Chapter 10 - THE PALERMO VILLA
The warm Mediterranean breeze swept across the terrace, carrying the scent of lemon trees and sea salt. It had been three weeks since we landed in Sicily.
I stood at the stone balcony of the Villa Rosa, looking out over the sparkling blue waters of the Palermo coast. The estate was massive, a beautiful seventeenth-century property with sprawling gardens and high iron gates.
It was also completely paid for in cash.
“Sophia!” Lucia’s voice drifted from the courtyard below.
I looked down. Lucia was sitting at a wrought-iron patio table, sipping espresso and laughing with our newly hired housekeeper, Maria. She looked ten years younger. The stress of the Chicago syndicate had melted away, replaced by the peace of her homeland.
“I’m coming, Nonna!” I called back.
I turned to leave the balcony but paused, glancing at the small wooden table by the doors. Resting on it was today’s copy of Corriere della Sera.
The headline on page four caught my eye. I had read it three times already this morning.
CHICAGO SYNDICATE CRUMBLES IN INTERNAL POWER STRUGGLE.
The article didn't mention Matteo by name, but it detailed how a major crime family had been dissolved by the ruling commission after evidence of severe financial mismanagement and unauthorized alliances was leaked.
I had mailed Antonio’s confession regarding the Romano family to the commission the day we arrived in Italy.
Matteo was alive, but he had been stripped of everything. He was a civilian now. Bianca’s family had been disgraced and banished from the city. The nightmare was permanently over.
I walked downstairs and joined Lucia on the patio.
“The gardeners are asking if you want the rosebushes trimmed near the fountain,” Lucia said, pushing a plate of biscotti toward me.
“Tell them to leave them,” I smiled, sitting down. “I like them wild.”
Lucia nodded approvingly. She picked up her coffee cup, her eyes twinkling. “You know, we received a letter today.”
I froze, my coffee cup halfway to my mouth. “From Chicago?”
“No,” Lucia said, reaching into her pocket. “From Naples.”
May you like
She pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope with a heavy wax seal.
“It seems your grandfather left behind more than just a journal and a rosary,” Lucia said, sliding the envelope across the table. “He left a brother.”
