Chapter 13
Lucia’s old letters changed how I remembered my mother.
I had always seen her as elegant.
Composed.
The woman who kept Montoro dinners calm.
Now I saw the cost.
One letter described crying in a pantry after Helena refused to let her sit with my father because she served coffee incorrectly.
Another described pretending her hands were cold so I would not ask why they were cracked.
I was nine.
I remembered the gloves.
That hurt.
Then one letter surprised me.
Lucia wrote:
I don’t want Raffaele to grow up believing protecting women means fighting everyone for them. I want him to notice before fighting becomes necessary.
I sat with that for a long time.
My instinct had always been confrontation.
Useful.
Late.
Sofia needed me to notice sooner.
Lily too.
Protection after injury is not the same as creating a house where injury is harder to hide.
So I changed small things.
Staff could report family mistreatment directly.
No senior relative controlled household employees.
Sofia had her own staff authority where she wanted it.
Not because she was my wife.
Because adults should not depend on another relative for basic household autonomy.
Boring reforms.
Good reforms.
Mafia families love dramatic loyalty.
May you like
Most safety is administrative.
I hated admitting that.
