Chapter 10 - Bloodlines of the Biscayne Basin
Two weeks later, on a crisp, sunlit Saturday afternoon, Christian, my father, and I brought fresh white orchids to the historic cemetery on the ridge overlooking Biscayne Bay.
The cemetery was quiet, peaceful, and bathed in golden autumn light that filtered through the ancient banyan trees.
We walked down a secluded gravel path until we reached a beautiful, shaded plot surrounded by blooming white hydrangeas and fragrant rosemary bushes.
Standing beneath a towering granite cross was the headstone of Christian’s father, Don Antonio Vance:
Antonio Vance (1948–2018) — Sovereign of the Sea, A Father of Honor.
Fresh bouquets of white calla lilies, red roses, and fragrant sweet basil rested at the base of the stone.
Christian knelt beside his father’s headstone, resting his hand on the carved granite, his amber eyes bright with tears of profound, eternal peace.
“We brought the truth home, Dad,” Christian whispered softly through his tears. “The traitors are broken. The channels are clean. The shadows are gone forever.”
I stepped forward, kneeling beside him on the gravel path, resting my hand respectfully on the stone.
“Your son carries your honor, Don Antonio,” I said softly, my voice carrying clearly across the quiet churchyard. “He is the sovereign of our fleet. In this house, your courage will never be forgotten.”
My father Robert knelt beside us, placing an antique brass compass beside the lilies on the stone.
“Thank you, Antonio,” my father murmured. “We will protect the family forever.”
Christian stood up, pulling my father and me into his arms, wrapping his heavy wool overcoat around both of us, shielding us from the bay breeze.
He reached into his pocket and produced an antique silver pocket watch that had belonged to his grandfather, sliding the chain into my palm.
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“Our family is whole, Maya. The water will never rise above our heads.”
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