Chapter 85

NARRATOR

Night had fallen over Mexico City when Mateo finished praying before the high altar. The candle burning in front of the crucifix was slowly being consumed, leaving a trail of smoke that rose and disappeared into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. He had spent hours there, motionless, asking God for a sign—something to show him the way, to tell him how to repair what he had not been able to save.

Then the face of little Diego returned to his mind with painful clarity. His broken gaze, the fear in his voice, the innocence that still miraculously survived amid the horror.

That child did not deserve another punishment. And if God was not going to do anything, then he would.

He took out his phone, hesitated for a few eternal seconds, and finally dialed Santiago’s number. His brother answered on the third ring, his voice deep and sleepy.

“Mateo?” he used his full name. “What’s going on? It’s late in Sicily.”

Mateo took a deep breath, searching for the right words.

“I know, but I needed to talk to you urgently.”

“Is something wrong with Lucía or the girls?”

“No,” he replied quickly. “They’re fine. It’s not about that.”

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then Santiago spoke cautiously:

“Then what is it about?”

Mateo leaned against the cold wall, looking at the crucifix on the main altar.

“I need to ask you a favor, brother. A difficult favor… but I know only you can do it.”

“Tell me.”

The priest swallowed hard.

“There’s a boy. Diego. He’s eight years old. His mother was murdered by his father, and now he’s completely alone, in a group home.” His voice trembled slightly. “I helped him before, I tried to intervene, but I failed miserably. Now he has no one in the world.”

Santiago didn’t speak, but Mateo could imagine his expression: serious, contained, trying to understand where this was going.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” he finally asked.

“You and Elena don’t have children,” Mateo said carefully. “I thought that… maybe you could adopt him.”

There was a long silence. So long that Mateo thought his brother had hung up.

“Adopt?” Santiago repeated incredulously. “You’re asking me to bring a child I don’t know into my house? Into my world?”

“I’m asking you to give him a chance at life,” the priest replied firmly. “To take him out of the system before it devours him. To save him before the world destroys him completely.”

Santiago let out a heavy sigh.

“You know exactly what that would mean. If he grows up under this cursed surname, he’ll carry the same condemnation we do.”

“I know,” Mateo said. “But that’s better than dying in the streets or becoming another nameless monster. If anyone can raise him far from the real hell, it’s you.”

The mafioso remained silent for a few more seconds. Then he said:

“I need to think about it seriously. And talk to my wife. We never considered that possibility. It’s a… huge decision.”

“Do it. I won’t pressure you,” Mateo replied softly. “But if you met him, you’d understand. That child deserves something better than what fate gave him.”

Santiago hung up without saying goodbye. Mateo set the phone down on the desk and closed his eyes tightly. He had done what he could. The rest was in God’s hands.

On the other side of the world, in Sicily, Santiago De Luca stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray and looked out the window of his study. The Mediterranean was dark and calm, and the night breeze gently stirred the curtains. He stayed there, unmoving, repeating his brother’s words in his head.

A child. An orphan. A reflection of what he himself might have been if he hadn’t been born under the De Luca name.

He had never seriously thought about having children. Not because he didn’t want them, but because the life he led did not allow for true innocence. He was a man stained with blood, with too many enemies and too many memories that haunted him every night. Could a man like him raise a child without destroying him in the process?

The sound of soft footsteps pulled him from his dark thoughts. Elena entered the room with a tired smile and a steaming cup of coffee.

“Can’t you sleep?” she asked. “Or do you have to go out to work?”

He shook his head, taking the warm cup.

“My brother called from Mexico.”

“Mateo?” she asked, sitting beside him.

“Yes. He says there’s a child… an orphan. His mother was murdered and he’s completely alone. He thinks we could adopt him.”

Elena blinked, surprised.

“Adopt him?”

Santiago nodded slowly.

“He said the boy desperately needs a home. That we could give him one.”

She remained silent for a moment. The word child floated between them with a different weight, almost sacred. Her eyes filled with a light he hadn’t seen in years.

They had been married for more than a decade, and infertility had been their most silent and painful wound. It wasn’t his fault, and she had never reproached him for it, but the emptiness was still there, persistent. She loved him, accepted him completely, but in her gaze still lived the nostalgia of what they would never have.

Elena set the cup down and took his hand firmly.

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I never imagined myself raising a child. Much less one carrying my cursed surname.”

She looked at him with deep tenderness.

“If you’re worried that he won’t share your blood, that doesn’t matter to me at all.”

Santiago slowly shook his head.

“That doesn’t matter to me either. I’m not my father, Elena. He believed his children had to blindly continue his legacy—his crimes, his empire of blood. But I… I don’t want that for anyone.”

He stood up, walked to the window, and continued staring at the dark horizon.

“If we adopt him, we could keep him away from all this. Give him a completely different life. One without guns, without secrets, without constant fear.”

Elena approached and rested her head on his strong shoulder.

“Then let’s do it,” she said firmly. “Not for me, not for you. For him. For that child who has no one.”

Santiago turned, surprised by the absolute conviction in her tone. She smiled, and in that smile he saw the possibility of a new story.

“Are you completely sure?” he asked.

“I am. But only if you are too. I don’t want to force you to accept something you don’t feel.”

Santiago looked into her eyes and, for the first time in a long while, felt something like genuine hope.

“Yes. I’ll do it. We’ll meet him tomorrow.”

Elena hugged him tightly, as if she never wanted to let go.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You have no idea how happy you make me.”

The next morning, Santiago sent a short message to his brother Sebastián:

We’ll be gone for a few days. Don’t worry.

He gave no further explanations. He took the private jet and traveled with Elena to Mexico. During the transatlantic flight, she spoke animatedly about what it would be like to have a child at home: his room, outings, school. Santiago listened in silence, with a mix of tenderness and fear. He didn’t know if he deserved that kind of happiness. But if his brother believed he could do something good with his bloodstained hands, maybe it was worth trying.

When they landed in Mexico City, Mateo was already waiting for them at the private airport. He was dressed simply, in a dark coat, his gaze tired. They embraced briefly, without unnecessary words. Elena greeted him respectfully.

“Thank you for coming,” the priest said. “You can’t imagine what this means to me… and to that child.”

“Let us meet him,” Santiago replied in a dry but sincere voice. “Then we’ll see what God decides.”

Mateo smiled faintly.

“God has already decided. All that’s left is for you to accept it.”

They walked together toward the vehicle that would take them to the parish. Santiago paused for a moment at the entrance, observing the towers rising against the polluted gray sky. His hands trembled slightly.

“I don’t know if I should go in,” he murmured. “I’ve done too many unforgivable things.”

Mateo looked at him calmly.

“God doesn’t measure your sins, brother. He measures what you do after them.”

Santiago lowered his gaze, nodded, and took the first step into the temple. The echo of his boots rang across the marble floor, and for the first time in his life, the most feared man in Sicily felt that the weight of his sins might find a place to rest.

And somewhere in the orphanage, little Diego was still praying, unaware that his life was about to change forever.