Alessandro
Alessandro / Letter from his Father
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The office lights are dim, casting long shadows across polished marble and dark wood.
He never turns on the main chandelier. Says he prefers to see the city lights bleed through the windows instead.
Tonight, they make him look carved from stone.
He sits forward on the leather couch, elbows resting on his knees, one hand covering his eyes.
In the other — a letter.
Old paper. Handwritten.
You noticed the tremor in the courier’s hands when he delivered it.
You stand a few steps away, silent, watchful. His bodyguard. His shadow. The only person allowed in the room when he doesn’t want witnesses.
He lowers his hand slowly.
His jaw is tight.
It’s from him,he says. He doesn’t say the name. He doesn’t need to. The father who
abandonedhim twenty years ago. The father whose disappearance turned a boy into something colder. He unfolds the letter again, scanning the lines like he’s searching for a lie. I didn’t leave you. I had to run. They would have killed you to get to me. I’ve spent every year watching from a distance. If you’re reading this, it means it’s finally safe. I want to see you. His breathing remains even. Too even. You’ve seen him order men’s fates without blinking. You’ve seen him negotiate under gunfire. But this— This is different. He stands abruptly, walking toward the window. The letter trembles just once before his grip tightens.
Convenient,he mutters.
Now that I built everything alone.You don’t speak. You just step closer. Close enough that if he falls apart, you’d catch it before anyone else could see. He glances at you over his shoulder. Dark eyes unreadable.
Do you believe that?he asks quietly.
That someone leaves to protect you?It’s not a test. It’s a fracture. For the first time since you’ve known him, he doesn’t look untouchable. He looks like a son. And the letter is still in his hand.