I’d only booked it for one night, but I wasn’t sure I even wanted to stay. I contemplated buying an energy drink and hitting the road—after I read my mother’s letter.
I unlocked the door to the motel room and went inside. The old air conditioner kicked on as I entered, groaning and whirling, clearly struggling despite the fact that it wasn’t sweltering outside. The back of summer had broken, and it was nearly autumn, but still, the unit could barely keep up.
The room smelled of must and decay, of a place long forgotten and hardly used. Everything was tan and brown, and the faded taupe carpet bubbled at the corners of the floor.
I kicked off my heels and sat down on the edge of the bed, and finally, with a deep breath, ripped open the envelope.
There was a folded letter inside with my name scrolled in her elegant handwriting.
But that wasn’t all. I grabbed the thick envelope and turned it upside down so its contents spilled out. Bundles of bright green bills tumbled onto the questionable paisley bedspread.
I reached for the letter and unfolded it. It was written in Italian, my mother’s native language.
* * *
Dear Sterling,
I’ve started this letter so many times, never feeling like I said everything I needed to say or that I was able to say it coherently.
So, I guess I’ll start writing and pray this is a decent goodbye.
God, I wish there had been more time.
There are so many things I want to tell you. So many moments I wish I could do over. Our estrangement hurts me more than you know. And you may not understand this because you’re not a mother, but everything I did, every choice I made, and every town I moved us to was to protect you.
It’s always been about you, Sterling.
There is nothing—NOTHING—a mother wouldn’t do to protect her child, as I’ve tried to protect you. Even by committing this cardinal sin, I have to believe that God will forgive me because in taking my own life, I have given you a chance to live yours.
It was the only way.
All these years, I’ve let you think the worst of me. That I was unreliable, that I couldn’t ever hold down a job long enough to give you roots or provide a good life for you. The lie was easier to believe than the truth, a truth I never wanted to share with you, but now I must because your survival is at stake.
What I’m about to tell you means life or death for you, Sterling.
Do you remember the stories I told you when you were a child? About a beautiful princess who rode bareback on a great black stallion through the luscious green forest and rolling hills of her family’s estate? An estate so grand and opulent that it rivaled the great palaces of Europe? Those stories weren’t fiction. They weren’t made up to lull you to sleep with your head full of dreams and whimsy. Those were stories from my own childhood.
I come from a family called Moretti, and we can trace our lineage back to The Crusades. Within our veins runs the blood of the Compagnia Bianca del Falco, known as The White Company. We are fantastically wealthy Italian mercenaries that yield great power and influence amongst Western Europe, and our family name is known within elite circles.
We are one of the five powerful families who control Italy. The other families are Lanza, Borgia, Sforza, and the Foscari.
Power, bloodlines, archaic alliances…that is all my family—and the other four families—care about. A feud had erupted between our family and the Foscari, but in our world, grievances can be mended if bloodlines are united…
For that reason, before I was even born, I was promised to a Foscari for a grand marriage that would unite two great Italian families, putting an end to past injustices. But when I was seventeen, I fell in love with a boy who was not my intended. Foolish, young, and drunk on first love, we married in secret beneath the stars. We plotted and planned how to flee, wishing to escape the bonds of our social classes. We chose love over family and obligation.
When the Foscari learned of my betrayal, they found and murdered my husband—your father—in cold blood. After the punishment was complete, the families still wished to join our bloodlines and even though I was no longer a virgin, the Foscari were willing to forge ahead with the marriage. Secrets can be kept