Lake Como shimmered under the midnight sky, the water holding the reflections of luxury boats and glowing villas like secrets scattered across its surface. Inside one of the most exclusive nightclubs carved into the hillside a place where people whispered the name Russo like a spell.
Giovanni sat surrounded by noise from the night clubbers and excessive music sounds, pounded through the speakers which caused a pulsing rhythm that made the marble floor tremble. Strobe lights swept across glittering bottles, silk dresses, diamond bracelets and the smooth curve of women and of expensive furniture.
Everyone looked beautiful here, but none more magnetic than Giovanni Russo himself.
Women drifted toward him in gentle waves, drawn by his charm the way moths drift toward a flame, He was dressed in his usual quiet confidence consisting of a dark fitted shirt, sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms, a silver watch catching the neon light and his hair pushed back in careless elegance.
He leaned against the edge of the VIP railing, eyes on the water outside the glass wall and lips tugged into a half-smile that wasn't meant for anyone in the room.
To strangers, he looked like a man enjoying the night but to those who knew him, the truth lived in the shadows beneath his eyes.
One woman, a model he couldn't remember the name of, reached out for his arm.
"Gio, come dance with me," she purred, leaning close.
He gently removed her hand, expression calm. "Not tonight."
Her smile faltered, but she retreated without protest because everyone knew Giovanni's moods were unpredictable lately, a quiet storm waiting behind the façade.
(He lifted a drink to his lips but barely tasted it; the alcohol felt like water, tasteless and hollow. Not after the night that changed him months ago;He could still feel echoes of it, every dark room reminded him, every sharp sound, every sudden silence pulled him towards the memory of his Mom's death.
He rubbed at the scar beneath his shirt which was hidden near his ribs. A souvenir from the past he refused to speak to anyone about, apart from Aunt Maria the former maid that took care of him after his mother passed away.)
"You look like hell!"The voice pulled him back.
(Sophia stood in front of him, arms crossed, eyes shining with irritation and something dangerously close to concern, her red dress clung to her figure like she had been crafted for glamour and envy.)
"You shouldn't be here," she said.
He swallowed the sigh rising in his chest. "Hello to you too."
Sophia stepped closer, tilting her head to study him. "You're running again."
"I'm drinking," he corrected.
She huffed. "You call this drinking? This is hiding; From me, from yourself and from everything."
Giovanni finally met her gaze. "Sophia…. please."
It wasn't anger but exhaustion. She felt it too and her posture softened but just slightly.
"You don't even look at me the way you used to" she whispered.
"That's because nothing is the way it used to be." He said.
She clenched her jaw. "I could help you, if you'd let me."
He turned away, resting one hand on the railing. "You can't help me, so stop trying."
"What happened to you?" she demanded. "You're not the same man I…"
His phone buzzed.
Saved by fate.
He glanced at the screen and felt his stomach drop.
"I want you in my study now!"
Even through the typewritten words, he could hear Leonardo's voice sharp, commanding and unyielding.
Sophia saw the change in his expression. "Giovanni…?"
He grabbed his jacket. "I have to go."
"Gio…"
But he was already moving, the nightclub noise fading behind him as he stepped out into the cold, crisp air.
The Russo Mansion
The mansion loomed over Lake Como like a monument carved out of wealth and steel and its long windows glowed against the night, tall columns rising from perfectly trimmed gardens.
Giovanni had grown up within these walls, memorizing every corner, every echo but that familiarity didn't comfort him. but it trapped him.
He strode through the front doors, with the marble floor chilling his steps and the chandeliers scattered gold light over the sweeping staircase but the house was too quiet and too observant.
The staff bowed their heads as he passed, a silent ritual that never stopped irritating him. He pushed his hands into his pockets, loosening the tension in his jaw as he approached the study.
He paused at the heavy oak doors.
A memory stabbed him; Twenty years ago standing outside the same door after breaking a vase.
His mother had already passed and Leonardo had just remarried. He remembered the fear, the cold silence, the way his father had asked why Giovanni couldn't be more like Luca.
His hand tightened on the doorknob and with a heavy sigh he pushed it open.
(The room smelled of old books, polished wood, and authority. Dark shelves lined the walls, filled with rare volumes and artifacts collected from decades of ruthless business travel. A single lamp illuminated Leonardo Russo, sitting behind a mahogany desk that seemed to swallow the light around him.
His father's silver hair gleamed, his sharp features carved in disapproval as always.
The cane rested against his chair, a symbol of both his age and his power; he never walked without it, yet he wielded it like a weapon.
Francesca was there too, standing near the window with the poise of someone pretending not to listen but drinking in every moment. Her eyes glittered when Giovanni entered.)
Leonardo didn't even look up. "You kept me waiting."
Giovanni bit back a retort. "It's past midnight."
"And?" Leonardo's tone was razor-thin. "A son who respects his father comes when called."
Leonardo reached for a sealed envelope on the desk and pushed it toward him.
Giovanni exhaled slowly and reached for the envelope but froze at the contents of the letter in the envelope.
"What is this about?" Giovanni said.
Leonardo's expression didn't change. "You will marry."
The words hit harder than Giovanni expected.
"Come again?"
"You heard me." Leonardo finally raised his gaze. "You will marry within a year."
Giovanni laughed under his breath, not out of amusement but disbelief. "Is this a joke?"
"I do not joke about the future of this family." Leonardo retorted.
Giovanni's voice hardened. "And why the sudden urgency?"
"Because you are twenty-nine with no stability, no discipline and no interest in responsibility."
(Sophia's voice from earlier flashed through his mind "You're running again.)
Leonardo continued, voice cold as granite. "A leader requires a partner. The board is pushing for more stability, and frankly, I agree."
Giovanni scoffed. "So you want to force me into marriage for the sake of optics?"
"For the sake of the empire," Leonardo replied. "Unless you would prefer the alternative."
"What alternative?" Giovanni asked.
Leonardo leaned back in his chair. "If you fail to comply, Luca becomes the heir permanently."
(Francesca smiled barely. A ghost of triumph)
Giovanni's blood turned hot. "Luca?"
"Luca is responsible, diligent and ambitious," Leonardo said.
"He's your wife's puppet," Giovanni snapped.
Francesca stepped forward. "Better a puppet than a disaster."
Giovanni's eyes burned. "You always wanted me out of the way, didn't you?"
She tilted her chin. "I want what's best for this family."
"And that's not me?" Giovanni asked quietly.
Leonardo slammed his cane onto the floor with the crack echoing through the room. "This is not a debate. You will marry. Or you will walk away from everything with nothing."
(Silence dropped like a curtain.
Giovanni stared at him. At the man who raised him with iron and disappointment. At the man who had never once asked him if he was okay after the night that left him scarred. At the man who cared more about legacy than his own son.
A weight settled in Giovanni's chest, a mix of betrayal, fury and something hollow.
Without a word, he turned and walked out.)
(The moment the study door shut behind him, the world seemed to tip sideways. Giovanni pressed a hand against the wall, grounding himself.
Marriage, not a request but a decree.
He felt a series of different emotions rise in him: anger, confusion, panic and forced them to settle.
He wasn't a child and he wasn't weak.)
He swallowed and whispered into the empty hallway, the words born from the fire inside him:
"I will never let them control me again."
(He didn't know it yet, but the decision he made tonight, the one driven by pride and desperation, would lead him straight to the woman who would unravel everything he thought he knew about loyalty, about family and about love.
The woman who would become both the storm and the calm in his fractured world.)