Fall of the Underboss

The Trinacrian wind didn’t clear Lorenzo’s head. If anything, it taught him how to play the victim.

That fool who only knew how to squander money somehow reinvented himself as a penitent monk in a rural monastery.

A month later, Don Moretti’s desk was buried under letters from Trinacria.

None was written by Lorenzo himself, but by a highly respected local priest.

The letters said Lorenzo rose at four every morning to scrub the church floors, prayed devoutly for redemption, and kneeled until his knees bled.

“Elena,” Don Moretti said as he set the letters down and removed his reading glasses. A trace of pity surfaced in his clouded eyes.

“A lost lamb has returned to the flock. He is, after all, blood of the Moretti family and your husband.”

I sat across from him, peeling an apple. The skin came off in one long, unbroken strip.

“Don Moretti, when a crocodile sheds tears, it’s usually because it’s hungry,” I said calmly, handing him the sliced apple. “If he’s truly devoted to God, then let him be a little purer.”

That afternoon, I cut off all of Lorenzo’s allowances in Trinacria and froze seven hidden accounts under his name.

If he wanted to play the ascetic, there shouldn’t be the smell of money on him.

The financial choke worked immediately, but the result was nothing as I expected.

Three days later, a photo made its way back to the estate.

In it, Lorenzo wore rough linen robes, handing a watch to a pawnshop owner.

It was the watch Don Moretti had given him when he was promoted to underboss.

The message followed quickly.

Lorenzo had sold his symbol of status just to buy a batch of prayer candles for the church, to pray for the family.

The elders couldn’t sit still anymore.

“This is outrageous!” The consigliere slammed his hand on the table during the meeting.

“Elena, you’re pushing him to the brink! That watch represents the family’s face, and now it’s hanging in a pawnshop. That’s like throwing the Moretti family’s honor on the ground and stepping on it!”

I looked coldly at these old men blinded by performance.

However, I knew Lorenzo was not so noble.

While Lorenzo was short on money, it was not for candles.

In Trinacria, he’d made contact with Black Snake—the radical faction within the Moretti family.

He wanted money for mercenaries and make a comeback.

So I deliberately leaked a fake estate defense map.

It marked supposed weaknesses in our security. In reality, though, every one of those points was a dead end.

As long as Lorenzo sold that map to any rival family in exchange for cash, his betrayal would be undeniable. Not even God could save him then.

The bait was cast, and I waited for the fish to bite.

However, I underestimated what hatred can turn a man into.

Late that night, there was a violent storm.

The gates of the estate were hammered on.

Soaked to the bone, Lorenzo burst in, clutching the fake map. He stumbled straight into Don Moretti’s bedroom before dropping to his knees at the bedside.

“Don Moretti! Someone’s trying to destroy the family!”

He held up the document I had leaked on purpose, sobbing uncontrollably.

“I intercepted this intelligence! Someone sold our estate’s defense map to outsiders! I rushed back overnight. I was afraid something would happen!”

Don Moretti took the map, his face darkening.

Then he looked at me, standing at the doorway.

For the first time, doubt entered his eyes.

“Elena, this falls under your authority.”

His voice was ice-cold. “How did a top-secret defense map circulate outside? If Lorenzo hadn’t intercepted it and brought it back, would we all have died in our sleep tonight?”

I looked at Lorenzo, kneeling on the floor.

His head was lowered. His shoulders shook violently, as if he were crying.

I knew better, though.

He was laughing.

This round, I lost. He’d turned a burning potato into a shield, cleansed himself completely, and even bit back at me for negligence.

“It was my oversight.” I lowered my head.

Don Moretti let out a long sigh and reached out to stroke Lorenzo’s wet hair.

“Come back, my boy. The family needs you.”

Lorenzo lifted his head, tears streaming down his face, and looked straight at me.

“Elena, I’m back.”