Chapter 80

NARRATOR

Life in Sicily began to take on a strange, almost unreal rhythm. The silence of the De Luca mansion was nearly sacred, interrupted only by the soft cries of the twins or the brief laughter that escaped from the kitchen when Lucía spoke with the servants in her halting Italian. Mateo had learned to hold the girls, his hands trembling at first, to calm them when they cried with awkward whispers, to rock them until they fell asleep against his chest. He found it hard to believe that those pieces of absolute innocence truly belonged to him.

At night, when he watched them sleep in their cribs, he felt as though the entire world shrank to those two identical faces breathing in the same perfect rhythm.

They slept in separate rooms. Lucía in the adjoining bedroom with the girls, he in the one that had belonged to his mother. Sometimes he heard her walking on the other side of the wall, and that simple sound stole his sleep completely. They did not cross that invisible line. He avoided any contact beyond what was strictly necessary. And yet, inside, he was slowly dying to touch her.

The nights were his self-imposed punishment. He obsessively repeated to himself that he had to keep his distance, that he could not fall into temptation again, that desire was a deadly trap that would lead him straight to losing everything. But his body understood nothing of vows or sacred promises. Every time Lucía looked at him with those honey-colored eyes, he felt that fragile barrier crack a little more.

The first week passed in that torturous limbo. His brothers visited from time to time. They arrived in dark armored vehicles without warning, checked that everything was in perfect order, and left without asking too many uncomfortable questions. Sebastián was kind, surprisingly attentive with the girls; Santiago, on the other hand, remained quiet and distant, always watching with those calculating eyes. Sometimes, when they thought Mateo couldn’t hear them, they spoke to each other about “pending matters” in grave tones. He pretended to hear nothing.

One afternoon, as the Mediterranean sun fell golden over the vineyard garden, a different vehicle appeared at the main entrance. An Italian luxury car, with fully tinted windows. Mateo was in the living room with Lucía and the girls when he saw the female figure step out of the vehicle. Tall, elegant, wrapped in a light wool coat. She walked with the dangerous confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

“Who is she?” Lucía asked, instinctively lowering her voice.

Mateo frowned in displeasure.

“Valentina. Sebastián’s wife.”

The door opened without anyone announcing her. Valentina entered as if the mansion were hers, sweeping the foyer with a barely concealed look of superiority. Her heels echoed menacingly on the marble.

“So it’s true,” she said without even greeting them. “The saintly brother-in-law of mine turned out not to be so saintly after all. An immoral priest with a woman and bastard daughters.”

Lucía stood up slowly, holding Isabella with protective firmness.

“And who are you to come in here and speak to me like that?”

Valentina arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Valentina De Luca. Sebastián’s wife. The supreme head of the family.”

“And what brings you here, Mrs. De Luca?” Lucía asked with icy calm. “Or did you just come to gossip like any village busybody?”

The woman smiled with venomous disdain.

“Nothing of the sort, dear. I just wanted to stop by to say hello… and personally meet the daughters of the fallen priest.”

At that moment, Mateo intervened with a sharp voice.

“Valentina. What are you doing here? Did Sebastián come with you?”

She turned slowly, weighing every word.

“No. He’s busy with his usual dirty business. I came on my own. I wanted to meet your daughters, Mateo.” She emphasized the name with deliberate cruelty.

Mateo didn’t answer. His jaw visibly tightened.

Valentina walked over to the bassinet where Sofía was sleeping and observed her with a strange mixture of feigned tenderness and venomous curiosity.

“You should bring them home sometime. They could play with their cousins.”

“Your children are sixteen, Valentina,” he said dryly. “I don’t think they want to play with babies.”

“You never know,” she replied with a smile as cold as ice. “Children can surprise you.”

Then she turned gracefully and headed toward the door without haste.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lucía.”

“The pleasure was exclusively yours,” Lucía replied without looking away, defiant.

Valentina paused for a moment at the threshold, measured the response with narrowed eyes, but said nothing more. She climbed into the vehicle with precise movements and drove off, kicking up dust from the road.

Silence settled back over the mansion like a weight.

“I don’t like that woman,” Lucía said as soon as the car disappeared beyond the iron gate.

Mateo nodded somberly.

“Neither do I. But she’s my brother’s wife. She has twins, two sixteen-year-old boys. Santiago is married too, although his wife can’t have children. That’s been his cross for years.”

Lucía sat down on the velvet sofa, Isabella asleep in her arms.

“How old are your brothers?”

“Forty-five,” he replied. “Both of them. They’re twins, just like my daughters. The irony of fate.”

“They’re still young to carry so much power.”

“Yes. But Sebastián has already spent half his life neck-deep in my father’s business. Santiago, on the other hand… is harder, more relentless. Never make him angry. He can be truly frightening when he sets his mind to it.”

Lucía smiled with curiosity.

“Did he do something to you when you were a child?”

Mateo shook his head, forming a bitter half-smile.

“Not to me. To Sebastián. Once he stole his favorite toy when we were kids. Santiago beat him so badly he was bedridden for several days with broken ribs. He never touched his things again.”

“So he really is ruthless.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But he has a good heart hidden somewhere. He’s loyal to the death, even if he hides it behind that stone face.”

Lucía nodded slowly, stroking the child’s soft forehead.

“It shows that you love them, despite everything they represent.”

Mateo sighed deeply.

“They’re my family. They weren’t always good to me, but in this damned world, loyalty weighs more than shared blood.”

The afternoon slowly faded over the vineyards. From the terrace, the sun could be seen sinking behind the Tuscan hills in an explosion of oranges and reds. Lucía fell asleep on the sofa with the girls in her arms, and Mateo watched her from the frame of the ancient wooden doorway. Her loose black hair over her shoulders, her peaceful face, her body surrendered to maternal exhaustion.

For a fleeting instant, he thought of approaching quietly, of touching her cheek tenderly, of kissing her forehead as he used to… but he didn’t. He turned away with superhuman effort and climbed the stairs to his room.

He turned on the bedside lamp, sat on the edge of the bed, and rested his elbows on his knees. The ancient silver cross still hung above the headboard, exactly the same as the night before and all the nights before.

“Give me strength, Lord,” he murmured, almost inaudibly. “Don’t let me fall again into the same abyss.”

The night wind stirred the lace curtains, bringing with it the salty scent of the Mediterranean Sea. The same smell that had marked his childhood. The same one that accompanied his darkest and most violent memories.

He closed his eyes tightly.

He knew with absolute certainty that the real danger was not the mafia, nor Damián, nor even his bloodstained past.

It was her. It was Lucía.

It was the love that continued to grow in silence, each day more impossible to hide or control.

And while in the distance the red taillights of Valentina’s car disappeared along the winding road, Mateo understood with devastating clarity that this apparent calm was fragile. Too fragile.

The past always found a way to return. And in that ancient house, every shadow had