Chapter Three: The Heiress Behind the Walls

The morning sun spilled across the marble floors of the Moretti estate, bathing the grand mansion in a golden glow that failed to warm the people living inside it.

Sofia Moretti stood barefoot in the greenhouse, watering a row of white orchids.

Unlike the mansion, this was her sanctuary.

No bodyguards.

No shouting.

No discussions about territories or revenge.

Just the scent of fresh soil and blooming flowers.

"You'll spoil them if you keep talking to them."

Sofia laughed softly without turning.

"I don't talk to flowers."

"No?"

Rosa stepped inside, balancing two cups of coffee in her hands.

"Then who were you smiling at?"

Sofia accepted one of the cups.

"They're better listeners than people."

"They don't interrupt."

"They also don't lie."

Rosa took a sip before studying her best friend.

"You've been hiding in this greenhouse all week."

"I'm working."

"You've hired gardeners for that."

"They don't prune the orchids the way I like."

Rosa rolled her eyes.

"Excuses."

Sofia smiled.

"You know me too well."

"I practically raised you."

"You did not."

"I've been your best friend since we were six."

"You stole my crayons."

"You deserved it."

"I still haven't forgiven you."

"You never will."

The two women laughed together.

It was a rare sound inside the Moretti estate.

One that had become increasingly uncommon over the years.

A maid hurried into the greenhouse.

"Miss Sofia?"

Sofia looked up.

"Yes?"

"Madam Elena is asking for you."

Rosa sighed dramatically.

"And peace has officially ended."

The dining hall looked more like a royal banquet room than a family space.

Crystal chandeliers hung overhead.

Portraits of generations past watched silently from the walls.

At the head of the table sat Elena Moretti.

Elegant.

Poised.

Untouchable.

Beside her was Matteo Moretti, already dressed for weapons training despite the early hour.

He glanced at his sister.

"You kept Mother waiting."

"I was in the greenhouse."

"I noticed."

Elena folded her napkin carefully.

"The orchids again?"

"They help me think."

Matteo scoffed.

"You think too much."

"And you shoot too much."

He smirked.

"Someone has to."

Elena raised a hand.

"Enough."

Silence followed.

She looked at Sofia.

"The board meeting is tomorrow."

"I've prepared the reports."

"The foundation?"

"It's doing well."

Elena nodded.

"You've expanded the women's shelter."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sofia blinked.

"Because they needed help."

Matteo leaned back in his chair.

"They're strangers."

"They're people."

"They're not Morettis."

"They don't have to be."

Another silence.

Elena watched her daughter carefully.

"Your father would've admired your compassion."

Sofia's smile faded.

"I wish I remembered him."

The words hung heavily over the table.

She had been only three years old when Don Marco Moretti disappeared.

Everything she knew about him came from stories.

Photographs.

Whispers.

Legends.

Matteo looked away.

"I remember."

Sofia turned toward him.

"You were eight."

"I remember enough."

His jaw tightened.

"I remember waiting for him to come home."

No one spoke.

"I remember Mother crying every night."

Elena closed her eyes briefly.

"I remember the Romanos taking everything from us."

Sofia lowered her gaze to her untouched breakfast.

She had heard those words countless times.

The Romanos.

The enemy.

The murderers.

The reason their family never smiled anymore.

Yet...

She had always wondered something she never dared ask aloud.

If revenge was supposed to heal them...

Why did everyone still look so broken?

Later that afternoon...

The Moretti Foundation buzzed with activity.

Volunteers sorted donated clothes.

Doctors examined patients.

Children ran through the courtyard laughing.

Sofia walked among them carrying a box of books.

"Miss Sofia!"

A little boy rushed toward her.

"We finished the library!"

She smiled.

"Already?"

"You promised to come see it."

"And I always keep my promises."

The children led her into a brightly painted room lined with shelves.

Books filled every corner.

One little girl proudly held up a drawing.

"It's you."

Sofia accepted the picture.

The drawing showed a smiling woman surrounded by children.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"It's beautiful."

"You saved my mommy."

The little girl's words caught her off guard.

"I didn't."

"You gave her a place to stay."

Sofia crouched to the child's height.

"Your mother saved herself."

"I know."

The girl wrapped her tiny arms around Sofia.

"But you helped."

Rosa watched from the doorway, smiling.

"You know they'll never stop loving you."

"They deserve better heroes."

"They already found one."

Before Sofia could respond, her assistant hurried over.

"Miss Moretti."

"What is it?"

"Your mother wants you back at the estate."

"So soon?"

"There's... someone waiting."

The library inside the mansion smelled of old leather and cedarwood.

Father Gabriel stood near the fireplace.

His silver hair caught the afternoon light as he turned when Sofia entered.

She smiled warmly.

"Father."

"My child."

He embraced her gently.

"It's been too long."

"You've been avoiding us."

"I've been avoiding your mother's cooking."

Sofia laughed.

"I'll pretend I believe that."

He chuckled.

"You've grown."

"So have you."

"My knees disagree."

She offered him a seat.

"What brings you here?"

Father Gabriel glanced toward the closed door before lowering his voice.

"I wanted to see how you're doing."

"I'm fine."

He smiled knowingly.

"You've always answered too quickly."

She looked away.

"I'm trying."

"I know."

He reached into his coat pocket and produced a small wooden rosary.

"It belonged to your father."

Sofia stared at it.

"I've never seen it before."

"He asked me to keep it safe."

Her fingers trembled as she accepted it.

"I wish I remembered his voice."

Father Gabriel's eyes softened.

"He had a kind one."

Tears threatened to spill, but Sofia blinked them away.

"Do you think..."

She hesitated.

"...he would've wanted all this hatred?"

Father Gabriel didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he looked into the crackling fire.

"Hatred is inherited far more easily than forgiveness."

"What does that mean?"

"It means every generation has a choice."

Before Sofia could ask another question, the library door opened.

Matteo stepped inside.

"Father."

He nodded respectfully.

"Mother's looking for Sofia."

Father Gabriel rose slowly.

"I should be going."

As he passed Matteo, the older priest squeezed his shoulder.

"Don't let anger become the only thing your father leaves behind."

Matteo's expression hardened.

"I won't."

But his answer lacked conviction.

That evening, long after the estate had fallen silent, Father Gabriel drove through the outskirts of the city instead of returning to the church.

His car stopped outside an abandoned monastery.

Two armed guards opened a rusted iron gate.

Without a word, they let him inside.

He walked down a dimly lit corridor until he reached a heavy steel door.

One guard unlocked it.

Father Gabriel stepped into the room.

A man sat near the window, his beard streaked with gray, his once-commanding posture weakened by years of confinement.

He slowly lifted his head.

"You came."

"I always do."

Father Gabriel placed fresh food on the table.

"How is my family?"

The priest hesitated.

"They're alive."

"My children?"

"They've grown into fine people."

The man's tired eyes filled with emotion.

"And Sofia?"

Father Gabriel smiled faintly.

"She has your heart."

The prisoner closed his eyes.

"I prayed she wouldn't inherit my enemies."

Outside the room...

A hidden camera silently recorded every word.

Far away, in a lavish office overlooking the city, Lorenzo De Santis watched the footage with a satisfied smile.

"So," he murmured, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

"Even after twenty-five years... you're still breathing, Marco."

He leaned back in his chair.

"But not for much longer."