Chapter 14 - The Road to Palermo
The private jet climbed steadily above the jagged peaks of the Apennines, leaving the gray, iron-shod gates of the northern estate far behind in the freezing fog.
Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was a million miles away from the tense, stifling silence of the Duca manor. The mahogany tables were free of ledgers, death warrants, and termination notices. Instead, they were covered in coloring books, spilled apple juice, and a single, battered stuffed rabbit missing one eye.
Mia was curled up fast asleep across the wide leather sofa, her small head resting comfortably in Elena’s lap. The young mother stroked her daughter’s dark curls, her eyes occasionally drifting toward the opposite side of the cabin where Lorenzo sat staring out the window at the endless sea of white clouds below.
"You didn't have to burn it all down, you know," Elena said softly, breaking the steady hum of the jet engines. "The estate... it was your father's. It was your life."
Lorenzo didn't turn away from the window. "It was a cage, Elena. I spent thirteen years believing that if I held the bars tight enough, nothing could hurt what was inside. But cages only keep things trapped."
He reached into his breast pocket—the same pocket where the coffee stain had long since dried into the fabric—and pulled out a small, frayed piece of pink felt. He carefully stitched it back onto the rabbit’s ear with a small silver sewing needle he had asked the flight attendant to borrow.
Elena watched him, a faint, bittersweet smile touching her lips. "What happens when we land in Sicily? The syndicates down south—they aren't like Moretti. They won't just let you walk away."
"They won't have a choice," Lorenzo said, biting the thread clean with his teeth and placing the rabbit gently back on the seat beside Mia. "I didn't run away from the board, Elena. I dissolved it. Every port, every shipping lane, every asset the Duca syndicate owned has been transferred into independent worker trusts and agricultural cooperatives. There is nothing left to fight over."
Elena stared at him, stunned. "You gave it all away? Decades of power... just like that?"
"Power is an illusion," Lorenzo said, turning his dark eyes to meet hers. "Family is the only thing that leaves a footprint."
Just then, Mia stirred, her sleepy brown eyes blinking open against the bright cabin light. She sat up, rubbed her eyes with small, fists, and looked around until she spotted Lorenzo sitting across the aisle.
"Uncle Renz," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
"Yes, little one?" Lorenzo asked, leaning across the aisle.
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"Do they have coffee where we're going?"
Lorenzo let out a deep, rumbling laugh—the first real, unburdened laugh he had emitted in thirteen years. "No, Mia. But they have the best hot chocolate in the Mediterranean, and an orchard full of oranges that taste like sunlight."
