Chapter 83
NARRATOR
Sebastián sighed wearily. Valentina had a habit of pushing him to the absolute limit of his patience. When he finished the last bitter sip of whisky, he started the Maserati and disappeared among the dark cypress trees lining the road. He drove for nearly half an hour until he reached a more secluded house, almost hidden among ancient vineyards and silent hillsides: the residence where Sofía Russo lived when she was not traveling on murky business.
The guards recognized him at the entrance and asked no questions; in that world, doors opened more quickly for those who carried the surname and unquestionable authority.
He entered the spacious living room as if he owned the place and found her with her back to him, standing beside the marble fireplace. The black silk robe fell on her with effortless elegance; a glass in one hand, the other idly caressing the edge of the mantel. Sofía had very long black hair, skin still firm for a woman over sixty, and a hard gaze accustomed to seeing the worst of the world. Her beauty imposed even more than her age.
“You fought with my daughter again,” she said without turning around.
“You know how she is; she drives me mad constantly. If it weren’t for the twins, I would have left her years ago.”
Sebastián closed the distance in two steps and wrapped an arm around her waist with a naturalness that spoke of ingrained habit, not novelty. He held her firmly and kissed her. It was a long, urgent kiss, without restraint.
“How much longer are we going to hide this, Sofía,” he murmured when they finally parted. “I can’t keep going like this much longer.”
She carefully set the glass down on the table, took a deep breath, and spoke in a restrained voice:
“She’s my daughter,” she exhaled. “I can’t tell her that her husband is in love with her mother. It would destroy her completely.”
He stepped away, poured himself another drink, and looked at her with an expression that mixed exhaustion and contained anger.
“We’re not children,” he said harshly. “Why do we keep hiding this? She should accept that our marriage died years ago. I could give up my position to Santiago; he would back me without hesitation.”
Sofía sighed, refilled her glass, and leaned against the fireplace.
“Do you think it’s that easy? You’re the supreme boss. If you leave your wife for her mother, how do you think the other families would look at you? What would the Palermo partners say? This isn’t just about love. It’s about power, image, and what can be lost in a single second of weakness.”
He replied with a bluntness that did not hide his deep frustration:
“I’m willing to give up power for the good of the family. If that prevents me from eventually being killed.”
She looked at him, and for an instant her calculated coldness cracked.
“You can’t sacrifice yourself so easily. Santiago is loyal to the death, yes, but too bloody and impulsive. If you leave him in charge alone, they’ll kill him before he can consolidate power. You’re the strategic head; he’s the sword. If you leave, the family will be torn apart, and even your brother who just resurfaced will be in mortal danger. Think about the lives at stake.”
They spoke in low voices for several minutes. What was said there had no place beyond those walls: dangerous names, past mistakes, veiled threats. Then, as if a silent truce had emerged, she gave in to impulse and kissed him again. It was a measured but urgent kiss, with the desperation of those who know each encounter could be the last.
They went up the stairs in restrained haste. In the bedroom, the world outside that house seemed to disappear completely. For five years, that forbidden love had been their secret refuge: a fire that should not burn but that consumed them happily. She was twenty years older, had survived brutal wars and betrayals, and still gave Sebastián a clarity and calm no one else could offer. Accepting that passion was accepting absolute danger.
They gave themselves to each other with desperate urgency, knowing that stolen time was all they would ever have. Every caress was a declaration of forbidden love, every sigh a secret only they shared. Their bodies met with the familiarity of years of secrecy, moving together in perfect synchrony until climax consumed them in silence—a moment of shared ecstasy where time seemed to stop.
Sweat glistened on their intertwined skin as Sofía collapsed beside him, both breathing hard. There were no immediate words, only the dense calm of afterward. Outside, night still lay heavy over the vineyards.
Sofía slowly turned toward him, caressing his face with almost maternal tenderness.
“I know this is impossible… but I can’t give you up,” she said softly.
Sebastián took her hand and kissed it reverently.
“And I don’t intend to let it be,” he replied. “Even if the world condemns us… you’ll remain my refuge.”
They stayed embraced until their breathing calmed. They knew they would soon have to return to their false lives: him as an unhappy husband, her as an untouchable matriarch. But for now… they had been free within sin.
And that moment was enough.
They dressed slowly after their clandestine encounter. There were no romantic promises, only the precision of those who constantly measure risk: they knew that if anyone discovered it, reprisals could be triggered that no desire could justify. They parted with the same naturalness with which they had come together: he returned to the villa, she remained in her house with the glass still warm on the table.
Reality awaited Sebastián when he got back into the Maserati. Upon returning to the villa, he found the guards as if nothing had happened, watching over the gardens with military efficiency. The mafia world does not forgive slips, but it also demands resources and results; absolute composure is required to maintain appearances. For that reason, his steps once again became controlled, slow, calculated.
Before retiring to his affairs, he turned on the armored phone again. He had to tighten the lock around his mother’s mansion; place stricter guards, add additional surveillance lines. He had promised Mateo that he could trust him, and he would not allow his brother to be exposed by a single indiscretion. Even though protecting that priest—his younger brother, the one who had betrayed the surname by leaving—filled him with a strange mix of pride and bitterness.
Meanwhile, Sofía looked at her own reflection in the antique mirror above the fireplace and wondered if she was willing to pay the final price. She knew it: her relationship with Sebastián was not only a forbidden romance, but a dangerous complicity. Behind every intimate gesture there was an outstanding debt to the family, to bloody politics, to inherited blood. Was it worth it? Every time she saw him, the answer was yes.
At the villa, Sebastián enacted immediate changes. He summoned his best men, ordered reinforced night patrols, reviewed security cameras, asked about suspicious rumors. He had to ensure that no one knew more than necessary. If the news reached the wrong ears, the loyalty of allies would crack like glass. And at the same time, the same image replayed in his mind: Mateo holding the girls, peace on Lucía’s face. A fragile picture that demanded he keep everything under absolute control.
He stepped out onto the terrace, lit a cigarette, and contemplated the mansion his father had built with blood. The sea shimmered darkly in the distance. He smiled with deep fatigue, picked up the phone again, and gave the final order:
“Reinforce surveillance at my mother’s mansion. I want full names, phone numbers, and any strange movement in the last twenty-four hours. No exceptions.”
He hung up abruptly. Around him, the house began to function like a Swiss watch: servants reinforcing defenses, vehicles changing routes, men embracing the shadows. Sebastián remained a while longer smoking, aware that his own house was a fortress with invisible cracks. He thought of his children, of Sofía, of his lost brother.
The war to maintain the impossible balance between power and affection had resumed. And Sebastián, who had learned to move along the razor’s edge, sharpened his blade once more.