7. Vera
Chapter 7
Vera
A t night I can hear the music from the party upstairs. I can close my eyes as I lie on the bed and let my memories take me back to the days when I was welcome here.
If I focus hard enough, I can smell the roast in the oven, the crispy potatoes, and the thick rich gravy.
I can see all the aunts, uncles, and older generations gathered in the living room, a massive fire crackling to the left of the Christmas tree. The warm scent of pine needles fills the air, heated by the flames. And then after dinner all the kids have been ushered to bed, and the adults sit beneath the tree wrapping gifts, laughing, and sipping dark red port.
Uncle Marzio would be puffing on his cigar while the ladies complained and tried to convince him to go and sit outside. Massimo would chuckle and open a window, telling Uncle Marzio to move next to it, and reminding the ladies to let the old man enjoy his guilty pleasures in peace.
I want nothing more than to be part of it all again.
I want to have my son running through these halls, shouting and playing and counting the days till Christmas morning.
I want to wear my red dress on Christmas morning and dance with Massimo beneath the mistletoe.
I want to kiss him and share special moments with him.
Tossing and turning in the uncomfortable bed I realize they have turned the music down. Dinner must be starting.
It sounds so far away now.
As though it is a lifetime away.
Six years ago.
My stomach growls angrily and I press my hand against it.
Adrian won't bring me any food until after everyone has gone to bed.
They don't want to taint the Christmas spirit by letting anyone know there is a prisoner down in the cellar.
I hold the pillow over my face. Partly because I want to try and warm my cheeks and partly because I want to block out the last soft remnants of the cheerful music.
I don't want to think about the past anymore. It hurts. It has always hurt – since the day I was forced to leave.
I'm still terrified of what Elio has planned - and who he was talking to.
Over the years, he's been my most consistent and recurring clue. Everything seems to lead back to him over and over again. Elio and Adrian are the two people closest to Massimo. So, it had to be one of them and I just know that it wasn't Adrian.
Every time I uncovered something, it led to Elio – but after overhearing his phone call the other night, everything started to really fall into place in my mind.
He was there the night our baby was born. But not only that. I remember seeing him at the hospital a number of times before that. Over the month, I thought nothing of it at the time - but afterward, I realized there was no reason for him to be there. No reason other than making underhanded deals with shady doctors.
And out of everyone in the family, he's the only one who ever showed animosity toward Massimo when he was crowned the new heir and don. It was a family vote. Elio was certain he would win. But it wasn't even close. Massimo won by a landslide.
Massimo's father was always highly respected, a leader admired for his strength, wisdom, and loyalty. From a young age, it was clear that Massimo inherited much of his father's presence—he commands the room the way his father did, with quiet authority and unwavering resolve. There's a striking resemblance between them, not just in appearance but in their character. Massimo has his father's resilience, the kind of inner strength that has carried him through every trial.
Elio, on the other hand, is nothing like Massimo. He lacks the raw power and determination that define a true leader. While Massimo shoulders responsibility with confidence, Elio crumbles under pressure, driven by envy and weakness. He doesn't possess an ounce of the strength or resilience that Massimo embodies. Where Massimo stands firm, Elio falters, always living in the shadows, resentful of the respect Massimo earned effortlessly. He has none of the qualities that make Massimo a natural-born don.
If I can just convince Massimo to quietly look into Elio—nothing drastic, just enough to scrape the surface. If he can poke around, dig into a few things, and clear my suspicions, it might be enough. I don't need a massive investigation or to raise alarms, but I know there's something off. I can feel it. If Massimo would just trust me enough to take a closer look, he'd see what I'm seeing—Elio's hiding something. And that something could change everything.
But I don't think he will clear my suspicions. I think that as soon as he starts peeling away the layers of who Elio pretends to be he is going to be shocked to see the truth.
I need him to help me.
As a mother - I will never rest until I find my son.
I will never give up. But on my own – exiled – it is almost impossible.
