THE GODFATHER'S RUNAWAY SURROGATE

Alessandra's POV

The heavy mahogany doors of the Rossi mansion didn’t just keep the cold Manila night out; they locked me into a beautiful, agonizing prison of my own making.

Three years.

For three long years, my arms had felt entirely empty. Every single night, I woke up drenched in sweat, my chest aching with a phantom weight. I could still hear the echo of my newborn baby’s first cry being wheeled away from me the second he was born. I remembered the cold, clinical voice of the doctor: "The transaction is complete, Miss Santos. The Don’s heir is no longer your concern."

But a mother's heart wasn't a contract. You couldn't just sign it away, void it, or pretend it never existed.

Now, dressed in the drab, oversized gray uniform of a low-tier housemaid, I gripped the microfiber cloth and polished the marble counter of the mansion's vast kitchen. My fingers were trembling. It wasn't from the cold, but from the lingering sensation of the tiny, soft hand I had briefly held earlier that afternoon.

Leo.

My son. He had his father's striking, pitch-black hair and sharp jawline, but when he laughed, I saw my own eyes reflecting back at his tiny face. To the rest of the world, Leo was the crown prince of the most feared syndicate in the country. To me, he was just my baby. The boy I carried under my heart for nine beautiful, terrifying months.

I wiped down the counter again, my movements mechanical. I had to keep my head down. If anyone in this house—especially the head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable—suspected why I was really here, I’d be thrown out. Or worse. You didn't lie to the Rossi family and live to tell the tale.

A sudden, heavy step echoed from the grand hallway, shattering the silence of the midnight mansion.

My breath hitched. I knew that step. It was slow, deliberate, and carried the weight of absolute authority.

I scrambled to gather my cleaning supplies, desperately wanting to retreat into the shadows of the pantry. But before I could even take two steps, a tall, imposing silhouette blocked the doorway.

Don Vincenzo Rossi.

He looked like he had just returned from a long syndicate meeting. His charcoal suit jacket was slung carelessly over his shoulder, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the sharp column of his throat. He smelled of rain, expensive cedarwood, and that faint, metallic trace of danger that always seemed to cling to him.

In the dim light of the single under-cabinet bulb, Vincenzo’s piercing gray eyes locked onto me. I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs so loudly I was terrified he might actually hear it.

"Who allowed you in here at this hour?" Vincenzo’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the quiet room.

I quickly bowed my head, keeping my eyes glued to his polished leather shoes. "I—I was just finishing up the deep cleaning, signore. I apologize. I will leave at once."

I made a move to brush past him, keeping my body as small as possible to avoid any contact. But as I drew near, Vincenzo didn't step aside. Instead, his massive frame seemed to block the entire exit, trapping me between his heat and the cold edge of the marble counter.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a brief second, trying to steady my racing pulse before forcing myself to look up. I had dyed my hair a dull brown, wore no makeup, and wore thick-rimmed glasses to distort my features. But standing this close to him, under that intense, unblinking stare, I felt completely stripped bare.

Vincenzo’s gaze scanned my face, lingering on my lips. There was a dark, unreadable storm brewing in his gray eyes. For a terrifying second, I wondered if he recognized me. He was the man who had bought my womb, the man who had watched me from the shadows of the delivery room while I screamed in pain.

He took a step closer, his scent completely engulfing my senses. He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near my face. His thumb gently brushed against a stray lock of hair that had escaped my hairnet, tucking it behind my ear.

The touch was so surprisingly gentle it made my breath catch. His thumb lingered near my temple, his skin warm against mine.

"You smell like vanilla," Vincenzo murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent a sudden shiver down my spine. "Like... home."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with a mixture of fear and a sudden, dangerous longing. I am home, Vincenzo. With you. With our son. But the words stayed trapped in my throat. If he found out I was the surrogate mother who had dared to infiltrate his home, he would destroy me and take Leo where I could never find him.

"I... I must go, signore," I whispered, my voice cracking slightly.

Vincenzo stared at my lips for a long, agonizing beat, his chest rising and falling in a slow, heavy rhythm. The tension in the kitchen was suffocating, thick with an unspoken energy that neither of us should be feeling. Just when I thought he was going to lean in, Vincenzo abruptly pulled his hand back, his expression hardening back into a cold, emotionless mask.

"Go," he commanded coldly, turning his back to me. "And do not let me catch you wandering the halls at night again."

I didn't wait for him to change his mind. I gathered my cleaning rags, clutched them to my chest, and practically ran out of the kitchen, my heart beating a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I hurried down the dark servant’s corridor, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped my supplies. I made it back to my tiny, cramped room in the servants' quarters, locking the door behind me and leaning against it to catch my breath.

Outside my window, the rain began to pour, heavy drops pattering against the glass. I walked over to the small dresser, picking up a tiny, worn-out baby mitten I had managed to keep from the hospital three years ago. I held it tightly to my chest.

I had survived my first real encounter with Vincenzo, but the look in his eyes haunted me. He was suspicious, and he was dangerous. But as I looked out into the dark courtyard toward the main wing where my son was sleeping, I knew I couldn't run.

Tomorrow, I would have to find a way to get closer to Leo, no matter the risk.