Marco stood with tar-like blood swimming through his system, ears ringing, and body numb. The words were spoken repeating themselves like a broken tape recorder in his head. Salvatore blocking his way to Nikolai.

"Your name is Aleksander Romanov, and you are my son,"

If he were to believe what this man was saying, then that meant that he was a Romanov. Heir to a disgraced Mafia. His name was Aleksander and not Marco, and he was Russian-born. Ironic how his heritage came from the place whose history Marco had been obsessed with. Not only that, but he didn't speak a lick of the language. And if he had just heard was true then that man – that murderer – was his father.

"Come with me," Nikolai urged, beckoning him forward and ignoring all the guns aimed at him. "Come with me, Aleksander, and we will talk, I tell you everything," He resumed in his incomprehensible Russian accent that had Marco's head pounding, blinding flashes of pain surging from the top of his head down to the base of his neck.

"Come, Aleksander,"

"Salvatore..." Marco turned his gaze to the rigid structure of the man before him, Salvatore's back to him but from where he stood, Marco could see the gentle tremors coursing through the guns clasped in his hands. "I...let's go,"

Barking something in Italian to his men, they all filed out, meeting Nikolai's words with a deaf ear while the Alcuri and Regnante guards intercepted his way to prevent him from following them. Moving back once their superiors were settled in their cars and had left the premise.

Neither Salvatore nor Marco said a word as they drove down the empty stretch of road, trees on one side and a snow-covered field on the other. Bile rising up Marco's throat as he squirmed in his seat and turned to tell Salvatore to stop the car, but his words froze to see his brother's hand still grasping the gun on the thigh, finger twitching over the trigger and gaze on the window beside him.

Marco's heart fell at the sight of the loaded weapon in his brother's hands, knowing that first and foremost, he was the Regnante Mafia Boss and his duty was to his family. Not to adopted Romanov's.

Tears blurring his eyes at the realization that knocked out the air from his lungs.

"Stop the car," Salvatore ordered.

The vehicle coming to an instant halt that had Marco's heart jump to his throat. His breath laboring as he looked around him, finding them in the middle of nowhere and then the blood drained from his face to see their entourage of cars leave them behind.

With blown pupils and a heaving chest, Marco turned towards his brother and froze to see him step out of the vehicle. Closing the door with a slam, and the locks clicking into place even before Marco had the chance to turn to his door. Knowing that there was no point in trying to open them because they wouldn't budge.

His fingers trembled as he looked at his brother's back from the window, watching him lower the gun to his side and walk out onto the snow-covered field, his figure getting enveloped by darkness as one guard followed him at a safe distance and the other stood against the side of the car. Eyes where the Mafia Boss and his partner had disappeared.

Marco jumped in his seat to see the spark of light followed by the thunderous roar of a bullet.

Again and again and again and again.

The assault of sound stopping for a second before resuming with the same fervor it had begun with. Marco's heart dropping to his feet to hear the scream ricochet across the field and bounce back to him. The youngest shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, fingers grasping the handle and leg bouncing as he had his face pressed to the tinted glass, breath stuttering in his throat to see two figures make their way back to them.

He didn't hear Salvatore's order to the man against the car. He only heaved a breath of relief to see his hands vacant of a weapon. Sinking back in his seat with a hand on his forehead when the doors unlocked.

No soon had the relief settled in, Marco let out a choked sound when his car door burst open and a pair of hands dragged him out from the front of his coat, slamming his back into the side of the vehicle. The impact forcing the air out of his lungs and gave him a blood rush. Cracking open his eyes, the youngest's throat clamped shut to see the cold and impersonal expression Salvatore was regarding him with, fingers twisting into the collar of his coat.

"What will it take," He spoke in a voice hardly above a whisper, eyes flashing. "For you to fucking listen to me?"

"Salv-"

"-What was the order I gave you?" Salvatore halted him. "What was the order I gave you?"

