The iron gates opened with a low hum as the black car rolled up the stone driveway, flanked by manicured hedges and tall oaks that whispered secrets into the summer breeze. A row of servants stood poised at the steps of the mansion, hands folded, eyes forward — waiting.
Felix stepped out first, suit crisp, posture calm and commanding. Without hesitation, he opened her door and reached out a hand.
"Welcome home, princess," he said softly.
Maria slid her hand into his, her gaze dropping to the gravel. There was weight in her chest — not fear, not exactly. Just everything. She let him guide her toward the entrance, past bowed heads and silence wrapped in marble.
Inside, the air was cooler. Expensive. Clean in the way old money always was. Felix led her up the grand staircase without a word until they reached a set of double doors. He opened one with ease and stepped aside.
"This will be your room."
It was beautiful, ridiculously so.
A sprawling suite with soft cream walls, delicate gold accents, and thick velvet curtains drawn open to reveal a wide balcony. Beyond it, the garden stretched like a painted dream, dappled in warm, late-afternoon sunlight. The king-sized bed was already turned down. Her bags were beside it, waiting.
"You can unpack here," he added, then stepped back, giving her space.
She stood at the threshold for a moment, unmoving. Then she stepped inside.
The carpet muffled her footsteps as she walked deeper into the room. Her fingers grazed the edge of the soft bedding. Sunlight streamed through the balcony doors, casting golden patterns that danced across the polished floor.
She moved to the glass, gently pulling back the sheer curtain.
Outside, the garden was quiet. Serene. A breeze stirred the branches of a willow tree. It looked like peace. But it didn't feel like peace.
She inhaled deeply, as if the beauty might anchor her. Ground her. It didn't.
Her gaze flicked back to the bed — her suitcase, neatly placed there by the staff. And resting on top of it, her old stuffed animal. The one she'd kept since childhood. Sitting there as if it belonged. As if this were home.
It was too much.
Her knees buckled before she realized it, and she sank onto the bed. Her hands came up to cover her face—and the dam broke.
The sobs that tore from her chest were raw. Ugly. All-consuming. Not graceful or soft. Just grief, confusion, and betrayal tangled into one violent release, tears soaking into her palms. She curled forward, hugging her knees to her chest, and cried like a child lost in the dark.
Down the hall, Felix had only just begun to give her space before he heard it. The sound of her crying—real, broken crying—cut through him like a blade. He didn't hesitate. He turned back.
By the time he reached her door, she hadn't noticed his presence. He stood there a moment, silent, watching her small frame folded on the edge of the bed, clutching the stuffed animal like a lifeline.
Then he stepped inside and closed the door gently behind him.
"Princess..." His voice was soft. Careful. Almost afraid to shatter what little was left of her.
Maria didn't respond. She just cried—until finally, she looked up at him, her eyes glistening with the kind of hurt words couldn't touch.
After a moment, she looked up at Felix, her eyes glistening with vulnerability.
"I know I've been bratty... giving you attitude... and just all around difficult today," she murmured. "I'm sorry." She paused, trying to stop her tears. "I didn't mean to take it out on you..."
"Stop," he said softly, his thumb brushing away a tear that clung to her cheek. "You're allowed to be upset. To feel hurt. Your father kept so much from you... and now you're left to carry the weight of it." His voice cracked just slightly as he looked at her. "But... truth is, I'll take the brat with the fire in her eyes over the girl who looks like the world just broke her."
Maria sniffled, a faint smile breaking through the tears as the memories rushed in. All the times she'd tested his patience as a kid — the eye-rolls, the sass, the tantrums. Sometimes it earned her a red bottom and a stern lecture. But more often than not, it ended in laughter, ice cream, or an afternoon at the pier.
Her father had always made the most of their time together. When he was home, he was there — present, loving, larger than life. But there had been stretches of absence too. Days when work pulled him away behind closed doors, or out of town without warning.
Back then, she never questioned it. Now, knowing the truth... she wondered. Was that really work? Or was it something darker?
Felix had been the constant in those in-between days. Not just a godfather. Not just a protector. He was the one who grounded her, guided her, held her together when the world felt too quiet — or too empty. And maybe that's what made this hurt more. Because both men had been trying to protect her...By keeping her in the dark.
