Chapter Nine: The Weight Of Unsaid Words

Leonardo's POV 

Father doesn't send for me especially in the mornings without valid and genuine reasons. This morning was no exception, I adjusted my cufflinks, already thinking of the meetings waiting for me at the office, but this came first. Always. When my father called, business had to wait.

The Moretti mansion loomed ahead like a fortress carved out of stone and legacy. Guards in tailored suits lingered at the gates, eyes sharp and shoulders squared, watching every car that passed through. As I pulled up the long drive, the weight of some memories pressed down on me, a reminder that this house, whether I want or not, had never truly been a home but a throne room, every decision made within these walls had consequences that rippled through the city.

I stepped out of the car, my shoes crunching against the gravel, and nodded at the men stationed outside the grand doors. Inside, the air was cool, scented faintly of the usual cigar smoke father takes and polished wood. The chandelier above glittered like a cage of diamonds. My father was already waiting in the study. That was his way, always early, always ready, one of the reasons I had adored and looked up to him.

“Leonardo,” Roberto greeted, his voice smooth but heavy with expectation. He gestured for me to sit across from him at the mahogany desk. Papers and a glass of bourbon sat neatly beside his hand.

I lowered into the chair, steady and composed. “You called for me.”

He leaned back, studying me as though measuring my worth. “The Ricci hotel. With Carlos dead, the sharks are circling. Everyone wants it, but we have been using that hotel for years now and I haven't seen any easier access route than that hotel, it is only right it falls on our hands.”

Of course, Ricci’s death had left a hole in more than just the underworld’s hierarchy. His hotel had been a passage, a gilded gateway for things the law could never touch, imported arms, discreet exports, money laundered through luxury suites and champagne-soaked ledgers. Whoever owned that hotel wouldn’t just own property. They would own power.

I steepled my fingers. “The Ricci family won’t hand it over easily, it's the only thing holding his whole family together, they’ll want leverage.”

“That’s where you come in.” My father’s tone sharpened, his eyes narrowing like a predator's own “You’ll attend the negotiations, charm them, press them, do what you must. Make them understand this is not optional, the hotel becomes Moretti’s property, or the Ricci’s vanish with it.”

The cold finality in his words didn’t surprise me. Roberto Moretti never asked. He took.

“And the authorities?” I asked carefully. “Ricci’s death was messy. Too many eyes are on the hotel right now.”

A smile curved his mouth, thin and cruel. “Eyes can be closed… if paid well enough. We’ve done it before, we’ll do it again, what matters is control. That hotel will ensure our passage remains untouched, our money clean, our influence unquestioned.”

I nodded slowly, already calculating the angles, the players involved, and the possible betrayals. Business was business, but in this world, blood was the ink we signed with.

My father poured himself another drink, his gaze hardening. “Do not fail me, Leonardo. This deal will shape the next decade for us. Secure it, no matter the cost.”

I met his stare without flinching, though a part of me always bristled at the command in his voice. “Consider it done.”

He swirled the bourbon in his glass, eyes narrowing with deliberate calm. “And the investigation into Ricci’s death? How far along are we?”

I held his gaze, solid, with no emotions. The image of the forensic report flashed in my mind, the strand of cat hair, the faint but undeniable trail left behind in that hotel room. My gut twisted. I’d hoped, prayed, it wouldn’t point toward her, to that woman from my nightmares, that familiar face in my office as my secretary, but I couldn’t bring that here, not to him.

“We’re moving on it,” I said smoothly, leaning back in my chair, tone sharp and clipped. “The forensics are being cross-checked, and my people are combing through the surveillance footage. Answers will come soon.”

He studied me for a long moment, as though trying to dig deeper than the words I allowed him. Then, with a short nod, he accepted it, turning back to his drink.

“See that it does. Loose ends are dangerous, the last thing we want right now are tardy works that would cause inconvenience later on”

“I know,” I replied, voice calm even as my thoughts churned.

And I did know. I just wasn’t ready to face the possibility of what those answers might reveal.

The meeting with my father ended on the usual clipped note, and I rose from the chair, the echo of his last words following me down the long marble hallway, ‘Loose ends are dangerous.’

I pulled my phone from my pocket, scrolling through pending emails, already shifting my mind to the office, when the front doors of the mansion opened.

And there she was. Mother. 

At least, the woman I’ve called mother all these years.

She rarely came back to the mansion this early in the morning, most times, she spent her nights at one of the family’s estates or buried in her endless charity functions. So seeing her step inside, dressed immaculately in a tailored cream coat and heels, caught me off guard.

“Leonardo,” she said, her voice carrying that soft, measured tone I’d long since learned to read as politeness rather than warmth.

“Mother.” I inclined my head. “You’re back early.”

She gave that faint smile that never reached her eyes. “The board meeting was cancelled, It seemed foolish to linger downtown.”

We moved toward the lounge, her heels clicking against the floor, and sat opposite each other. For a moment, silence stretched between us, filled only by the faint ticking of the clock in the corner.

“How are things at the company?” she asked, folding one leg over the other.

“Progressing,” I said evenly. “We’re restructuring some divisions. It’ll stabilize profits for the next quarter.”

She nodded, her expression… well always unreadable “Good. Your father relies on you.”

There it was, the subtle reminder, father's shadow always lingered in her words, whether she realized it or not. I gave a small shrug. “He makes it clear enough.”

Her gaze softened for a fraction of a second, but just as quickly, it disappeared. I've always adored her but since the day I lost my memory, whatever fragile bond we’d shared had fractured, not broken into pieces that could be glued back, no, it had splintered into something sharp, something that could cut if handled carelessly. 

I remembered being twelve, on the hospital bed with nothing in my memory but the face of my father and my mother telling me I was adopted and I was in an accident, hearing that, the weight of it had shifted everything and since then i dont know why I haven't remembered anything before the accident. I had never asked her why they chose to tell me then, or why it had been delivered with such cold precision, no warmth or pity or compassion at least. But from that day forward, she’d become more of a stranger in my life than a mother. Both of them actually, but I still have more conversations with father.

“You look tired,” she said softly now, studying me.

“I’ve had worse weeks,” I answered with a faint smirk, rising from my seat. “But I should be heading to the office.”

She stood as well, smoothing the sleeve of her coat. “Take care of yourself, Leonardo.”

I nodded, offering the faintest smile. “You too, ma.”

We didn’t embrace, didn’t linger with words unsaid. Instead, she turned toward the staircase, and I made my way to the front doors.

The crisp morning air hit me as I stepped outside. My driver was already waiting, the door open. Sliding into the car, I shut the mansion behind me with a silent thought, family is everything, I would kill for them and the Moretti name but some bonds never heal, no matter how much time passes.

And for us, maybe they never would.