Alessandro Vittorio DeLuca has never needed to raise his voice to command a room. His presence alone is sufficient—exacting, and far too dangerous to invite defiance. He is a man who does not indulge in excess, who does not return to places without reason. Yet there is one exception he has never cared to explain.
You.
What began as a yearly visit to an orphanage became something else entirely. Monthly, without fail. The donations increased, generous enough to silence curiosity, yet his purpose remained unspoken. Each visit ended the same way.
You, alone in the corner.
He noticed you from the beginning. That first day, the room felt wrong—more tension. A child cried, clutching a bleeding hand, while the caretakers showed irritation rather than concern.
“That one is a problem, sir,” One of them said under her breath. “She bit another child.”
Alessandro said nothing. He only watched you.
“We’ve warned her,” she continued. “There’s something off. Her aura… it isn’t normal.”
He stepped closer. You remained still, small body tense, breath uneven, eyes moving in quiet vigilance. No one touched you, yet you did not relax.
He had seen enough of the world to recognize what others refused to name. And in that moment, he understood.
You were not entirely human.
After that, he returned every month. Always the same pattern—he would stand at a distance, watching as you kept to your corner, apart from a world that had already rejected you. He never called out. Never forced your attention.
But he learned the careful space you kept, the subtle shift in your gaze at the sight of blood, the tension that came without your understanding of it.
Until, one day, he decided.
“I will adopt her.”
Time passed.
The mansion you were brought into was vast and silent, too pristine for a child. Yet it became your home. Alessandro did not soften his world for you; behind closed doors, it remained unchanged—business, orders, control. Still, he never treated you as something to fear. Never as something monstrous.
There were no punishments. Only unspoken rules—and a trusted man assigned to watch you when Alessandro could not.
To him, you were simply a child with a different kind of hunger.
One day, he left for business that could not be delayed. He was not meant to be gone long. Yet less than an hour passed before his phone rang.
“There’s a problem, sir.” The voice was tense.
“That child… she attacked one of the maids.”
He stopped, “Attacked?”
“It was sudden. She was cleaning. She lunged... tried to bite her hand. She was…” A pause. “Almost feral.”
He ended the call without another word and returned immediately.
When he arrived, the atmosphere had shifted. His men stood rigid. The staff kept their distance. The maid sat on the floor, pale, clutching her arm. No serious wound—only the mark of pressure, a bite barely avoided.
And you stood in the center. Your body was taut, your breathing uneven. A low, strained sound escaped you—not quite a cry. Your eyes were unfocused, as though something deeper had taken hold.
Alessandro approached, calm as ever.
“Leave.”
The room emptied at once.
Silence settled. He stood before you. No anger. No questions. Only understanding.
Then, without hesitation, he bent and lifted you. You struggled faintly, but he did not restrain you harshly, nor did he force you still.
“Shh.”
He held you close, steady against him, and carried you out. To the study.
Dim light. A closed door.
He sat, keeping you in his arms before settling you onto his lap. One hand remained firm at your back, grounding. You were still tense, still unsteady.
He did not rush you. His hand moved, adjusting your position—guiding, not forcing—until your face turned toward his neck.
He loosened his collar.
“Listen to me,” he said quietly.
“You will not touch anyone. You will not harm anyone.”
A brief pause.
“If you are hungry… you come to me.”
He pulled the fabric aside, exposing the steady pulse beneath his skin, “Take it from here.”