Chapter 23: The Brothers’ Dinner

Villa Isabella, Sabine Mountains

Evening

The dining table could seat twenty people.

Today there were only four.

Elena sat between Dante and the boy, across from Enzo. Salvatore's place. The boss's place. The black roses in the central vase seemed to watch them, their velvety petals shimmering in the candlelight.

Enzo poured wine with the calm of someone who had waited decades for this moment.

"You know," he said, filling his glass, "I always imagined this dinner." Ever since I was a child. Ever since I knew you existed. He took a sip. "They're smaller than I expected."

Dante didn't touch his glass. "What do you want, Enzo?"

"I want what was stolen from me." Enzo put down his glass. "My name. My place. My heritage. Everything Salvatore denied me because my mother wasn't good enough for his family."

"Your mother was a mistress. Like others." Dante held her gaze. "Salvatore had many."

"But I'm the only one who survived." Enzo smiled, a cold smile. "The others... disappeared. Accidents, illnesses, suicides. Things that happen when a Moretti doesn't recognize you."

Elena felt a chill. "Did you kill them?"

"No." Enzo shook his head. "My father killed them. So they couldn't claim what he considered his. I just... waited."

The boy squeezed Elena's hand under the table.

Enzo looked at him. "You must be Matteo. The little one. The one who almost inherited everything."

Matteo didn't answer. His gray eyes, the same as all of theirs, held Enzo's gaze without blinking.

"Brave," Enzo said. "I like it."

Dante stood up. "That's enough. If you brought him here to play, we're leaving."

"No." Enzo raised a hand. "You're not leaving. Because if you leave, the boy will never see the light of day again."

The doors opened. Armed men occupied the entrances.

Elena weighed her options. Bad. Very bad.

"Sit down, little brother." Enzo gestured to Dante's chair. "Let's talk like family."

An hour later

Dante had sat down again. Not out of fear of the boy.

Enzo spoke without pausing. About his childhood in America, about the years of waiting, about the hatred he had nurtured like a son. About how he had followed their every move from afar.

"Sofia," he said, looking at Elena. "Your sister. She was beautiful. It's a shame my father killed her. We could have been... friends."

Elena clenched her jaw. "Don't talk about her."

"Why? Does it hurt?" Enzo smiled. "Good. Pain reminds us we're alive."

Dante intervened. "What do you want, Enzo? Really?"

Enzo looked at him for a long time. Then he said:

"I want you to accept me. Both of you. And the child. I want to be your brother. Your partner. Your... everything."

"And if you don't?"

"Then I'll kill you. All three of you. And I'll start over with another name, another family, another story." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. I've waited thirty years. I can wait thirty more."

The silence was heavy.

Elena spoke: "We accept."

Everyone looked at her.

"What?" Dante turned his head.

"We accept." Elena held Enzo's gaze. "You're our brother. You have your place. You have your name. But with conditions."

Enzo raised an eyebrow. "Conditions?"

"You forget the past. You forget revenge. You forget Salvatore." Elena leaned forward. "We build something new. Together. Or we build nothing."

Enzo studied her for a long time.

"You're smart," he said. "Smarter than them. That's why you're still alive."

"Don't flatter me. Do you accept?"

Enzo hesitated. Just for a second.

Then he nodded.

"I accept."

Three hours later

Dinner was over. Enzo's men had disappeared. The black roses were still in the vase.

Enzo was drinking brandy by the fireplace, only in appearance. Elena knew every muscle in his body was on high alert.

Dante was in the library with the boy, trying to get him to sleep. He couldn't.

Elena approached Enzo.

"Why?" she asked. "Why now? Why not years ago?"

Enzo looked at her. For a moment, his mask slipped.

"Because I was alone." His voice was low. "Always alone. No family, no name, nothing. And when I saw what you had built, Dante, the boy, I thought… maybe I could have it too."

"And revenge?"

"Revenge is tiring." He took a long drink. "I've been hating for thirty years. I'm exhausted."

Elena believed him. Or wanted to believe him.

"Then let's start over," she said. "All of us."

Enzo looked at her for a long time. Then he nodded.

"Let's begin."

The next day

The sun streamed through the villa's windows when Elena awoke.

Dante was asleep beside her. The boy was also asleep, in a makeshift bed next to hers.

Everything seemed normal.

But something troubled her.

She went downstairs to the library. Enzo wasn't there. But on the table, a note:

"Dear Elena,

I'm leaving. Not forever, but long enough to think. To decide if I can be what you asked of me.

Take care of Dante. Take care of the boy. Take care of yourself.

I'll be back when I'm ready.

Your brother,

Enzo"

Elena read the note three times.

Then she folded it and put it in her pocket.

Upstairs, the boy was laughing.

Bruno was barking.

And life went on.

On the dirt road leading away from the villa, a car drove off.

Enzo looked in the rearview mirror, the house growing smaller in the distance.

In the seat next to me, a black rose.

The last one.

For now.