The Ruthless Mafia King

Alessandro stood just inside the doorway, watching her with an expression she rarely saw from him.

Unmasked. Unsure.

Emilia held the letter to her chest like it was armor and a wound all at once.

"You knew him," she said quietly.

"Yes."

"You hated him."

"I did."

"But he trusted you," she added. "He told me… in this letter… that if you spared me, it meant I mattered to you."

Alessandro exhaled, his voice low. "He was right."

Emilia stepped forward, slowly, carefully. "Then tell me. Right now. No more silence. No more strategy. No more hiding."

He met her eyes, and something in him cracked — not broken, but exposed.

"I don't know how to love gently," he admitted. "Not in this world. Not in mine. But I know that I've risked everything to keep you safe. And I'd burn every alliance, kill every name… even my own, if it meant protecting you."

Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't cry.

Not this time.

Instead, she reached for his hand and pressed the letter into his palm.

"He said I'm not my blood," she whispered. "I want to believe that."

Alessandro nodded. "You should."

"Then I need to believe the same about you."

He didn't speak — he just pulled her in, resting his forehead against hers.

They stood like that, two people who had survived legacy, betrayal, fear… and found something fragile between the cracks.

"Let them come," she said.

Alessandro smiled — dark, dangerous, real. "Let them try."

Because now, they weren't hiding anymore.

They were building something new.

Together.