THE EMPTY CHAIR WAS JUST THE BEGINNING

“That’s impossible.”

Matteo’s voice was flat, rejecting the words before they could even settle in the air. “Your mother lives three hours away. She hasn't spoken to you since we got married.”

“I know what I’m looking at,” Elena said, her voice rising. She pointed a trembling finger at the photograph. “Look at the chipped paint on the railing. Look at the wind chime in the corner. That is my mother’s house in Vermont.”

Rosa leaned closer, her sharp eyes studying the photo. “Your family despises our world, Elena. They refused to attend the wedding because of what Matteo does.”

“Exactly,” Elena said, a cold dread washing over her. “My mother hates the mob. She wouldn't harbor a kidnapped mafia heir. Unless…”

“Unless she doesn't know who he is,” Matteo finished, his eyes widening in realization.

Elena grabbed her car keys from the console.

“Where are you going?” Matteo demanded, catching her arm.

“I’m going to get my nephew,” she said fiercely, pulling away. “If Sofia is using my estranged family to hide him, my mother is in danger. I’m not waiting for your men to bungle this.”

“You can’t go alone,” Rosa said firmly.

“Matteo can't come,” Elena shot back. “If Sofia has people watching the house, seeing the boss of the Valenti family pull up will trigger a panic. They might hurt Leo. They might hurt my mother. I have to go alone. I’m just the estranged daughter paying a surprise visit.”

Matteo looked like he wanted to argue, to assert his dominance, but the truth in her words silenced him. He had failed to protect his brother. He had failed to protect his marriage. He knew he couldn't force this.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, silver rosary.

It wasn't a religious artifact. It was an emergency beacon.

“Press the crucifix if you are in trouble,” Matteo said, his voice thick with emotion. “My men will be ten minutes behind you. I swear to God, Elena, if anything happens to you…”

“You’ll what?” she asked softly. “Mourn me with Sofia?”

He flinched. The pain in his eyes was real, but it wasn't enough to erase the last six months.

Elena walked out the door into the freezing night.

The drive to Vermont was a blur of black asphalt and blinding headlights. By the time she pulled onto the dirt road leading to her childhood home, it was past 2:00 AM.

The house was dark. Quiet.

She parked down the street and walked the rest of the way, the silver rosary clutched tightly in her pocket.

She climbed the porch steps, avoiding the one that always creaked. She used the spare key hidden under the loose brick—a childhood habit that hadn't changed in ten years.

The door clicked open.

Elena stepped into the dark hallway, holding her breath.

“Mom?” she whispered.

Silence.

She crept toward the living room. The TV was off, but a small lamp was illuminated in the corner.

Sitting in the armchair, facing away from her, was a woman’s silhouette.

“Mom, it’s Elena,” she said softly, stepping forward. “I know it’s late, but I need to ask you about the little boy—”

The chair swiveled around.

It wasn't her mother.