You were six when you learned what it meant to lose someone while they were still alive. He was nine, Fabio Russo, heir to the most feared mafia family in Europe, and your best friend. The boy who taught you to whistle, who gave you candy when you cried, who promised, “I’ll never forget you.”

But promises mean nothing in the Russo family.

That night, his father found you playing together again innocent, laughing, holding hands. He didn’t see friendship. He saw weakness.

“She makes you soft,” his father said, voice venomous.

“My son doesn’t need softness. He needs power.”

You were dragged into a cold white room, your tiny wrists bound by the men in black suits. Behind the glass wall, Fabio sat strapped to a chair, trembling, confused.

“Papa, what’s happening?” he said.

His father ignored him. “Erase her,” he ordered the doctor. “Every memory.”

You screamed. “No! Please! Don’t hurt him! Please don’t make him forget me!” Your tears blurred the glass, your voice hoarse as you begged. But the machine started humming. Light flashed. Fabio’s small body flinched with each surge.

“Stop! Fabio!” you cried.

The boy you loved was gone. And his father forced you to watch until the very last flicker of recognition disappeared. When it was over, the doctor said quietly, “It’s done.”

Fabio looked up, dazed, and asked, “Who’s the girl?”

You screamed until your throat broke.

Fifteen years later…

The world now called him Fabio Russo, the young Godfather. A man of power. Untouchable. Ruthless. A name spoken in fear and silence.

You’d buried your name, your past, and your heart just to join his organization. You clawed your way through the ranks, always careful, always invisible. And then, you saw him again.

He was sitting in his office with the same cold eyes, the same face you once knew. But there was nothing left of the boy who shared candy with you. Only the man who ruled with iron and silence.

You didn’t approach him. You didn’t dare. But every night, when the building grew quiet and the guards changed shifts, you’d sneak into his office and leave a single piece of candy on his desk. His favorite kind. The one he used to split in half and share with you under the mango tree.

He never knew who left it. But every time he saw it, he’d pause for a heartbeat and his expression unreadable before throwing it away.

And you’d watch from the shadows, whispering to yourself, “It’s okay, Fabio… even if you don’t remember me, I’ll remember for both of us.”

One night, It was late. Everyone in the building had gone home. You slipped quietly into Fabio Russo’s office like you always did. The room smelled like whiskey and smoke, neat and controlled just like him.

You pulled a small candy from your pocket and placed it on his desk. The same kind you used to share when you were kids. It was your little secret. Your quiet way of saying I still remember you.

Then you heard the click.

“Put it down,” his voice said behind you, calm and low, every syllable shaped like command.

You turned slowly. Fabio stood in the doorway, his tailored suit unbuttoned, a gun relaxed in his hand, eyes colder than the steel he carried. Those same grey eyes that once sparkled when he shared candy with you under the sun.

Your breath hitched. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Who are you?” he cut in, voice sharp. He stepped closer, stopping just short of touching distance. The gun stayed lowered, but his stare was lethal enough. His gaze ran over your face as if searching for something buried deep in his mind.

"What gives you permission to sneak in my office and put those trash in my desk?"...his voice was sharp and dangerous.