The morning sun filtered softly through the windows of the Moretti estate, bathing the grand living room in a warm, golden hue. The atmosphere was unusually calm—too calm, considering the recent chaos that had shaken their world. For once, it felt like the storm had taken a brief pause, giving them all a moment to breathe.
Alessia sat on the plush sofa, one hand resting protectively on her growing belly. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the curve, her gaze distant. A subtle melancholy had taken root in her voice over the past few days, one that hadn't gone unnoticed.
"I just… it's been years since I saw Nonna," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Uncle Carlo. My cousins. I was just a teen the last time we visited southern Italy."
Leona, seated across from her with a steaming mug of chamomile tea, lifted her eyes. The words clung to the air, pressing against her chest like a quiet ache. There was something in Alessia's tone that stirred something deeper—loss, longing, a need for normalcy amidst all the madness.
It felt too familiar.
Leona set her mug down. "Then let's go."
All heads turned.
Alessia blinked. "What?"
Leona shrugged as if it were the most casual suggestion. "Let's go visit them. Nonna, your uncle, your cousins. You deserve some peace, especially now. A break might do all of us some good."
Dante, sitting near the window with a half-read newspaper on his lap, raised a brow. "You want to take a vacation? After everything that's happened?"
Leona didn't flinch. "I didn't say we'd be reckless. We'll be careful. We'll plan it properly, make sure it's safe. But Alessia's right. She hasn't seen her family in years. And… maybe some distance could help all of us think clearer."
Valerio, who had been quietly sipping his espresso, glanced up. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze lingered on Leona a second longer than usual.
Alessia leaned forward slightly, hope beginning to flicker in her eyes. "Do you really think it's possible?"
Leona smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Anything's possible if we want it enough."
Mr. and Mrs. Moretti exchanged a glance from across the room. Isabella Russo, sitting beside her husband Alessandro, folded her arms.
"I don't know," Isabella said, hesitant. "It's not the best time to be leaving the city. Not with everything that's been happening."
"I get that," Leona nodded. "But isn't that all the more reason to take a moment for ourselves? We're constantly living in fear. This doesn't have to be a full-blown vacation. Just a visit. To remind us of what we're protecting."
Alessandro rubbed his jaw, thoughtful. "We'd have to keep it quiet. No announcements. No patterns. A small group at a time, maybe."
"And only if security is air-tight," added Valerio, still watching Leona closely.
Leona tilted her head. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
There was a long pause as the room seemed to hold its collective breath. The idea lingered, floating above them like a fragile bubble that might pop with the smallest objection.
Then Alessia laughed softly—a genuine sound that hadn't touched her lips in weeks. "I'd really like that."
Her fingers pressed gently against her belly, as if silently thanking Leona for the offer.
Leona offered a light smile in return, but beneath it was something else. Something heavier. She had suggested the trip not just for Alessia—but because something inside her felt like it was beginning to fracture. Again. Just like it had before she became Leona. Before she ran.
This time, she didn't want to run. Not yet.
Dante, still watching her with curious eyes, finally nodded. "Alright. But the second anything feels off, we're back."
"And we'll need to vet the area ahead of time," Valerio added, his voice firm.
Leona nodded. "Of course."
The conversation slowly shifted to logistics—routes, contacts, who would go first. Excitement started to creep into the edges of the conversation, painting Alessia's cheeks with a bit of color again.
As the room hummed with cautious plans and quiet hope, Leona excused herself, stepping out onto the balcony. The wind ruffled her hair, cool against her skin. She closed her eyes.
Proposing the trip was a risk. But it was one she needed. Maybe not to escape—but to hold onto what was left of her, before the lines between Leona and Vesper blurred completely.
Perfect. Here's the continuation of Chapter 38 (approx. 1000 words), picking up from where everyone agrees to the plan—and they actually follow through, flying out together on the Moretti private jet.
It was happening.
Just three days after Leona casually proposed the idea, the plan had unfolded with quiet urgency. Bags were packed, contacts were made, and a discreet signal was sent to the Moretti family's private airfield. No media caught a whiff, no outsiders even sensed the shift. It was how the Morettis operated—silent, precise, and always one step ahead.
Now, the hum of the jet engines filled the air as everyone boarded the sleek, matte black jet that bore no logos or markings—just power disguised in elegance.
Leona stepped in last, taking a final glance at the runway before the doors sealed behind her. Valerio was already settled in the back, going through a file, always half-alert. Dante sat with a tablet in hand, scrolling through blueprints of the villa they'd be staying in, occasionally glancing at Alessia who was curled beside the window, rubbing her stomach softly.
