who made you bleed?”
With every cry of “Mama,” the tension in the hall coiled tighter.
Faces paled across the room, especially those who had been gloating just moments before.
Holding Matteo, the humiliation I’d felt moments before melted away, replaced by a fierce, protective warmth blooming in my chest.
I gently stroked his delicate little face, my eyes filled with adoration. “I’m okay, baby.”
Matteo took my hand, his heart aching. He mimicked the way I usually comforted him, blowing gently on the wound and saying in his sweet, childish voice:
“Don’t be scared, Mama. Matteo is here.”
“The people who hurt you… they should be thrown in the Hudson River.”
He was a child of the Moretti family, after all. Even at three, he understood the underworld’s laws of revenge.
Behind me, I heard Dante’s heavy footsteps.
He walked slowly toward us, and everyone instinctively cleared a path.
Though his face was a mask of calm, I could feel the murderous rage rolling off him in waves. Dante was utterly furious.
After I gave birth to Matteo, my health was unstable for a long time. I was often sick.
