Chapter 10 – THE NEW MATRIARCH
A month passed. The Chicago autumn turned bitter and cold, but inside the Moretti estate, life had never felt warmer.
Leo was adjusting. He was a quiet, observant child, carrying the trauma of his kidnapping in the way he flinched at loud noises or clung to my leg when strangers entered the house.
But he was healing.
Every Sunday, the dining room filled with the same twenty-six relatives. But things were different now.
When Gabriel sat at the head of the table, he didn’t command silence with a cold glare. He held Leo on his lap, helping the boy cut his roast beef.
And when it was time for the blessing, I didn’t just sit beside my husband.
Antonella stood up at the opposite end of the table. She looked at the family, then looked at me.
“I am tired,” the eighty-four-year-old woman announced, her voice ringing clear. “I have carried the weight of this family’s traditions for fifty years. It is time for me to rest.”
She walked slowly around the table, holding her wine glass. She stopped behind my chair.
“Claire,” she said softly.
I stood up, confused.
Antonella reached out and took my hand. She didn’t squeeze it like a grandmother comforting a child. She raised it, presenting me to the room.
“Claire Moretti stood between a loaded gun and our bloodline,” Antonella said fiercely. “She didn’t cower. She didn’t run. She proved that the strength of this family does not just run in our veins, but in our choices.”
She looked at Gabriel. “Your grandfather would be proud.”
Then, Antonella moved her chair from the foot of the table, placing it next to Gabriel’s. She gestured for me to take the seat at the head of the table.
The Matriarch’s seat.
A murmur rippled through the aunts and uncles. To give up that seat while she was still alive was unprecedented.
I looked at Gabriel. He nodded, his eyes shining with absolute pride.
I sat down.
“Say grace, Claire,” Antonella whispered, sitting beside me.
I looked across the long table at my husband. I reached out my hand.
Gabriel took it. Leo reached up and put his small, sticky hand over ours.
“Bless us, oh Lord,” I began, my voice steady and clear.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t just surviving in this family. I was leading it.
But the peace we had fought so hard for was a fragile thing.
The next morning, I was in the conservatory, helping Leo with a puzzle, when the heavy oak doors swung open.
Gabriel walked in. He wasn’t smiling. He wore his dark business suit, his jaw tight, his eyes shadowed with a familiar tension.
He held a thick manila folder in his hand.
“Gabriel?” I asked, standing up. “What’s wrong?”
He looked at Leo, then at me.
“Elias Romano is dead,” Gabriel said quietly.
My stomach dropped. “Dead? But he’s in federal custody. His trial isn’t for months.”
“He was poisoned in his cell last night,” Gabriel said, stepping closer and lowering his voice so Leo wouldn’t hear. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
He opened the manila folder and pulled out a legal document stamped with the seal of the state of Illinois.
“Before Elias died, he legally transferred custody of Leo,” Gabriel said, his voice shaking with restrained fury. “He forged documents claiming my paternity is invalid. He named a new legal guardian.”
“Who?” I asked, panic rising in my chest. “Who could he possibly name?”
Gabriel looked at the paper, his eyes dark.
“Isabella.”
Answer One: Elias’s final act of revenge was using the legal system to steal our son.
Open Two: Why would Isabella agree to this? She hated her father. Had she betrayed us again?
“She has a court order, Claire,” Gabriel whispered. “She’s coming to take him.”
Share
