Stubborn son

Alessia’s POV

The murmur of voices drifted faintly down the hallway, threading its way through the heavy silence of the house. I had been pouring myself a glass of wine in the sitting room, but the sound made me pause. Vicenzo’s tone was distinct—deep, controlled, carrying that casual arrogance that came so naturally to him. Yet there was another voice, one that stirred something sharper inside me.

I moved quietly, my heels clicking against the marble with deliberate precision. As I drew closer to the study, the voices grew clearer. And then, as if fate itself had turned the knife deeper, I recognized it.

David.

My eldest. The son who had turned his back on me, on this family, on everything that bound us together. The son who thought himself above the dirt that fed us, above the blood that kept us alive. My lips pressed into a thin line as an old ache, half-buried beneath years of bitterness, surfaced.

I opened the door.

There he was. My long-lost boy. Not bent to my will the way Vicenzo always had. Not obedient, not pliable. Stubborn, defiant, and cold. My gaze cut into him, searching his face for something familiar, something soft I could cling to—but all I found was a reflection of my own steel, and I hated him for it.

“David.” My voice was stern, clipped, the way it always had been with him. No warmth. No softness. “What are you doing here?”

He turned at the sound of my voice, and for a moment, there was that spark in his eyes—something almost boyish. Something that reminded me of when he used to run through these halls as a child, laughing without care.

“Long time, Mama,” he said, his lips curling into something that might have been a smile. “You look… the same.”

I didn’t return the sentiment. My arms folded over my chest, my spine straight as stone. “I asked what you are doing here.”

He gave a faint chuckle, low and bitter, as if he had expected nothing else from me. “I’m home. Vicenzo already knows I came back. Besides,” his eyes shifted past me, toward the familiar walls of the house he once called his, “I just wanted to see… home.”

Home. The word grated against me. He had abandoned it. Abandoned me. He had no right to call it that anymore.

I stepped further into the room, the tension coiling around us like a snake. “You left because you didn’t want to be a part of this family’s business,” I said flatly. “And now you return as if nothing has happened? Do you think it works that way?”

His jaw tightened. “Mama, I didn’t come here to argue. I came because…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “Because part of me missed this place. Missed you.”

I felt a flicker in my chest, but I crushed it before it could grow. He was lying. Or maybe he believed his own lie. Either way, it didn’t matter. My sternness was my shield, and I would not let him break it.

“You missed me?” I scoffed. “You left without looking back. You left your brother to carry the weight alone. Tell me, David, is this what missing me looks like? Absence? Silence? Betrayal?”

His face darkened, guilt flashing across it. “I left because I didn’t want this life. Because I couldn’t stomach the blood on our hands. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

I let out a bitter laugh, sharp as glass. “Care about me? Do you even know what caring looks like? Caring would have been staying. Helping. Standing by your family instead of judging us from afar.”

For a long moment, the room was silent. I could feel Vicenzo watching, though he remained quiet, his eyes flicking between us with that calculating sharpness he always carried.

David took a step closer, his gaze steady on mine. “I’m not like Vicenzo,” he said quietly. “I’ll never be. And maybe that’s why you hate me.”

The words struck like a knife, because he wasn’t wrong. I did hate him—for his resistance, for his independence, for the way he reminded me of the freedom I had never allowed myself. And most of all, for the way he would never bend to me as Vicenzo did.

I swallowed the rising heat in my chest and straightened even taller. “Hate is a strong word. Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t waste such emotions on you.”

But deep down, I knew he had touched the truth.

He gave a small, sad smile, as if he could read me, as if he had always known. “Well, then. I’ll take my leave. I’m tired from the trip.”

He turned, walking past me with that same casualness that infuriated me. That same defiance. That same reminder that he was not mine to control.

As he passed, I couldn’t help the thought that sliced through me like lightning—what would he do if he ever found out? If he ever learned of my scandal… the secret that tied me far too closely to Vicenzo. My son. His brother.

Would David look at me with disgust? With hatred deeper than my own for him?

“David,” I said suddenly, my voice sharper than I intended. He paused at the doorway, glancing back at me.

“Yes, Mama?”

I hesitated, my words caught between my teeth. I wanted to lash out, to push him away again, to remind him that he didn’t belong here. But instead, I simply narrowed my eyes. “Don’t bring trouble to this house. If you’ve come back, know that things are not the same as when you left. Understand?”

His gaze lingered on me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Understood.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving me alone with the silence.

I pressed my fingers against the stem of the glass in my hand, gripping it so tightly I feared it might shatter.

He was back. My disobedient son. My mirror of defiance.

And with him back in this house… I feared my carefully buried secrets might not stay buried for long.