Chapter 8 - My Father’s Last LetterI waited three days before opening the letter.
Cowardice comes in sophisticated forms.
Sometimes it looks like being busy.
I finally opened it at midnight.
Alone.
Adrian,
If you are reading this, then enough truth has survived me to become your burden.
I am sorry for that.
I built a world where my sons learned fear before trust.
Where men called obedience loyalty.
Where silence became protection.
Where wealth allowed me to believe providing for people was the same as loving them.
Do not inherit that from me.
I stopped.
Read the paragraph again.
My father continued.
The Duca name will offer you power.
It will also offer you excuses.
Do not confuse the two.
If Daniel lives, find him.
If he does not, forgive yourself.
And if one day someone without power tells you something is wrong, listen before the powerful men explain why it is impossible.
I thought of Mia.
Six years old.
Standing in my study.
Why does someone keep knocking from inside there?
My father ended with one sentence.
Open the windows, son.
I sat there until sunrise.
Then I called Roman.
“We’re shutting down everything illegal.”
Silence.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“That means half the captains leave.”
“Let them.”
“Some won’t leave quietly.”
“I know.”
“You could lose millions.”
“I know.”
“Your enemies will think you’re weak.”
I looked at the sunrise over Beacon Hill.
“Let them.”
It took six months.
Not cleanly.
Not easily.
We sold businesses.
Closed gambling operations.
Turned over illegal accounts.
Entered agreements with prosecutors.
Men I had known for twenty years called me a traitor.
One tried to kill Roman.
That man regretted it.
I was changing.
I had not become stupid.
Daniel took control of the legitimate real-estate division.
Thomas joined a security consultancy.
Grace stopped cleaning houses.
I offered her management of a new housing foundation funded with money recovered from Vincenzo’s hidden accounts.
She refused twice.
Accepted the third time only after demanding a salary equivalent to every other executive.
I agreed.
Mia started first grade.
She hated math.
Loved science.
Lily learned to say my name.
Unfortunately, she pronounced Adrian as “Alien.”
Roman encouraged it.
I considered firing him.
Again.
Then one October evening, Grace found me in the kitchen cooking pasta.
She stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Cooking.”
“Should I call someone?”
“I know how.”
“The smoke alarm disagrees.”
I turned off the stove.
“You came here to insult me?”
She smiled.
It changed her entire face.
“No.”
She sat at the island.
“I came to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“Mia’s school.”
I had quietly arranged security after a photographer followed her.
“That wasn’t necessary.”
“It was.”
“She’s happier.”
I nodded.
Grace studied me.
“You know she talks about you constantly.”
“I’m concerned.”
“She thinks you’re lonely.”
I looked at her.
“Mia says many inappropriate things.”
“She gets that from me.”
Silence settled between us.
Comfortable.
Then Grace said:
“Are you?”
“What?”
“Lonely?”
A year earlier, I would have lied.
“No.”
Grace waited.
I sighed.
“Yes.”
Her expression softened.
“So am I.”
Neither of us moved.
Then Lily ran into the kitchen carrying a stuffed rabbit.
Moment over.
Maybe that was good.
Because some things should not happen because two people are wounded.
They should happen when both are ready.
Later that night, Daniel called.
“Roman found something.”
“What now?”
“A final tunnel.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course he did.”
“Under the garden.”
“What’s inside?”
May you like
A pause.
“You need to see it.”
