Between Two Dynasties
Spring in Siena is never truly quiet, but this morning was different. The birds sang as if afraid to disturb something greater than the change of seasons. The Palazzo Bellavigna, standing majestically on the hill, seemed quieter than usual—as if sensing an invisible change. Not because of the change in weather, but because of a decision that was waiting to change the fate of two great families.
In one of the high-ceilinged rooms with a ceiling painted with Roman mythology, Alessandra sat pensive on the edge of her bed. A loose cream cotton dress wrapped around her changing body. Her belly was slightly swollen, enough to remind her that her time as a child had shifted to motherhood.
Her right hand touched a small picture frame: a portrait of herself and Dimitri on the balcony of the Mariinsky Theater. She smiled a little, longingly.
“Four months, piccolo mio,” she murmured to the fetus growing inside her. “And the world is still not ready to welcome you.”
Meanwhile, on the cobblestone street leading to the palazzo, a classic black car rolled slowly by. Inside, Dimitri Volkov sat silently. His face was stern, but his gaze held a shadow—not fear, but awareness. He knew that meeting Sandro Bellavigna was not like a regular diplomatic meeting. This was an inner battle, and the battlefield was not the parliament building but the living room.
Dimitri glanced in the rearview mirror, recalling his last conversation with his mother in Moscow.
“Why did it have to be the daughter of a conservative Italian politician, Dimitri?”
“She was the only one who made me want to give up all this.”
“And you thought love was enough?”
He didn’t answer then, and he still wasn’t sure today. But he did know: leaving Alessandra wasn’t an option.
In the main living room, decorated with marble statues and paintings of Bellavigna ancestors, Sandro sat in his old chair. Beside him, his personal secretary and two family advisers were expressionless. Alessandra stood at the side of the room, her eyes burning with anxiety.
Dimitri’s footsteps echoed as he entered the room. He bowed politely, but not too lowly. “Signore Bellavigna. Thank you for welcoming me.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Sandro replied stiffly. “What is your purpose here?”
“I want to take responsibility. The child in Alessandra’s womb is my blood. I have come to give it a proper name. And I… want to ask permission to marry her.”
Sandro chuckled, bitterly.
“You think love can erase the line of family history? Italy and Russia have never been on the same page. And now you come, bringing disgrace to my house and calling it responsibility?”
Alessandra stiffened, but Dimitri took a step forward.
“I come not with power, but with will. I know this is not an ideal story. But I love her. More than anything.”
Sandro stared at him for a long moment. “Are you willing to give up your possessions, your position, and stand as a man before my daughter?”
Dimitri paused. “If that is what it takes to protect them, then yes.”
Alessandra stepped forward, touching Dimitri’s arm. “Papa… I know you’re disappointed. But this isn’t about politics. This is about my life. I’m no longer a little girl you can direct.”
The atmosphere was tense, but there were no shouts. Only a silence that was louder than the conflict.
Sandro took a breath, then stood up. “If you want to prove your sincerity, you will stay in Siena. Leave Moscow. Leave the Volkov name. I want to see if you can love Alessandra as a man, not as an heiress.”
Dimitri looked at Alessandra. He smiled slightly.
“I will.”
A few hours later, the sky was starting to turn red. On the back balcony of the palazzo, Dimitri and Alessandra stood together. The wind blew through her long hair, and her hand held Dimitri’s tightly.
“Are you sure?” Alessandra asked.
“No,” Dimitri answered honestly. “But I have faith in you. That’s enough.”
He touched Alessandra’s belly, then looked deeply into her eyes. “No matter what happens, I will not leave.”