Chapter 11 - The Santoro Crest
I stared at the heavy gold locket resting in the velvet box. The Santoro family crest—a lion rampant holding a sword—was expertly engraved into the metal.
“What is this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“It belonged to our grandmother,” Luca explained, his dark eyes meeting mine. “It is traditionally given to the daughters of the family on their eighteenth birthday. Sofia refused it. She said it was too old-fashioned. She wanted diamonds instead.”
He took the locket from the box, the delicate gold chain pooling in his large, tattooed hand.
“My father had it cleaned and polished right before he died,” Luca continued. “He meant to give it to you, Katherine. To officially welcome you into the family. When he was killed, I kept it in his safe, waiting for the day I would find the daughter he wrote about in his private journals.”
Tears blurred my vision. My whole life, I had felt like an outsider. A poor girl from the suburbs raised by a single mother, struggling to make ends meet, marrying a man who only saw me as a stepping stone.
And all this time, I had a family. A complicated, violent, tragic family, but a family nonetheless. And I had a brother who had spent years looking for me.
Luca stepped behind me. I lifted my hair, and I felt the cold gold chain settle against my collarbone. The clasp clicked shut. The heavy locket rested perfectly over my heart.
“Welcome to the family, little sister,” Luca whispered, kissing the top of my head.
A profound sense of peace washed over me. The ghosts of the past were finally laid to rest. The truth was out. The bad men were in prison, and the secrets that had haunted my mother’s life were exposed to the light.
Suddenly, the sound of a school bus air-brake hissed loudly from the street outside.
I wiped my tears and ran to the front window. Benjamin bounded off the yellow bus, wearing his oversized backpack, jumping over a puddle in the driveway. He looked carefree. He looked like a normal ten-year-old boy.
I opened the front door just as he reached the porch.
“Mom!” he shouted, throwing his arms around my waist. He smelled like rain and playground dirt. “Guess what? I got a B on my math test! And Tommy invited me to his birthday party this weekend!”
“That’s amazing, baby,” I laughed, hugging him tightly.
Benjamin looked past me and saw Luca standing in the foyer.
My son’s eyes lit up. He didn't see a mafia boss. He saw the giant, tattooed man who had lit his birthday candles and protected us from the bad guys.
“Hi, Mr. Luca!” Benjamin chirped.
Luca smiled, a genuine, warm smile that transformed his entire face. “Hello, Benjamin. I hear you’re quite the mathematician.”
Benjamin beamed with pride. He reached into his backpack, digging past his crumpled homework and a squished juice box.
“I made something for you in art class,” Benjamin said, pulling out a folded piece of construction paper.
He handed it to Luca.
It was a child's drawing.
Drawn in bright, waxy crayons was a picture of a giant castle. Standing in front of the castle was a stick figure of a boy with a baseball cap. Next to him was a stick figure of a mom. And towering over them both, holding a massive shield, was a giant stick figure colored entirely in black crayon.
At the bottom, in Benjamin’s crooked handwriting, it read: Thank you for saving us.
Luca stared at the drawing for a very long time. The stoic, hardened man of violence was completely disarmed by a piece of construction paper. He carefully folded it and placed it into the breast pocket of his coat, right over his heart.
“I will treasure this forever, Benjamin,” Luca said, his voice thick with emotion.
He looked at me, nodding slowly. The silent promise was clear. As long as he breathed, my son and I would never have to look over our shoulders again. We were under his protection. We were Santoros.
Luca turned and walked out into the rain, getting into the back of his town car. I watched the taillights fade down the street, feeling lighter than I had in ten years.
I closed the door, locked it, and looked down at Benjamin.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, smiling.
May you like
“Can we have pizza?” he asked hopefully.
“We can have whatever you want, sweetheart.”