She stared at the floor for a long while, the silence between them thick like fog—familiar, but not comfortable. Felix didn't fill it. He waited, hands resting on his knees, his gaze steady and soft, though it never demanded hers in return.
"I just..." Her voice cracked before it could find its footing. "I don't get why you didn't tell me." It wasn't an accusation. It came out too tired for that—too wounded.
Felix nodded slowly, eyes flickering down as if he needed a second to hold the weight of her words. "I wanted to," he said gently. "So many times."
"Six months," she said quietly. "That's how long you've been gone. And all that time, you could've said something. Years, Felix."
"I know."
"And you didn't." Her voice sharpened. "None of you did."
He swallowed, but didn't flinch. "Because we weren't allowed to."
That made her pause. Her eyes narrowed—not out of disbelief, but confusion. "What do you mean 'allowed to'?"
Felix sat straighter now, like the truth was physically pressing on his chest and finally pushing its way out. "Your father gave us orders. All of us—me, Marco, Massimo, Leo, Luca, Nico, Dante... We were told never to tell you."
She stared at him like he'd just spoken in another language, her breath catching. "That's not—he wouldn't—"
"He did," Felix said gently, voice low, almost reverent. "Right before things got... complicated. Right before that job that took him off the map for good. He made us promise. Said you were to live a life without this. No blood, no weight, no danger. He wanted you to have something... untouched." He leaned forward just a little, elbows on his knees, hands clasped as if in prayer—but he said nothing right away. He just breathed with her. "I was trying to protect what was left of you," he murmured at last. "After everything... after him."
The silence that followed was sharp. It dug into the air between them, raw and real. And she hated that it made sense, hated that it came from love. Because love wasn't supposed to hide things like this. Was it? She averted her gaze, swallowing hard. "I didn't need protection, Felix. I needed the truth."
Felix's voice softened. "The only exception... was if there was a direct threat to you. If we couldn't protect you anymore by keeping it quiet."
Her chest tightened, as if invisible walls were closing in "So what, that's why you're here now? There's a threat?"
He didn't answer with words. His silence spoke louder.
For a moment, she wished he would raise his voice. Snap. Give her something to fight back against. But he didn't.
Felix reached for her hand—slowly, respectfully—offering it like a lifeline, not a fix. Like he knew he couldn't make it better... only bear it with her. And despite everything, she let him. Because even in her anger, in her hurt, she knew he had never once let go. "All this time," she whispered, voice trembling, "I thought... I thought he trusted me. I thought you did."
"I do," Felix said quickly. "But your father—he thought keeping you out of it was the only way to keep you safe. He didn't think we'd ever have to tell you."
She bit her lip, fighting back the flood of emotions. "But again, Felix... I didn't need protection. I needed the truth." A single tear slipped down her cheek.
"I know," he said quietly. And somehow that made it worse. Because he did know—and he still made the choice.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. She sat still, the ache settling deep inside her chest, tears slipping quietly down her cheeks. The room seemed to hold its breath with her, every sound muted except for the soft rhythm of her uneven breathing.
Felix didn't move away. Instead, he reached out slowly, his hand finding hers with the gentlest touch—steady, unhurried. He didn't try to rush her, or fix what couldn't be fixed. He only offered himself, a quiet anchor in the storm she was weathering.
It was a lesson Marco had taught him long ago. Watching Marco hold her after her mother died had shown Felix the weight of silence—that sometimes the most healing thing was simply to be there, to hold space without words.
He remembered Marco's quiet strength in those moments. Now, Felix tried to carry that same quiet kindness for her.
She squeezed his hand once, a small tremble running through her fingers, before leaning just slightly into his side. The tears kept coming, but with him there, she felt less alone in the vast emptiness.
Felix's eyes dropped to the floor, and something shifted in his expression—barely noticeable, but enough. His thumb brushed across hers like a reflex, but his jaw had gone tense. Locked. Like he was suddenly somewhere else.
And he was.
