Three days after the hospital told me my newborn son was dead, I gathered my family to name my younger brother heir to everything I owned

One month later, the final remnants of the old conflict were officially laid to rest.

A formal memorial service was held at the historic St. Jude’s Cathedral in the center of the city. It was not a service of grief, but one of honor and closure. A proper burial was given to the real Valentina Vance, whose remains had been brought back from Switzerland and laid to rest in the Vance family mausoleum with full honors.

The cathedral was filled with hundreds of guests—prominent business leaders, community representatives, and all the captains of the Moretti syndicate.

I stood at the pulpit, wearing a tailored charcoal suit, looking out at the crowd. Standing in the front row was Clara Vance, holding hands with Sophia, with Maria sitting beside them. In Marco’s arms sat little Leo, dressed in a tiny white suit, looking around the grand cathedral with wide, curious eyes.

"We often believe that power is measured by the size of an empire, the strength of an army, or the wealth in our vaults," I said, my voice echoing clearly off the high marble arches. "But true power is measured by our capacity to protect the innocent, to honor the truth, and to rebuild what evil seeks to destroy. Today, we close a chapter of darkness, and we step into the light of a new legacy."

After the service, as the guests gathered on the sunny courtyard outside the cathedral, Captain Biagio approached me, raising a glass of sparkling water in a toast.

"A masterclass in leadership, Don Alessandro," Biagio said warmly. "The city is quiet. The shipping routes are booming. The Bratva has completely withdrawn from the territory. And the family has never been more united."

"It was never about victory, Biagio," I replied, shaking his hand. "It was about restoration."

"And what of Matteo?" Biagio asked quietly. "Any word from his exile?"

I looked out toward the distant skyline. "My informants report he was spotted working as a manual laborer in a remote logging camp up north. No money, no power, no allies. He lives every day knowing what he threw away."

"A fitting punishment," Biagio nodded. "He is dead to the world, while your son is alive to inherit it."

As Biagio walked away to join the other captains, Clara came up beside me, holding Leo in her arms.

"He’s getting heavy, Alessandro," she laughed gently, handing the baby over to me.

I held Leo close to my chest, feeling his warm breath against my neck. He looked up at me and let out a bright, joyful chuckle, his tiny hands reaching up to touch my collar.