Chapter 12 - The Iron Matriarch Awakes
Two weeks later, the grand plantation estate on the bayou had been completely
restored.
The mud from the hurricane had been cleared, the live oak branches pruned, the
blood scrubbed from the Italian marble, and fresh white lilies placed in every
crystal vase.
In the sunlit courtyard garden beside the restored limestone fountain, Donna
Maria Moretti sat in a high-backed wicker armchair, wrapped in a hand-knitted
lavender shawl, sipping sweet mint tea.
Her silver hair was elegantly coiffed, her sharp hazel eyes sparkling with the
formidable intelligence that had governed New Orleans for half a century.
Beside her chair, resting on a thick velvet cushion, was Baron.
The old Doberman wore a brand-new, custom leather collar adorned with a solid
gold tag shaped like a cross. He lazily wagged his tail as Donna Maria fed him a
piece of roasted chicken from a silver plate.
“You’re spoiling him, Donna Maria,” I laughed, walking out onto the stone
terrace carrying a tray of warm buttermilk scones.
The old matriarch looked up, her face softening into a warm, radiant smile that
made her look twenty years younger.
“A war dog who dug through concrete to save my life deserves to eat steak from
silver for the rest of his days, Evelyn,” she said, gesturing to the chair
beside her. “Sit down, child. You are not a servant in this house. Stop carrying
trays.”
I set the tray down and sat beside her, the warm autumn breeze rustling the
leaves of the live oaks overhead.
Donna Maria reached out, taking my hand in her frail, soft fingers.
“Lorenzo told me what happened on the Causeway,” she said, her voice dropping
into a serious, tender tone. “He told me how you shielded your sister, how you
held the tunnel under this house, and how you looked into his eyes and told him
you weren't afraid.”
“I was terrified, Donna Maria,” I admitted quietly. “Every single second.”
“Bravery is not the absence of fear, Evelyn,” Donna Maria said gently. “Bravery
is being terrified out of your mind and pulling the trigger anyway to protect
the people you love.”
She reached into her cardigan pocket and pulled out an antique gold signet ring
engraved with a roaring lion—the ancestral crest of the Moretti matriarchs.
She took my left hand and slid the ring onto my index finger.
It fit perfectly.
“Donna Maria... I can't take this,” I stammered, staring at the priceless
heirloom in disbelief. “This belongs to your family.”
“You are my family, Evelyn,” Donna Maria said, her eyes shining with fierce
certainty. “You gave me back my son. You gave this house its honor back. And if
Lorenzo doesn't ask you to marry him before the magnolia trees bloom in spring,
I will disown him and leave the entire syndicate to you and Baron.”
I let out a startled, joyful laugh, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.
From the French doors of the parlor, Lorenzo stepped out onto the terrace.
He had removed his suit jacket, wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the
sleeves rolled up, revealing the intricate tattoos on his forearms. He carried
two glasses of iced bourbon, looking relaxed, happy, and entirely at peace.
He stopped behind my chair, resting one warm, broad hand gently on my shoulder.
His touch sent a pleasant, electric shiver through my spine.
“What are you plotting out here, Mother?” Lorenzo asked, his silver eyes dancing
with amusement.
“I am telling Evelyn that you are far too slow,” Donna Maria retorted without
missing a beat. “A Moretti man should know when a treasure is standing in his
garden.”
Lorenzo looked down at me, his gaze softening into a breathtaking warmth that
May you like
made my heart skip two beats.
“I know exactly what is standing in my garden, Mother,” Lorenzo murmured softly.