Felix tightened his grip on her hand, remembering a silence much like this—when Neo had died. Back then, words felt useless. All he could do was sit beside him, listen to the slow, hollow breaths, and watch time slip away.
His head was back in that alley. Cold air. Distant noise. The glowing end of a cigarette between his fingers—then a sound that split the night open. One shot. Nothing more.
He hadn't even known the shooter was there. He'd only stepped out for a smoke, needing a moment to breathe. Just one minute.
One.
And when he came back, Neo was already on the ground. He remembered running, heart in his throat. Remembered the way Neo looked up at him—surprised, not afraid. Like he'd expected it. Like he knew.
Felix had carried that weight ever since.
Now, as Maria's tears slid silently down her cheek, he sat with her the way he had with Neo. Still. Steady. Present, because Marco had taught him that silence wasn't absence, It was a kind of love—the kind that stayed when nothing else could.
He blinked, pulling himself back to the present, to her hand in his. To the tears drying on her cheek and still, he said nothing, because this truth—the one buried beneath all the others—wasn't just dangerous. It was a knife aimed at everything she believed.
And she wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
So instead, Felix cleared his throat gently, his voice scratchy from the silence. "You know," he said, eyes still on her hand, "I still have a few bruises from when you hit me with that baseball bat... just because I wouldn't buy you that expensive doll you wanted."
Her head turned slightly, a tear clinging to her cheek, caught between heartbreak and disbelief. "You remember that?"
"How could I not?" he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You were seven—vicious and armed."
A faint huff of air slipped out of her—half-sob, half-laugh. "I remember," she murmured. "I felt so bad afterward... I thought it was one of those fake foam bats."
Felix chuckled softly. "It was metal, Maria."
She covered her face with one hand. "I know that now."
He chuckled again, shaking his head. "Foam, my ass. I swear you were the only kid who could hit that hard." His thumb continued its gentle, back-and-forth motion on her shoulder—steady, grounding.
"And do you remember what I did after you felt bad?"
She let out a quiet laugh. "After the spanking you gave me for hitting you?" Her smile grew, soft and watery. "Yeah... you took me to get ice cream and scolded me the whole walk there. God, I never hit anyone after that."
"Exactly." He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as memories of her childhood antics flooded back. "I always followed up the punishments with something sweet... to remind you I loved you. No matter what."
He paused, his expression turning gentler, serious. "I still do."
She nodded, emotion brimming in her eyes. "I learned a lot that day. You taught me violence was never the answer."
"Mhm." He nodded, his hand slowly moving from her shoulder to gently card through her hair—a habit he'd had since she was little. "And I also taught you that actions have consequences. But more importantly, that forgiveness and understanding are key." He smiled softly.
For a brief moment, the weight in the room shifted—still heavy, but no longer suffocating. Just two people sitting with shared pain... and a memory that somehow made space to breathe again.
There she is, Felix thought, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. A glimmer of her usual spark flickered in her eyes—worn down, but not gone. Not lost.He didn't say it out loud. He just held her hand a little tighter, letting the silence stretch gently between them—no longer sharp, but warm. Present.
Maria looked down, voice small and unsure. "So... does this mean I'm gonna get punished for my bratty antics earlier?"
Felix's hand paused in her hair, and a low chuckle escaped him. He reached up and gently tilted her chin, meeting her eyes with a teasing softness. "No, princess. Not this time."
"But," he added with a half-smile, "we are gonna have a serious talk about that attitude of yours."
Her lips twitched, the familiar old habit surfacing—whispering the one thing that always meant she wasn't getting away with it. "Y-yes, sir..."
Felix's heart softened at the sound, the same voice he'd heard a thousand times before when she was trying to be good. "Good girl," he said quietly, his voice warm but firm. "Now, let's talk."
She lowered her gaze, bracing for the gentle reprimand.
"Tell me," Felix said softly, a playful edge in his tone, "did I raise you to be such a stubborn little brat?"
She shook her head, barely audible. "No..."
He smiled, running a hand through her hair again. "Then why have you been acting like one? You know better."
She bit her lip, voice hesitant. "When you showed up... it had been months. I was alone. I guess I was annoyed, like you just came back barking orders."