Even when they carried his tiny body away, not letting me see his face—not once—I never truly felt he was gone. I never fully accepted that loss. I felt the pain of losing him, but something about it felt wrong—tainted, unreal, like a wound that never quite healed because it was never real to begin with .
The moment I realized he couldn't be dead, everything clicked into place. My instincts were screaming the truth—this wasn't desperation or grief twisting my mind.
It wasn't a delusion.
It was real.
My son is out there, somewhere. He might not know me, might not even know who he really is—but he's alive. And I will do whatever it takes to find him. No matter the cost.
He's the reason I risked coming back here, into the lion's den. I would risk my life again, a thousand times over, if it meant finding him.
Nothing will stop me.
Not Massimo.
Not the dangers that lie ahead.
Because this isn't just about the past anymore. It's about him—my son, my blood—and I won't stop until he's in my arms.
Why can't Massimo see that?
Boots crunch against snow outside the window of my cold cellar lockup.
I climb out of bed to see if I can make out who is walking around in the back garden so late at night.
"Did you speak to him though?" Elio's voice. "No, it's too risky. I can't come out there now. I just need to know if you passed on the message?"
There is a pause, pacing up and down. "You work for the Vitales, not me. Don't put me on the same level as yourself, asshole. You are nothing but a messenger between the key players. All I need to know is if you gave him the message or not?" He snarls angrily. "Fuck. Was that so hard?"
Who is he talking to? Someone who works for the Vitale family? The biggest rival to Massimo and all of his allies. Why would Elio be passing a message to a Vitale associate?
My heart beats so loud I am convinced he is going to hear it and realize that I can hear him.
I rush back to the bed and pull the blanket over myself when he starts walking toward the window. If he looks inside hopefully he won't be able to see anything.
But he turns away again, muttering something I can't hear. I listen closely until his footsteps are gone then I let out a heavy breath of air I didn't know I was holding in.
It is Elio.
It has always been Elio.
What other evidence could I possibly need?
It was him all those years ago and it's still him today. He is still working with our enemies, and I have no idea what he is planning now but it can't be good.
I need to speak to Massimo again. I have to convince him to believe me. It isn't only about me anymore. It's not about me wanting to prove my innocence and find my son - now this involves the entire family. If Elio is working with a Vitale to plan an attack or something against the Luciana family - it would be devastating.
No one would expect it now over the holidays - during the truce.
I wait up long after the party is over upstairs, hoping that when Adrian brings my dinner I can convince him to get Massimo to see me - but when I hear the heavy footsteps coming towards the cellar door I know it's not Adrian this time.
The door swings open, and Massimo steps inside, carrying a plate of hot food. It's more than Adrian ever brings me—he usually tosses me scraps, as if that's all I'm worth. But Massimo has brought me a proper meal. The rich aroma of roasted meats, warm bread, and Christmas spices fills the cold room, teasing my senses. My stomach growls, twisting with hunger, desperate to devour the feast.
The sight of it—so indulgent, so much more than I deserve—makes me wonder what Massimo is thinking. Why is he offering me more than just food? Is this a twisted kindness, or is he testing me? My heart pounds, torn between the craving for sustenance and the bitter memory of the man who exiled me.
But I have to focus on telling Massimo what I know first.
I stand up and the blanket falls to the floor.
"Massimo, it is Elio." I say hurriedly. "I heard him on the phone earlier - walking outside the window. He was talking to someone linked to a Vitale."
"Vera…" he sighs, sounding exhausted. Massimo places the plate of food on the bed. "Not this again, not now, please. I've had a long day."
"Yes, actually, this again. And again. And again. Until you fucking wake up and realize I am telling the truth. Just look into it. Please. I am begging you. Not even for me – but for everyone you love – everyone upstairs right now. You owe it to them to keep them safe and I am warning you something is going to happen."
"Eat something. You look thin. We'll talk tomorrow."
He turns away from me. The way he moves I can see how tired he is.
"Please, Massimo I heard him on the phone."
I run towards the door just as he closes it.
"I heard him," I shout again through it.