Page 52 of Beneath the Shadows

Dante nods. “I’m with you. Whatever it takes.”

I glance at him, acknowledging his loyalty. “Thank you.”

“What do you need from me?” he asks.

“Take me to my mother,” I say, the weight of the impending conversation pressing down on me.

“Yeah. Let’s go,” Dante agrees.

The ride to my parents’ house is torturous. The engine hums in the background, indifferent to the world collapsing around me. I stare out the window, but the familiar scenery is nothing more than a blur. My mind’s consumed by loss and the sickening truth—Valentino orchestrated it all.

With each block we pass, the darkness pulls me deeper into its clutches. The grief of losing my father is a raw, festering wound. But it’s the rage that fuels me. Valentino, that smug bastard, believes he’s untouchable.

He’s wrong.

I close my eyes, trying to shut out the world, but images of my father flood my mind. His body, cold and still, lying in a pool of blood. His face, once full of life and strength, now pale, empty. His eyes, always filled with love and pride, vacant. The hands that taught me everything, motionless.

I imagine the betrayal he must’ve felt in those final moments. The fear and pain knowing his nephew betrayed him. My grief hardens into hatred.

The car turns the corner, and the familiar streets of my childhood come into view. My mother’s left the lamp on in the downstairs window, just like she always did when my father was out on business, waiting for him to return safely.

My mother’s inside, unaware of the storm that’s about to tear through her. My father was her rock and now he’s gone. The thought breaks me, but I steel myself. She’ll need me to be strong now.

As the car rolls to a stop, I take a deep breath, gathering my strength. “Let’s do this,” I say, stepping out into the cold night air.

I walk toward the house, each step heavier than the last. My resolve hardens with every movement. Valentino thinks he’s won, but he has no idea that tonight, he’s created his own executioner.

The front door creaks as I step inside. The house is silent, the steady ticking of the grandfather clock the only sound cutting through the stillness.

“You’re finally home,” my mother calls softly from the top of the stairs, her voice filled with relief as she peers down.

I pause, my heart heavy. “It’s me, Mom.”

Her face changes, concern creasing her brow. “Antonio? What’s going on?”

I take a breath, knowing there’s no easy way to break this. “Mom, we need to talk. Can you come downstairs?”

She nods slowly, descending the stairs as she ties the belt on her robe. Cecilia follows behind her, her eyes scanning my face.

“Antonio, what’s going on?” Cecilia asks.

I motion for them to sit on the couch. Dante stands nearby, a silent presence. Cecilia’s eyes flick toward him, but they quickly return to me.

I sit beside my mother, taking her hands in mine. “There’s no easy way to say this,” I begin, my voice thick with emotion. “Dad’s gone.”

For a moment, she stares at me as if trying to understand the words. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

Tears well up, but I push them down, forcing myself to stay composed. “Dad was killed tonight.”

The color drains from her face, and she grips my hands tightly, as if I’m the anchor keeping her from being swept away by the torrent of her grief. “No, no. Not my Marco,” she whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. “That can’t be true.”

Cecilia gasps, her hand flies to her mouth, stifling a sob. She turns to Dante, who steps forward, wrapping his arms around her.

“Who did this?” my mother’s voice is barely audible.

I swallow the bitterness in my throat. “An opposing family. They saw an opportunity and took it.”

Her eyes widen with shock, and for a moment, I think she might collapse. “But why? Why would they do this?”

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