"I-I-you-"

"-Fio, what was the order I gave him?" Salvatore asked his guard to their right. Marco swallowing thickly at the words, feeling the energy sap from his being.

"You ordered not to respond," The guard reacted immediately.

"And what does that mean?"

"Do not engage the enemy, sir,"

"And what did Marco here do?"

"Engaged the enemy, sir,"

"That's right," Salvatore's lips quirked with a cold smile, Marco's chest tightening. "You and Fio have the same training. You might have better combat, but understanding explicit orders are the same, then tell me, why the fuck did you not listen to me? Do I look like a fool to you?"

"No!" Marco exclaimed at the words. "No, I..."

"You?"

"I-I didn't understand why I shouldn't have responded, I didn't understand why you didn't want me to answer such trivial questions like how old I am or for how long I've had the bracelet...I-I didn't understand,"

"You didn't understand," Salvatore agreed. "And that is exactly the problem," He pushed himself away from the younger, Marco's figure drooping without the fierce hold of his brother, leaning his weight against the car.

"Let me spell it out for you," The Mafia Boss spoke to his downcast expression. "The bracelet caught his attention, and not in a good way. It may mean something to the Romanovs, it can trace you back to them if what he says is true. Don't tell him your age, because, well, come on Marco. You know them like the back of your hand, tell me why you shouldn't have told him your age?"

"I-the-he..." Marco stammered. "He-they-" His mind raced with the numbers, trying to get to what Salvatore had understood on the spot.

"How long ago was the attack on the Romanovs'?"

"It was...it was thirty years ago,"

"Twenty-nine years to be exact," Salvatore stuffed his hands into his coat's pockets. "Now, how old would you have been twenty-nine years ago?"

"I-three,"

"At what age was it established that you were trafficked into Italy?"

The numbers glared at Marco as his mouth open and closed soundlessly. The silence weighing heavy on his bones and the realization burning into the back of his eyelids, their interaction with Nikolai playing in his mind and this time Marco knew exactly where he went wrong. Understood that he was not supposed to have answered. Understood why he was supposed to have stayed quiet.

"Oh, God," He groaned as his stomach folded in on itself, threatening to empty the contents of the night, and Marco found himself clutching at his midriff and kneeling on the asphalt road in the middle of nowhere. "Oh, God,"

"God can't save you now," Salvatore said. "God does not deal with us,"

If what Nikolai was saying was true, then that meant Salvatore wasn't his brother, but his enemy. It meant that all those years he spent proving his worth to the Regnante's were all in vain and that Aurora, Irene, Michele, Marina, Victoria, and Demetrio...none of those kids were his nieces and nephews. Arcangelo and Rosalie weren't his parents, Serafina and Arsenio weren't his siblings.

Even though he was adopted...they were his family.

If what Nikolai was saying was true, then...the news of being his family's enemy had him grit his teeth and clutch tighter at himself. It felt so unwelcoming, like a stranger at a family gathering, an outcast, and unwanted. He didn't want to think about what this meant, he didn't want to think about the implications of being a Romanov raised by the Regnantes'.

For the longest time he was sure his biological parents were dead, why else would he have been trafficked away as a slave? He had convinced himself all those years ago that his parents were Arcangelo and Rosalie Regnante and that he was just as much a Regnante in name and in blood.

But now that he knew that he was a Romanov by blood, it made him squirm.

He knew all about the dispute between the two families which had been running for centuries. The Romanov's and Regnante's had been at par with each other in terms of power, it had led to an all-out war to prove who was the stronger of the two, but ended with a tie and a lifetime of resentment which passed from one generation to the next, up until the Romanovs' were forced underground twenty-nine years ago due to a mass massacre that had occurred in their headquarters: one of the Winter Palace's facades.

The place where he seemed to have grown up and was kidnapped and then trafficked to Italy and it...

"I-I-I..." Marco stammered out, unable to get the words out, unsure of what he wanted to say. I'm sorry. "What should I do?"

