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CHAPTER 2
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2026-05-04 16:57:40The sun was shining brightly through the tall windows of the Moretti mansion, but the light brought no warmth to Elian. He woke up slowly, his body feeling heavy and sore. Every movement reminded him of the night before of Julian’s heavy weight, the coldness in his eyes, and the way he had left Elian alone in the dark to go to another person's bed.
Elian sat up, pulling the expensive silk sheets around his bare chest. The room was huge, filled with gold and velvet, but it felt like a prison cell. He looked at the door, half expecting Julian to walk in with an apology, but deep down, he knew that wouldn't happen. The boy who had smiled at him in the dirt ten years ago was dead. There was a knock on the door. It wasn't Julian. A young maid walked in, keeping her eyes on the floor. She was carrying a tray with a glass of water and some plain bread. "The Don says you are to stay in this wing," she said softly. "You are not allowed in the main garden or the dining room while Miss Valentina is here." Elian felt a sting in his heart. "While Valentina is here?" "She is staying in the East Wing," the maid whispered, looking nervous. "The Don spent the night there. He says she needs comfort after the... the wedding incident." Elian took the tray with shaking hands. "Thank you." After the maid left, Elian walked to the window. From this height, he could see the beautiful gardens below. His heart stopped when he saw two figures walking near the fountain. It was Julian and Valentina. Julian looked different out there. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket, and he looked relaxed. He was holding Valentina’s hand, leaning in to say something that made her laugh. He touched her cheek with the same hand that had pinned Elian’s wrists down just hours ago. Elian leaned his forehead against the cold glass. It hurt to breathe. He had saved Julian’s life because he believed Julian was a good person. He had spent ten years wondering if Julian was okay, only to find out that Julian hated him more than anyone in the world. He spent the rest of the day in silence. He tried to read some of the books on the shelf, but he couldn't focus. His stomach felt strange a dull, fluttering sensation he had never felt before. He thought it was just the stress or the leftover medicine from his allergy attack. Evening came, and Julian finally appeared. He didn't knock. He walked in, smelling of the outdoors and Valentina’s perfume. "You look pathetic," Julian said, standing at the door with his arms crossed. "Why am I here, Julian?" Elian asked, his voice stronger than before. "If you hate looking at me, if you love her so much, why keep me here? My father is gone. You’ve had your revenge." Julian walked over to him, his shadow falling over Elian. He grabbed a lock of Elian’s dark hair and pulled it back, forcing Elian to look up. "Because your father is still alive in the wind, Elian. He is hiding. And as long as I have you, I have a leash on him. Plus..." Julian leaned down, his eyes scanning Elian’s face. "I found out I quite enjoy the way you cry. It makes me feel powerful." "You're a monster," Elian whispered. "I am what your family made me," Julian replied. He let go of Elian’s hair and turned to the door. "Tonight, I’m taking Valentina to the opera. You will stay here. If you try to leave this room, the guards have orders to break your legs. Do you understand?" "Yes," Elian said, looking at the floor.
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The rhythmic, sterile beep of the heart monitor was the only sound that broke the oppressive silence of Private Suite 402. Outside the panoramic window, the city skyline was a blur of gray rain and concrete, but inside, the world had shrunk to the stark white bed and the pale, unmoving man resting upon it.Elian looked fragile, almost translucent against the bleached cotton sheets. The bruising from his brutal fall at the manor had bloomed into deep shades of purple and indigo against his ghostly skin, and the harsh hospital lights caught the faint glints of frostbite healing along the tips of his fingers. He was hooked up to a labyrinth of clear plastic tubing, a ventilator rising and falling with a mechanical, rhythmic hiss that artificially kept his lungs expanding.He was in a deep, unresponsive coma.The emergency cesarean section had been a chaotic, terrifying success. The surgeons had managed to deliver a tiny, fragile boy pale but fighting at exactly thirty-two weeks. But the
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Eight hours.For eight hours, the temperature had slowly bled the life from Elian’s extremities. In the pitch-black silence of the freezer, time had ceased to exist. He had moved past the stage of shivering; now, his body was eerily still, his heartbeat a sluggish, fading rhythm.He was slumped against the far wall, his skin a translucent, ghostly blue. He had stripped off his own thin jacket to wrap it around his middle, a final, desperate attempt to insulate the small bump that was the only warm thing left in the room.Another contraction rippled through him weak, stalled by the hypothermia, but agonizing. Elian didn't scream this time. He didn't have the breath. He just stared at the sliver of frost on the door, his eyes glazed.“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the dark, his voice nothing more than a puff of white vapor. “I tried to keep you warm.”The heavy iron bolt on the outside of the door didn't just slide; it was thrown back with such violence it sparked against the metal.The
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The shadows of the hallway offered no sanctuary. As Elian turned to flee, his foot caught on the edge of a runner, and the heavy thud of his stumble alerted them."Elian?" Marco’s voice was a low, predatory growl.Panic surged through Elian’s veins, providing a brief, flickering burst of adrenaline that ignored his swollen joints. He scrambled toward the stairs, but he was eight months pregnant and exhausted; he didn't stand a chance. Marco’s hand clamped onto his shoulder like a vice, spinning him around."You should really learn to stop eavesdropping," Marco hissed, his fingers digging into Elian’s bruised skin. Valentina caught up, her face twisted in a mask of pure malice. They began to struggle, Marco trying to force Elian back into the dark corner of the library to silence him.Then, the heavy front doors swung open.Julian stepped into the foyer, his coat dusted with the night’s mist, his eyes tired. He froze at the sight of the scuffle.In an instant, Valentina’s face transfor
The Mafia’s Revenge And The Baby He Rejected Chapter 15
As the weeks bled into the start of the eighth month, the atmosphere in the manor shifted from cold to predatory. Elian’s body was a heavy, aching burden. His gait was a slow shuffle, his ankles swollen to the point of pain, yet the chores never ceased. He was a walking contradiction: a man carrying the billionaire’s heir, treated like the dirt beneath the billionaire’s boots.Valentina was now "confined to bed rest," a tactical move to keep Julian tethered to her side. She spent her days in the master suite, ringing a silver bell every time she wanted Elian to bring her tea, extra pillows, or the latest fashion magazines."You look terrible, Elian," she remarked one afternoon, watching him struggle to set a heavy tray on her bedside table. "So pale. So strained. It’s almost as if your body knows it’s carrying a lie."Elian didn't look up. He focused on the tea service, his breath coming in shallow hitches. "The baby is strong, Valentina. That’s all that matters.""Strong?" She leaned
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The seventh month arrived with a heatwave that made the air in the manor thick and suffocating. For Elian, it felt as though the very walls were closing in, tightening around him like the seams of his worn servant’s clothes. His body was reaching its limit. The sharp kicks from within were more frequent now, a constant, rhythmic drumming against his ribs that served as both a comfort and a terrifying reminder: time was bleeding away.Julian had stopped speaking to him entirely. It wasn't just the coldness of a stranger anymore; it was the erasure of a ghost. When Julian walked through a room Elian was cleaning, he would step around him without a glance, as if Elian were merely a piece of furniture that had been misplaced.The psychological toll was worse than the labor. Elian would spend his nights huddled on the thin mattress in his room, clutching his stomach and whispering to the child Julian refused to acknowledge. "He'll see," Elian would murmur, his voice cracking in the dark. "
The Mafia’s Revenge And The Baby He Rejected Chapter 13
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