Chapter 4 - Meeting the Father
Morning broke over Lake Como with brilliant spears of golden sunlight piercing the mist.
In the sunlit nursery of Villa Bellisario, Matteo sat cross-legged on a plush velvet rug, meticulously building a fortress out of wooden blocks. Beside him, Sofia was brushing the matted fur of her toy rabbit, her small eyes scanning the lavish room filled with gilded crown molding, priceless tapestries, and baskets of imported toys that had arrived via courier at four in the morning.
The door creaked open. Alessandro stood in the entryway.
He had showered and changed into a crisp charcoal-gray suit, his tie impeccably knotted, but the exhaustion of a sleepless night was etched into the fine lines around his eyes. In his hand, he carried a silver tray with two porcelain bowls of wild strawberries, fresh cream, and warm brioche.
The children froze.
Matteo immediately shifted his posture, placing himself slightly ahead of Sofia, his little jaw set in a stubborn line.
Alessandro watched the boy’s defensive reflex with an ache in his chest that no bullet wound had ever caused. He stepped into the room with deliberate slowness, setting the silver tray down on a low coffee table before sitting cross-legged on the floor, abandoning all mafia decorum.
“Strawberries,” Alessandro said gently in Italian. “Rosa told me children like them with sweet cream.”
Sofia sniffed the air, her eyes widening. “Are they from the garden?”
“From the greenhouse downstairs,” Alessandro replied, offering the little girl a soft, rare smile. “You can pick them yourself whenever you want.”
Sofia looked at her brother for permission. Matteo gave a tiny nod, and she scrambled over to the tray, dipping a fat red berry into the cream before popping it into her mouth. A blissful smile spread across her face.
“Matteo,” Alessandro said quietly. “You’re not hungry?”
“Why did you make my mom cry last night?” Matteo asked bluntly, ignoring the fruit. His gray eyes stared down the boss of Milan with total fearlessness.
Alessandro swallowed hard. “I didn't mean to make her cry. Your mother and I... we were separated by bad people a long time ago. Last night, I was angry at the time we lost. But I am not angry at her. And I will never make her cry again if I can help it.”
“Are you our father?” Matteo pressed, stepping closer, his arms crossed over his chest in an exact replica of Alessandro’s favorite stance. “The kids at the park said we didn't have one. They said our father was a ghost.”
A dark fury flickered in Alessandro’s veins at the thought of his children being mocked, but he kept his voice smooth and steady.
“I am not a ghost,” Alessandro said, reaching out a hand, palm up, waiting for the boy’s permission. “I am very real. And I am your father, Matteo. I didn't know you existed until last night. If I had known, nothing on this earth could have kept me from you.”
Matteo stared at the large, calloused hand. Slowly, the boy reached out and placed his tiny palm into Alessandro’s grasp.
Alessandro closed his fingers around his son’s hand with reverent tenderness. For five years, he had traded in death and cold authority, believing himself hollowed out inside. But the touch of this small boy’s hand felt like lightning striking dried timber, igniting a fierce, burning purpose that eclipsed everything he had ever built.
“Can you fix my sister’s heart?” Matteo asked suddenly, his tough exterior cracking just enough to reveal the frightened child underneath. “The doctors in Florence said it was broken.”
“I will move heaven and earth to fix it,” Alessandro swore, his voice thick with emotion. “I have already hired the best surgeons in Zurich and Boston. They are boarding private jets right now. Sofia is going to run, dance, and live a long, happy life. I swear it to you on my life.”
Sofia giggled, wiping cream from her upper lip. “I like him, Teo. He smells nice. Like wood and candy.”
A genuine laugh escaped Alessandro’s throat—a rich, deep sound that hadn't echoed in Villa Bellisario in half a decade.
Standing in the shadow of the doorway, Elena watched the scene unfold with tears burning the backs of her eyes. She had spent five years terrified of the day Alessandro would find them, convinced he would tear the children away and treat them like political pawns. But seeing the most ruthless man in Italy sitting on a carpet, letting a five-year-old interrogate him while eating strawberries, broke every defense she had built around her heart.
Alessandro looked up, sensing her presence immediately. Their eyes met across the sun-drenched room.
In his eyes, there was no longer the blind fury of the previous night. There was only raw hunger, fierce protectiveness, and a silent promise of redemption.
“Dr. Castiglione delivered the envelope,” Elena said softly, stepping into the room.
Alessandro stood, his hand resting gently on Matteo’s shoulder. “And?”
“99.98% match,” Elena whispered. “They are yours, Alessandro. Legally, biologically, undeniably.”
May you like
“They were mine the moment they were conceived, Elena,” Alessandro said, walking toward her until he stood just inches away. “And so were you. Now, get dressed in the black silk dress Rosa laid out for you. The council convenes in two hours. It’s time to show Milan who truly rules this city.”
***
