Page 97 of Stricken

Worry coils in my gut, a toxic thing.

There–near the altar–Aunt Chiara kneels, head bowed, fingers working rosary beads with practiced grace. The sight stills me for a moment. She looks so small, so fragile in this massive space. It's easy to forget the hardness beneath her gentle exterior. Any woman willing to marry a Morelli man is as strong as they come.

I approach, each step measured as if she is a gazelle and I'm terrified of spooking her. The scent of candle wax and polished wood intensifies. My determination wars with an instinctive reverence for this holy place. But I can't back down. Not now. Not when everything I've fought for hangs by a thread.

I won't let them cast me aside. Not without a fight.

Chiara doesn't stir as I draw near. She's lost in her devotions. I hesitate, struck by a sudden, irrational fear. What if there's something wrong with me? What if… No.

I shake off the thought. God wouldn't have made me the way I am for no reason.

Meanwhile, my aunt rises to her feet and settles on the nearest bench, without looking at me.

I slide beside her before doubts have me leave.

"ZiaChiara," I murmur a greeting.

She lifts her head, mild surprise flickering across her face as she takes me in. Her warm brown eyes widen slightly. "Nicola, nice to see you in the house of God finally."

I offer a small smile, hoping to soften the unexpectedness of my presence. "I needed to speak with you,Zia. It's important."

Concern etches lines around her mouth. She glances toward the altar, then back to me. No words are uttered. Just a nod. Permission to speak.

"It's about our family's future. Can you please talk to Uncle?"

A sigh escapes her lips, barely audible. "Nicola, you know I don't involve myself in—"

"Please," I interject, careful to keep my tone respectful but urgent. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't crucial. You know the position I'm in, what Uncle Tony has decided."

Chiara's fingers tighten around her rosary. I can see the conflict in her eyes, the instinct to avoid these matters warring with her love for me.

"The path we're on," I continue, each word precisely chosen, "it's dangerous. Not just for me, but for everyone. The business, the family–we're at a crossroads. And I fear the direction we're heading will lead to ruin. Do you truly think that's what my father died for?"

My aunt's gaze sharpens, a flicker of alarm passing through her eyes. "Explain."

I lean closer, my voice dropping even lower. "The world is changing,Zia.Our... operations... they require a different approach now. Without the right leadership, without someone who understands both the old ways and the new..." I let the implication hang in the air between us.

Chiara's lips press into a thin line. I can feel her weighing my words against her loyalty to Tony, to her sons.

I take a deep breath, readying myself for what I must say next. "Salvatore and Roberto… They're family. I love them. But they don't have the skills for this,Zia. You know it as well as I do."

Chiara's eyes flash with maternal defensiveness. "They are my sons, Nicola. They have been raised for this."

"Being raised for something doesn't make you suited for it," I counter. "This isn't about deserving. It's about survival. Their survival. Think about it,Zia. The moment one of them takes over, they'll both have targets on their backs. Every rival family, every ambitiouscapo—they'll see two unprepared heirs and smell blood in the water."

Chiara's knuckles go white as she keeps in squeezing her rosary.

I press on. "Is that what you want? To watch them stumble into a war they can't win? To see them gunned down in the street because they trusted the wrong person? Or worse, to see everything your husband—our family—has built crumble because they made the wrong call? You've seen it—how Roberto keeps failing and how he got himself into trouble with the Armenians. And you know Sal is too impulsive. He thinks with his heart not his mind. There's a reason why Uncle have never asked him to help with the family business."

There's worry in her eyes now. It's a cruel tactic, playing on a mother's worst nightmares, but I have no choice. The stakes are too high.

"I'm not saying this to hurt you," I add, softening my tone. "I'm saying it because I care. Because I want to protect them, to protect all of us."

Chiara's eyes are fixed on the ornate altar before us. The rosary beads click softly as she resumes to roll them between her fingers, a nervous tic betraying her internal struggle.

"I have a solution," I supply. "Support my bid for leadership. Talk to Tony. I promise you, I'll ensure Roberto and Salvatore are safe, comfortable. They'll be set for life." I pause, weighing my next words carefully. "I know I'm asking a lot,Zia. But I care about this family and our future."

Chiara's eyes flick to mine, wariness in her gaze hard to miss.

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