Alessia had that glow again—faint but alive. It bloomed quietly across her cheeks as the realization hit her: she was going home. Not just for herself, but for her unborn child. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she looked… at peace.
Mrs. Moretti fussed with a small velvet pouch, probably filled with some family heirloom to bring to Nonna. Mr. Moretti sat beside her, looking oddly relaxed for a man who never let his guard down. The Russos were there too—Isabella holding her husband's hand, Camilia sleeping with headphones on beside them.
For a group bound by danger and loss, the atmosphere in the jet felt… light. Suspended in time, untouched by war or vengeance. Just for a few hours.
Leona quietly found a seat and buckled in. Her fingers tapped the armrest, not nervously, but thoughtfully. She hadn't flown like this in years—not for leisure, not with people who made her feel something real.
Valerio noticed her from the corner of his eye, offering a small nod—almost a silent thanks. She didn't respond right away, just returned a faint smile and turned her gaze to the window.
Dante moved toward her after a while, taking the empty seat beside her.
"You really stirred the nest with this plan," he muttered, not accusingly.
"I tend to do that," she replied dryly.
"But they needed it," he added. "Alessia needed it. And… maybe we all do."
Leona's eyes didn't leave the sky outside. "It's easy to forget the parts of ourselves that aren't made of blood and survival."
He looked at her curiously. "And what part of you are you trying to remember?"
She gave a soft laugh, leaning her head back. "Maybe the part that believes there's still something worth holding onto."
Dante didn't reply right away. His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful.
"You know…" he said quietly, "this is the first time I've seen you look like you actually want to be here."
Leona didn't answer that.
The jet soared higher, breaking through the clouds. Time passed in comfortable silence, interrupted only by soft conversation and the occasional laugh. It was almost jarring—the normalcy of it all. Almost like they were a real family on a real vacation.
Almost.
But beneath it all was still the quiet thrum of awareness. The guards at the back of the plane were well-armed. The villa's location had been triple-checked. Contacts were posted at every route in and out of the southern coast. Nothing was being left to chance.
As the jet began its descent, Alessia sat up straighter, eyes lighting up.
"Look," she whispered, pointing out the window.
The cliffs of southern Italy sprawled beneath them, kissed by waves and sunlight. Olive groves stretched along the hills, and the red-tiled rooftops of small towns peeked through the green. It was beautiful. Timeless.
Even Leona's breath caught for a moment.
It was so far removed from the blood-stained alleyways, the whispers of killers, the echo of midnight threats. Here, for a moment, they could just be… human.
The plane touched down on a private runway nestled discreetly along the coast. Black cars awaited them, tinted and sleek, engines already humming. The warm sea air hit them the second they stepped out, carrying the smell of salt, citrus, and something nostalgic.
Alessia grinned, her eyes misting up. "I can't believe we're actually here."
"You better," Dante teased, helping her into the car.
Everyone moved in quiet coordination, guards slipping into place, luggage loaded swiftly. Mr. Moretti spoke softly into his phone while Valerio gave a nod to the lead driver.
Leona paused before getting in, her eyes scanning the horizon.
She felt it again—that strange tug in her chest. Not quite fear, not quite comfort. Just the sharp awareness that came with knowing how fragile peace could be.
But for now… they had this.
A small window. A chance to remember their roots. A breath before the next storm.
She slid into the car beside Dante.
As they drove toward the hills, the distant sound of children laughing echoed somewhere beyond the trees. Alessia was smiling. Isabella looked like she was already planning a home-cooked meal for the whole family. Sofia Moretti was calm, taking photos of the countryside.
And Leona?
Leona let herself feel the warmth on her skin. Just for today.
Tomorrow, she'd be Vesper again.
But not today.
Carlo Moretti, the younger brother of Valentino, had always been the quieter one. A man with an unassuming yet sturdy presence, Carlo had married Livia, a warm-hearted woman who shared his love for family. Together, they had three children: two sons, Mathew and Marco, who were both in their late teens, and a daughter, Elena, who was only ten. Though their lives were mostly distant from the Moretti Mafia's dealings, they shared the same bloodline, and that alone kept them tied to the family business.
Their mother, Giuliana Moretti, was a woman of grace, yet her eyes carried the wisdom and sadness of someone who had seen too much of the world's darkness. She rarely spoke, but when she did, her words held weight. Despite their seemingly peaceful lives away from the heart of the mafia world, Lucia always ensured that her children stayed connected to their roots.
Carlo and his family, though distant, always ensured they attended family gatherings, especially the ones where the Moretti legacy was being celebrated. Though they lived outside the chaos, their bond to the Moretti name was never in question.