Chapter 1

My mother peeled a plate of figs, the way she always did in the Falcone house, and set them down in front of Lorenzo Falcone with the softest of movements.

Lorenzo didn't even lift his head.

"Your hands are all calluses, and there's dirt packed under every nail. You think anything you peel is fit for a made man to eat?"

His words left her too ashamed to raise her face.

"I... I only thought, your hands carry the Family's name, Lorenzo. They're so precious. I didn't want the skins to scratch them..."

Lorenzo couldn't stand to hear another word. He shoved the plate away, irritated. "Take it away. I'm in an important call."

Her trembling hands couldn't react fast enough to catch it,

and the whole bowl of pale peeled figs tumbled to the marble floor.

Lorenzo frowned.

Some important call. He was only on a video with the girl from the old neighborhood, sharing in her delight as Valentina and her mother took the sea air at some coastal villa.

And his hands weren't so precious after all. More than once at the Family's Sunday tables I'd watched him peel iced shrimp for Gloria Ricci and ladle out hot broth for her while it still steamed.

My mother dropped to her knees and hurried to gather them, one by one.

"I'll clean this up right away and take it out of your way. I won't disturb your call, Lorenzo."

I couldn't watch it any longer and was about to step in when she gave me a quick, quiet shake of her head, a silent warning.

In this house, under this roof that sheltered us, she had asked me to endure it more times than I could count.

I looked at her shaking hands, and this time, I finally decided to move forward.

……

But meeting the pleading look in her eyes, I swallowed the urge to have it out with him right then and there.

I crossed to her quickly and reached down to help her up.

Then I moved to help her clean the floor.

She blocked my hand. "No, no, let Mama do it."

"My hands are rough. I'm used to this kind of work." She wiped them once on her apron before she said it.

Through all of it, Lorenzo never once turned around.

He smiled and murmured into the screen, his tone soft and lingering as he answered Gloria and Valentina Ricci with endless patience.

He treated my mother and me like we were thin air.

Seeing me stare hard at Lorenzo, my mother quickly pulled me away. "Adriana Vitale, don't pick a fight with Lorenzo over such a small thing."

"The best thing is for the two of you to have a good life together. What happens to me doesn't matter."

And with that, she slipped back into the kitchen.

For three years, she had cared for and cleaned this house, one day exactly like the last, working off a blood-debt of honor no one ever let her forget.

I wanted her to rest, just for a moment. But there was nothing I could do to change it.

The next morning, my mother was up early as always.

She made breakfast the way she always did, the dishes arranged in perfect order, even the bowls and silver wiped until they gleamed.

She was a clean woman. The calluses on her fingers came from all the years of hard field work she'd done in the old country, not from being dirty.

Watching her busy back, I felt a sharp ache behind my nose.

In her heart she believed she was repaying a debt, paving the way for my arrangement into the Falcone name, keeping goodwill alive on behalf of my father, who lay broken and breathing only because the Family's doctor kept him that way.

But she never knew that the daily toil and the careful, walking-on-eggshells deference never once bought her gratitude or respect.

To let Lorenzo sleep a little longer, my mother always packed his breakfast to go.

Today, while Lorenzo was in the front hall changing his shoes, she carried the ready packed box over to him.

"Lorenzo, no matter how busy the Family keeps you, you still have to eat breakfast..."

I wanted to stop her, but it was already too late.

Lorenzo had his shoes on. Without a single glance, he took the box and walked out the door, one hand smoothing the lapel of his jacket.

It eased something in my mother's heart. "Adriana, at least Lorenzo still likes the breakfast I make."

"Otherwise I really wouldn't know how to repay him."

I stopped mid-motion as I started to rise, and covered the look on my face with a soft laugh.

The truth was, I'd known for a long time. Lorenzo didn't like it at all.

I found out by accident, of course.

That day, I'd left for my honest work on neutral ground as usual, but my car suddenly died, so I stood in the shade of the trees at the edge of the compound, waiting for a cab.

Ten minutes later, I saw Lorenzo carrying a full box of my mother's warm breakfast,