Part 3His Son Stopped Calling Him Papa

Don Moretti lowered himself beside me and placed the strawberry tart within my reach.

His voice softened into the old husbandly tone, the one he used when he still thought he knew how to soothe me.

"Serena, I know what you are thinking." He sighed.

"You think I have been too kind to Bianca. You think I have neglected you and Luca because of her."

I said nothing. Matteo took my hand and pressed it against his chest, right over his heart. "But I swear to you, there has never been anything between Bianca and me." He looked sincere.

Or maybe I had spent too many years wanting him to be.

"Bianca grew up under this family's protection," he continued.

"Her father died serving mine. She is alone with a child, surrounded by men who would gladly tear her apart if they saw weakness. I only pity her. That is all."

His thumb brushed over my knuckles.

"Give me a little more time. I will settle Bianca and Tommy properly. I will make sure you and Luca are never wronged again."

I stared at him in silence. I could barely remember the last time he had looked at me this seriously.

Maybe it had been on our wedding day.

His promises brought back the white church where he had sworn that no harm would reach me, and the day Luca was born, when the feared Don of New York trembled with his infant son in his arms.

I had believed him both times. I drew a breath to tell him that I intended to leave.

"Matteo, there is something you should know."

He released my hand before I could continue. "That brass construction set I bought Luca last year, where did you put it?" I froze. Don Moretti had already risen to his feet.

"Bianca said Tommy has recently taken an interest in engines. I'll bring it over for him to play with for a few days."

With that, he walked into the study. A few minutes later, he came out carrying the polished wooden box. Luca's favorite birthday gift.

The one Don Moretti had bought and then never found the time to build with him. Luca had waited for months.

Every Sunday morning, he would open the lid, touch the little brass wheels, and ask me softly, "Do you think Don Moretti will have time today?"

And every Sunday, Don Moretti had somewhere else to be. Now he carried the box as if it were any idle toy from a cabinet.

He took his coat and left with Luca's construction set under his arm. I remained beside the open trunk and finished the sentence he had interrupted.

"Luca and I have stopped waiting for you." In two days, we would be gone.