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PROLOGUE
Salvatore
My father always told me life is full of devastation. What makes a boy become a man is how he reacts to it. Does he react like a coward? Or a leader? Which would I be?
I often asked myself this question, then realized early in life there are some devastations a boy should not witness, no matter which one he is. His favorite puppy getting splattered by a semi. His mother wasting away from cancer. His father balls fucking deep inside the woman he lost his virginity to.
To name a few.
I step away from the door, away from the grunts and groans, and walk calmly to my mother’s room. Giacomo Puccini’s “Madama Butterfly” plays softly while she lies in bed. Her eyes don’t flutter open when I approach her.
I’ve been coming here for weeks, ever since she became bedridden. Sometimes my best friend, Millie, comes with me, a white orchid always with her, but mostly it’s just the two of us. We listen to music, and sometimes, I read to her. My father is never here. Millie has been here more than he has, regaling my mother with stories of our nonexistent adventures. Not my father. I’m uncertain if it’s because he can’t handle this type of devastation or because it simply isn’t devastating to him.
Sitting down, I reach for my mother’s hand. It’s cold and fragile, making me fear my grasp will break her tiny bones. I’m a scrawny boy, barely a hundred pounds. My father constantly reminds me that he’ll figure out a way to make a man out of me. One of his ideas was sending one of our housekeepers to rid me of my virginity on my thirteenth birthday?the same housekeeper my father is fucking at this very moment.
My father, Stefano Moretti, is a man who takes what he wants when he wants. Throughout my childhood, I’ve witnessed despicable things at his hand and not a shred of remorse. He’s stolen from his family and betrayed his friends.
I suppose he has to be ruthless if he wants to stay on the throne. He isn’t confused about whether or not he’s a coward or a leader. He’s absolutely a leader. Too many others covet his seat, waiting for the day he’ll slip up, and they can take him down?Millie’s father included. I’ve been promised a future where I’m the leader of the families one day. Where we will rule together.
The part of me convinced I’m a coward is terrified, but the other part?the part that enjoys witnessing the despicable things my father does?relishes the thought.
“Salvatore,” my mother whispers. “I will miss you the most.”
“Madre.”
"Shh,mio figlio.You must be brave.”
My mother opens her hand, a key resting on her palm. I take it, knowing exactly what it opens: herscatola del tesoro?her treasure box. When I asked her what it held, her response was simple: secrets.
Excitement and sorrow rush through me. I’ve always wanted to know what was inside her treasure box. All the secrets! All the treasure! I can’t wait to tell Millie!
Watching my mother hide this very box underneath the floor, away from my father, I dreamed of the day she would reveal what was inside. I even thought of sneaking it away from her hiding place, but out of respect for her, never did.
My mother nods toward the floor and the thirteen-year-old boy who lost his virginity only two days ago has been replaced by the eager six-year-old I used to be.
I lift the floorboard and retrieve the box. Opening it, I frown at the contents.Letters. Photographs. My birth certificate. A bunch of useless papers.None of this matters to me. There aren’t any secrets. No treasure. Nothing to tell Millie about.
The title of one document grabs my attention.DNA Paternity Test Results.
“Segreti, mio figlio. Segreti.”Secrets.
I’m not a Moretti.
My eyes glitter with tears. From disappointment or relief, I’m not sure. Disappointment that the life I’ve always known is a lie. Relief for the exact same reason.
My father?well, the man I’ve always called my father?doesn’t know I’m not his son. He can’t. If he did, I wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be priming me to take over the business.
My father is a man named David Cosovo.
“He’s dead, passed away many years ago,” my mother whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek. “But I wanted you to know.”
She wanted me to know…why? Why tell me this? This ishersecret,herstory and she’s putting this burden on me.
Anger joins the disappointment and relief. Some secrets are meant to be kept.
“What about Stefano? The man you’ve told me my entire life is my father?”
“Be better than him.” Her breathing grows more shallow, her words barely audible.
