The villa appeared tranquil from the outside—but inside, every corner held the rumble of an unannounced history. The white marble floors reflected the shadow of a woman who, once a symbol of Italian political hope, had now become a symbol of free will: Alessandra Moretti. She was only 23, but her life had held a secret that could shake two nations.
Leo, her four-year-old son, was the child of a forbidden love. He was born without public recognition, but not without love. The little figure grew up between two worlds—in the shadow of Italy's sterile power and in the arms of his father, Dmitri Volkov, a cold-blooded Russian businessman who embraced danger like a habit. Dmitri had once been a symbol of Moscow's dark power, but for Leo, he was a safe haven, speaking in a low voice and eyes that could melt his mother's frost.
The Morettis froze the story. They made a deal, not a confession. Alessandra wasn't banished, but elegantly isolated: given her own villa, with a silent bodyguard, and a household staff that didn't ask questions. The world thought she was delving into the perfume business, but she was building a fortress of independence—and secretly ensuring that Leo knew his father.
Today, Dmitri Came
Behind the window, Alessandra, dressed in a navy satin dress, stood rigid as the sound of a black Maserati rumbled down the cobblestone street. Leo had known the signs. His hazel eyes shone. He ran outside.
“Papa!” she called out cheerfully.
Dmitri got out of the car, his black suit covered in summer dew. He bent down to greet Leo, embracing the little boy as if the world had no time. “You’ve grown up…” he whispered, kissing his son’s hair.
Alessandra stepped out, standing a few feet away. Her demeanor was cool, but her eyes were trembling.
“Thank you for not coming with armed guards,” she quipped.
Dmitri smiled faintly. “Today, I come as a father. It’s not Vladimir you’re afraid of, it’s not Moscow that’s oppressing. It’s just me.”
Leo took their hands. “Let’s all have dinner together today, okay?”
Alessandra was silent. Dmitri looked at her, pleading silently.
“If you could act like a human being, not a mafia shadow… yes,” he said quietly.
Night Dialogue—Three Shadows at the Dining Table
Candlelight flickered on the small dining table. Hot lasagna and rosemary bread were served, but the atmosphere was more than just a feast.
“Leo told me you told me about Russia and snow,” Alessandra said, cutting bread.
“He asked me why I like wearing dark colors,” Dmitri replied. “I said: because light hurts the eyes of people who live too long in the shadows.”
Leo chuckled. “Dad likes to talk like a movie.”
Alessandra looked at Dmitri. “You know? In fairy tales, men who talk like that are usually monsters.”
Dmitri leaned back. “Or maybe they just… have too much to lose.”
Leo took a slow bite of his bread, then said, “Dad, stay here. Mom likes you.”
Alessandra flinched, trying to avert her gaze toward the window.
“I don’t like him,” she whispered.
“But I know you’re sad when he leaves,” Leo replied innocently.
Dmitri held back a smile. “Our child has instincts like you.”
Epilogue Prologue — Shadows That Love
The night was growing late. Leo had fallen asleep, and Dmitri stood in the back garden, staring at the fog-covered Florence sky.
Alessandra approached. “You have to leave before morning.”
“I know. But if Leo asks why I didn’t stay, I want you to say… because the world wasn’t safe enough for our love.”
Alessandra stared at him for a long moment. “And if he asks why I kept waiting for you… I don’t know how to answer.”
Dmitri leaned in, gently touching her hair. “Maybe because you know… even monsters can love sincerely.”