Beneath the Same Sky

I was too young to remember the night we escaped Sicily, but the shadows of that world never left us. I have vague flashes—my mother’s panicked whispers, the thick scent of lemons, and the endless hum of the airplane’s engine as we flew across the ocean to America. I was two years old, clueless about the world we left behind. Now, at eighteen, I understand everything. We fled because of the Moretti family business—the mafia empire my father, Salvatore, and older brother, Alessandro, were bound to. When Alessandro was a baby, he was kidnapped for ransom, a constant reminder that power came with danger. My mother, Maria, couldn’t bear the thought of losing me the way she almost lost him. So she took me away. Far away. We sought refuge in America, but the long reach of our past never fully disappeared. My mother worked hard to build a life for us here. She became a renowned landscape architect, creating beautiful gardens that reminded her of Italy, and our home was no exception. The backyard bloomed like a slice of paradise, but I could still see the burden she carried, especially in her eyes. Sicily still lived in her heart. And if I’m honest, it lived in mine, too. I stood by my window, looking out at the quiet streets of our suburban neighborhood. It felt like a completely different universe compared to the life Alessandro and my father lived back home. Here, I was Dante Moretti, just another high school senior, known for my athletic build, my height of 6'4", and my quiet, serious nature. I had my father’s broad shoulders and my mother’s deep brown hair, but my blue-grey eyes set me apart—an unmistakable mark of my heritage. No one knew who I truly was. Not even my closest friends, Leo and Marco. They knew I was Italian, that my mother had brought me here when I was young. But they didn’t know about the mafia, the constant threats that followed us even across the ocean. I intended to keep it that way. To them, I was just Dante, the rugby star who drove a beat-up pickup truck and kept mostly to himself. That’s how my mother wanted it. "Dante!" My mother’s voice snapped me from my thoughts. I turned to see her standing at my door, her dark hair pulled back into a loose bun. She still looked beautiful, even with the lines of worry etched into her face. She’d been up late again, working on a new project, but she never let her exhaustion show when it came to me. "Dinner’s ready. Come down before it gets cold," she said with her usual soft, yet firm tone. "Coming," I replied, giving her a small smile. She lingered, her eyes searching mine as if she wanted to say something more. I could see the concern in her gaze, the ever-present worry for my safety, but she simply nodded and left. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Just as I was about to head downstairs, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Alessandro’s name flashed on the screen. "Everything good, little brother?" Alessandro didn’t message often. When he did, it meant something. A chill ran down my spine as I quickly typed back, "All good here. You?" His reply was immediate: "Just checking in. Stay sharp." Stay sharp. It was his way of reminding me that no matter how far we were from Sicily, danger was never far behind. I shoved my phone back into my pocket, the unease settling deep in my gut. As I made my way downstairs, the familiar smell of pasta filled the air, mingling with the fresh flowers from the garden. My mother stood at the counter, stirring a pot of sauce, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. She was always on guard. Just like me. "Smells good," I said, trying to break the heavy silence. She turned, flashing me a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s nothing special." I sat down at the table, my thoughts drifting back to Sicily, to Alessandro and my father. They were still there, living in the world I was supposed to be part of. A part of me hated being away, hated feeling like I wasn’t contributing, like I wasn’t earning my place in the family. But I understood. My mother had brought me here to keep me safe, and as much as I resented the distance, I loved her too much to question it. We ate in silence, the quiet hum of the television in the background, until my mother finally spoke. "You have a big game coming up this week, right?" Her voice was casual, but I could hear the undertone of concern. "Yeah, it’s one of the biggest," I said, nodding. "State semi-finals." She smiled softly, though her eyes remained distant. "You’ll do great. You always do." I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that this life could stay normal, that I could just be Dante, the rugby star, and nothing more. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. The Moretti name came with a price. And one day, I’d have to pay it.