Felix's expression softened as he realized the truth behind her behavior. He hadn't fully considered how much his absence had affected her. "Baby girl," he whispered—the nickname he reserved for moments when she needed to feel safe—his voice low and gentle, "I'm sorry I was gone so long."
Maria looked up, her eyes softening but still guarded. "I guess... I was scared. After everything... losing Dad, losing Mom... I thought maybe I'd lose you too." Her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of it. Then she paused, a small, shaky laugh escaping her lips. "I thought you were going to spank me right then and there, to be honest."
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "I wanted to, honestly. You were pushing every damn button I've got." He cupped her cheek gently, his frustration tempered by affection. "But I was too tired... and honestly, I didn't want to say something I'd regret."
Maria let out a quiet laugh, half-embarrassed. "So that's why you're circling back now?"
"Exactly." His thumb brushed lightly across her cheek. "Even if I couldn't handle it then, it still matters. You know actions have consequences, even when they're delayed."
She shifted closer instinctively, letting the space between them close. He opened his arms and pulled her in—his warmth solid and familiar.
"I'm not going to punish you for earlier," he said gently, "but I am going to remind you where the line is."
Her voice was smaller now, almost teasing. "I really am sorry... I won't brat again." A pause. "Much."
That earned her a light swat on the thigh. "Smartass," he muttered, but the fondness in his voice made it impossible to take seriously.
She let her head rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, the silence wrapped around them like a blanket. "I just..." she whispered. "I wasn't trying to be cruel. I think I was scared, that maybe I lost you too."
His hand paused in her hair, then resumed slowly. "I know, baby girl." His voice was softer now. "And I'm sorry I left you in that place for so long."
She nodded against him, fingers tightening slightly in his shirt.
Felix tilted her chin up gently, making her meet his gaze. "You've got a strong spirit. I'd never take that away from you. But you know better than to let fear turn into disrespect. Especially not toward the people who love you."
"I know," she whispered. "I do."
"Come here." He opened his arms, and Maria didn't hesitate this time. She slid into his lap, curling in as his arms wrapped around her—not like before, when everything felt like it was breaking, but now with steadiness. Quiet resolution.
He held her close, chin resting atop her head, voice quiet with something heavier than scolding.
"You know I hate being stern with you," he murmured. "But sometimes, baby girl... you need it. Someone has to check that mouth when it gets reckless."
A soft, almost involuntary sound escaped her—half breath, half whimper. Her body stiffened in his arms, and he felt it the moment the memory hit her. Felix stilled, then gently pulled back just enough to see her face. His thumb traced her cheek—the same one he'd struck all those years ago.
"I only hit you once," he said, the words heavy and slow. "And I've never stopped regretting it."
"You're thinking about that night," he said softly.
Maria nodded, eyes not quite meeting his.
Felix exhaled slowly, like the memory hurt to speak aloud. "You were sixteen. Drunk. Mouthy. You swore at me in front of everyone—after sneaking out, knowing damn well what that could've meant for your safety."
Maria's breath caught, the memory flickering between them like an old bruise.
"I wasn't angry," he continued, voice low and steady. "I was scared. Scared you were slipping into something dangerous... reckless. That I was losing you." He looked away then, jaw tight. A memory tugged at him—quiet and sharp. "I remember Marco with his grandson... said boys in our world learn through fear, then earn back love." He didn't say more than that, didn't need to. Just the mention of it anchored the weight in his voice.
He didn't want that for her. A pause stretched between them. "I didn't want to be like that," he said finally. "But that night... I was." He swallowed hard. "I didn't hit you because I was mad. I was terrified of what might happen if you kept walking that path."
Maria blinked, swallowing back the sting in her eyes as her voice dropped to a fragile whisper. "That night changed everything. Apart from today, I never disrespected you like that again—especially not in public. It taught me something important: if someone I trust could hit me like that, imagine what someone dangerous would do." Her voice cracked. "You didn't scare me into obedience. You made me realize how easily I could lose your respect—and that hurt far more than the slap ever did."
Felix's hand stilled on her cheek. His eyes were wet now, too. "I hated myself after. Still do, sometimes. But... you changed. That night meant something." He looked at her then—really looked. "It changed me, too."
