Mafia Heir’s Broken Vows (Rosewood Hall Broken Vows)

11. Alessandro

ALESSANDRO

S erafina stands in the doorway, arms crossed, buzzing with attitude. The fire in her eyes only feeds the anger simmering in me. I pace slowly, up and down, the polished floor creaking under my weight. The silence is suffocating, the only sound is the distant tick of the clock on the mantle.

"No more lies, Serafina," I say, my voice low and measured, but sharp enough to cut. "I need to know the truth." I am ready to fight today, I have been fucking patient enough.

Her expression hardens, but I see it—the flicker of something else beneath the surface. Fear? Guilt? Maybe both. Her grip tightens around her waist as if holding herself together.

"What truth are you looking for now, Alessandro?" she retorts, chin lifting in defiance. She thinks this is a fight she can win. That defiance used to draw me in, but now it only stokes the fire raging inside me.

I stop dead in front of her, the space between us charged and electric. The photograph of the boy—Leo—burns in my mind.

"Leo. Is he mine?" I ask her again. The timing doesn't lie—the nights we spent together before I left, the months I was gone. He's my son. He has to be. But I want to hear her say it.

For the briefest moment, her facade cracks. Her breath hitches—subtle, but enough. Enough for me to know the answer before she even speaks.

"It doesn't matter who his father is."

The words ignite something primal inside me, a fury I can barely contain. I step forward, closing the gap between us, my eyes boring into hers.

"It fucking matters to me. He is here in my house—you think I am stupid?" I can count, I know when I left, and when he was born.

Her silence is louder than a thousand words. I feel it—the truth hanging in the space between us, an elephant in the room. I won't let her bury it any longer.

"You have lied to me. Denied it and made excuses. Just stop!" The accusation leaves my mouth like a bullet, each word fueled by her betrayal.

"I did what I had to," she fires back, her voice unwavering, there's a slight tremor in it now. But her hands really betray her, fingers curling tightly at her sides.

"No," I growl, stepping closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to look into my eyes. "You did what was easy. You hid him from me." If I didn't love her, I'd kill her.

Her eyes flash with anger. "I hid him from them."

My family. Marco. The war that never ended. She wasn't protecting herself—she was protecting our son. From me—and all that I bring with me.

I rake a hand through my hair, pacing in tight circles. The weight of her words crushes me. Protecting him from me? Is that all I've become—a danger to my own flesh and blood?

"You still should have told me." My voice softens, but the fury simmers beneath.

"And what would you have done?" she challenges, voice rising. "Dragged him into your war? Into the D'Angelo legacy?" That's exactly what I would have done, she is right. "You killed my brother, your family annihilated mine. Where were you... while I brought a baby into that world."

Her words stab through me, each one sharper than the last. My jaw clenches as I remember the warehouse, the flames, the screams. Her brother's face as he died, cursing me.

I grit my teeth. "I would have protected him if I knew."

"He is fine, he never missed you, he didn't need protection. I was enough for him. Leo doesn't need you." The words are a dagger to the chest. He doesn't even know who I am—he has no father. "He is an innocent little boy, and I protected him from all the fucking bad things that follow you wherever you go. I saved him from being part of your legacy. He does not need you!"

I flinch, but I don't look away. She doesn't know how much it cost me to leave. But it doesn't matter now, she won't forgive me.

Her shoulders sag, the fight slowly bleeding out of her. The mask slips, and for the first time, I see the reality of it all crushing her. Eventually, after she's done yelling, and the silence becomes awkward, she looks away from me.

"Yes," she whispers, barely audible. "Leo is your son. But you don't deserve him."

The room tilts; the ground shifts beneath me. It's like an earthquake that only I can feel.

I can't move. Can't breathe. The confession I've been chasing now strangles me. My son.

I stagger back a step. Images of Leo flash through my mind—his dark hair, his stubborn chin, his eyes… my eyes. The way he hurtles through my house—completely innocent of the life I live between these same walls. Maybe she's right.

But I can't let Marco take him. That boy is mine, and I will kill anyone who threatens him.

My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I struggle to accept it. Every instinct in me wants more answers, but all I can see is that boy's face—my face. He deserves to keep his innocence; to have the life she fought to give him.

Serafina watches me cautiously, bracing for the fight she expects to come.

But there is no enormous explosion. Only cold, hard clarity.

"Marco knows," I say, my voice barely above a whisper but carrying the gravity of that threat.

She nods slowly. "That's why we're here isn't it?"

I move without thinking, crossing the room in two strides. My hands grip her shoulders, firm but not harsh, I shake her.

"He will never get him."

Her eyes widen, searching mine for something—fear, rage, anything.

"Alessandro—" she starts, her voice soft, almost pleading.

"No." My grip tightens. "I failed you. But I won't fail him."

The walls I built around my heart crumble as I think of Leo—my son—in Marco's crosshairs. I've burned men for less. I will burn Marco alive if he touches him.

Her breath shudders. I see the genuine fear in her eyes—but not of me.

"What are you going to do?" she whispers.

I release her, turning toward the door. My mind is already racing—strategy, security, destruction. Marco made this personal. We've been locked in a cold war—a silent standoff, but I am about to shatter the illusion of peace.

"Whatever it takes."