Return to the Origins

The Viewpoint of Alessandro

The scent of jasmine and polished wood greets me as soon as I step through the front door. A familiar fragrance, laden with memories. Everything is silent. Too silent.

I pause in the hallway, observing around me. Nothing has changed since I left. Every piece of furniture is in its place, every detail frozen in time. Yet, something seems different.

An emptiness.

As if the house itself has stopped breathing. I close the door behind me and move slowly, my footsteps echoing slightly on the icy marble. Where have the servants gone? Is there even anyone living here anymore? I set my suitcase down near the stairs and take a deep breath. This journey was inevitable. Since my father's death, everything has changed.

The mafia. His empire.

It all came crashing down on me overnight, ripping me away from this house, from my mother, from the life I could have led differently. But today...

Today, I allow myself a pause.

I slowly ascend the staircase, my gaze brushing over the walls adorned with paintings and photographs from another time. Then, in front of my mother's door, my heart tightens.

I hesitate for a moment before knocking gently.

— Come in, my son.

Her voice is weak, but still sweet. I press the handle and push the door open. She is there. Lying on her large bed, her fragile body, pale skin, emaciated by illness. I swallow a curse and close the door behind me, approaching slowly.

— Mama...

She smiles at me. A tired smile, but sincere. I sit on the edge of the bed, my gaze sweeping over her face. I knew my mother strong, imposing, a woman who ran this house with an iron fist. Today, only a shadow of herself remains.

— You are finally here, she whispers.

— I should have come back sooner.

She gently shakes her head.

— Don't say that. You had responsibilities. I am happy you are here now.

I clench my fists. Responsibilities... If she only knew what I had to do to preserve my father's legacy. The sleepless nights. The ruthless decisions. The blood on my hands. But here, in front of her, none of that exists.

I take her hand in mine, finding it cold, almost fragile beneath my fingers.

— You are so thin, Mama.

She laughs softly.

— It’s the illness, Alessandro. It is a part of me now.

Her voice is peaceful, but I see in her eyes that she knows. That she knows time is slipping away from her. Powerlessness gnaws at me.

— Do you have someone to take care of you?

— Yes, of course. A lovely young girl. Livia.

I frown.

— Livia?

— A maid. She looks after me every day. She is discreet, devoted.

A maid, then. I have never seen her. I imagine an elderly woman, worn out by work, like the old servants of the house.

— Where is she? I ask.

— She must be somewhere in the house.

I nod, but my gaze remains fixed on her.

— Mama... what if I stayed here? Just a little longer.

She squeezes my hand in hers, a tender smile on her lips.

— If that’s what you want, then stay.

I never wanted to leave. But this house is no longer mine. It hasn’t been for a long time. And yet, in this moment, as I sit beside her, a strange feeling washes over me. As if something is waiting for me here. Something I do not yet suspect.

I gently close the bedroom door behind me and take a deep breath. A subtle scent hangs in the air. A mix of lavender and fresh linen.

The shine of the polished furniture, the neatness of the perfectly stretched sheets... everything is impeccable.

— Wow... I murmur, impressed.

It’s been years since I set foot here, and yet this room has never seemed so welcoming. Someone has taken care of this place.

Livia.

I remember my mother’s words. A discreet and devoted maid. I take a few steps towards the bed, dragging my suitcase behind me, and that’s when I see her.

A shock. A suspended moment.

Lying on the carpet, peaceful and abandoned to sleep, a young woman.

Damn...

My fingers grip the handle of my suitcase as my gaze slowly glides over her. Her chest rises gently under her slow breathing, and her uniform, far too fitted, hugs every curve of her body.

A skirt too short. A blouse slightly unbuttoned, revealing golden, soft... tempting skin. Her breasts are visible, at least part of them.

Her bare legs stretch out on the carpet, one slightly bent, offering a glimpse of firm, smooth thighs that shine under the soft light of the room.

My breath catches. Her face... a perfect oval, full lips slightly parted in her sleep, like a silent invitation.

Her long eyelashes brush the tops of her cheekbones, and a strand of hair spills across her forehead, contrasting with the purity of her skin.

She looks fragile. She looks... damn desirable. A raw heat courses through my stomach.

Damn. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the strange tension that grips my throat. I hadn’t imagined her like this.

Not so... beautiful. My gaze settles on her chest, on those full curves that rise with each breath.

If only she knew. If only she knew what she inspires at this very moment. I run a hand over my face, trying to chase away the sudden adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

"Get a grip, Alessandro."

I should wake her.

I should tell her that she has no business being here, in my room, on my carpet, tempting me like this without even realizing it. But a part of me hesitates. Just one more second. One more second to observe this disturbing vision that awakens something dark... and dangerous within me.