"I had to," she whispered. "Because if I lost you too... I'd have no one left to come home to."
He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to hers.
"You'll never lose me," he said quietly. "Even when you push me. Even when I have to remind you who raised you."
A breathless laugh slipped from her, soft and tearful. The moment hung between them—tender, but still bruised.
Felix let the silence linger just a moment longer, letting her breathe, letting it all settle. Then, slowly, he leaned back enough to study her face—eyes rimmed red, cheeks still damp, but clearer now. Grounded.
"Do you get it now?" he asked, softer than before, but no less firm. He didn't need to raise his voice. The truth had already spoken loud enough.
Maria nodded, wordless.
He gave her a faint smile, pride threading gently through his expression. "I'm not going to punish you today," he said, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "But I do want you to sit with this. Really think about what your actions could've meant—for me, for you. And what might've happened if someone else had been in my place."
She swallowed, eyes flicking up to meet him. "Y-yes, sir."
Satisfied, he stood and helped ease her back onto the bed, his touch still warm, still steady. Then, without another word, he turned and walked to the door. He didn't slam it. He didn't lock it. He simply closed it gently behind him—because sometimes, he knew, the quiet carried more weight than anything else,the soft click echoing like the closing of a conversation that didn't need more words. Maria sat still for a moment, curled into the bed, the warmth of his presence lingering like a ghost.
Eventually, she rose.
Sniffling quietly, she crossed the room and stepped out onto the balcony. The golden light had begun to fade, leaving long shadows stretching over the garden. The willow tree swayed gently in the breeze, branches dancing like soft whispers across the lawn.
It looked like peace. And this time... it felt like it. The same garden that had earlier felt distant, cold, disconnected—now offered a quiet sort of comfort. Maybe it hadn't changed at all. Maybe she had.
She inhaled slowly, the cool air steadying her chest in a way it hadn't before. It didn't fix everything. But it held her. And right now, that was enough.
Her gaze drifted back into the room—the warmth, the care, the effort. The room she'd once accused of being a gilded cage. And she winced. "Shit," she whispered to herself. Because now she saw it. The truth in all of it.
Downstairs, Felix stood quietly by the back patio, gazing up at her. He saw the pacing. Saw her lips move as she whispered something he couldn't hear—but didn't need to.He saw the shift. It wasn't in her posture or expression. It was deeper than that. Something settling into her bones. The kind of change that didn't come from yelling. Or punishment. Just the truth. And space.
On the balcony, Maria's thoughts spiraled darker now—not paranoid, just honest.
What if it hadn't been Felix? What if someone else had gotten to her first—someone colder, crueler?
She could've been hurt. Beaten. Held against her will. Used. Especially now, knowing what she knew—that Felix wasn't just her godfather, but the head of a mafia family. And even with that truth between them, even after her outburst, he hadn't laid a hand on her. Hadn't even raised his voice.
Just a scolding. Just... grace. And now—silence.
She sank down slowly, her back pressing to the balcony wall, knees hugged tight. The wind lifted strands of her hair and kissed her cheeks. She shut her eyes, letting the air and truth wrap around her.
He could've reacted like the monster I accused him of being...But he didn't.
He gave me space. He gave me patience.
A breath shook from her chest—humbled, not broken.
Felix watched from below as she folded into herself. No longer frantic. No longer lashing out. He nodded once, more to himself than anything. Quietly proud. She was finally getting it. And so he turned, giving her time to sit with it. To let the weight land fully without interference.
When he returned, the sky had gone soft and dusky. He climbed the stairs slowly. No rush. No need to fill the silence with more than it already held.
When he opened the door, he found her on her knees beside the suitcase, quietly unpacking. Her motions were slower now. Thoughtful. Present. Her eyes were red, face still puffy from crying—but calm. Still.
She looked up when she heard the door, but didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Felix stepped inside and sat at the edge of the bed without a word. Just watching her for a beat, letting the quiet hold between them.
She sniffled once, folded a shirt, and gently placed it in the drawer, and for the first time since she arrived... The room didn't feel like a cage, it felt like the beginning of something.
It felt like home