"We're going back to Italy," Salvatore stated calmly. "And we are not telling to a single soul,"

"What? No!" Marco's gaze snapped up at the words. "No, I-!"

"-You want to be the one to tell mom that her precious baby boy is the fucking enemy, then please, be my guest. You want to publicize the fact that you are Romanov to the underworld, then please, sign your own fucking death warrant with your own hands, but I will not be an accomplice to your demise,"

"Salvatore," His name slipped out between a shaky exhale, his lower lip trembling and eyes stinging with tears, kneeling helplessly before his brother. Salvatore responding with a visibly clenched jaw and eyebrows pinching together as his eyes burned.

"Don't give me that look," Salvatore ground out through gritted teeth. "Don't you dare give me that fucking look! Had you stayed quiet when I told you to-had you listened to me-had you listened to me-I-I-I-" The Mafia Boss growled, squeezing his temples and closed his eyes to try and regain a semblance of control.

"You're fucking telling them," He relented with a growl, eyes burning and teeth gritted. "I am not subjecting my family to the fire burning in my chest."

"They deserve to know," Marco sniffled and began to push himself to his knees, thanking the guards when they aided his endeavor. "They deserve to know, Salvatore. And you know that,"

"I promise you," Salvatore laughed humorlessly, hands on his hips and his head was thrown back to look up at the starlit sky. "It is better to remain ignorant,"

The sun had just barely risen across the Florentine horizon, Rosalie sleeping soundlessly beside her husband before a distant creak had her eyebrows scrunch in their sleep. The sound of something shuffling downstairs had her gasp and bolt upright, clutching the sheets to her chest and listening in the silence of their home. A chair dragging against the wooden flooring has her swallow the dryness of her throat and switch on the lamp.

"Arcangelo, Arcangelo, get up," Rosalie whispered to her husband, rummaging in her drawer for her silver semi-automatic pistol. "Arcangelo!"

"I hear it, I know," He yawned and stretched on the bed before taking out his gun and pushed the sheets off him. "Talk about an ungodly hour," Arcangelo rolled his shoulders and moved his neck from side to side before standing up from the bed, Rosalie behind him, both their guns loaded and their feet silent.

Pressing their backs to the wall of the dining room archway, Arcangelo placed a protective hand in front of his wife and held his gun ready, listening to the shuffling in the dining room.

"It's just us," A voice called from the archway and Arcangelo groaned, Rosalie letting out a relieved breath before they both lowered their guns.

Stepping into the dining room, they found Marco sitting with his back to them and face buried in his arms, his tux jacket draped over the back of his chair with his tie fisted into his hands and hair disheveled. Salvatore standing with his back against the window, facing his parents with the cold blue eyes he inherited from them, expressions masked, and his tux jacket and bowtie discarded like Marco, and his sleeves rolled back over his chest.

"Everything alright? Weren't you two in Russia?" Arcangelo asked, eyes shifting from one son to the other.

"If you want to eat something, then eat now because you don't be able to get down a drop of water after we've all talked,"

Arcangelo and Rosalie gave each other a glance and sighed to know that there was no point in asking further questions. Knowing their son would not crack.

"I'll turn on the coffee maker," Rosalie smiled at her husband who nodded.

"The others are coming, too," Salvatore informed from his place against the window.

"Anything more, your highness?" Rosalie remarked with a teasing smile, her eyes crinkling to see the slight tilt of her son's lips at the retort. Shaking her head with a chuckle before walking into the kitchen.

Sighing, Arcangelo took the seat at the head of the table and reached out to comb his fingers through the back of Marco's hair, watching the boy tense and burry his face further into his arms. The actions and immediate circumstances revolving in his head as he tried to understand what all this was about.

Soon, the entire Regnante family was stepping through the door with heavy-lidded eyes and ruffled and mismatched clothes and groans of protest at the sight of Salvatore against the window.

"Fuck you," Serafina growled at her twin. "Pick a decent hour for these stupid meetings, yeah?" She snapped and took a seat at the table, crossing her arms over her chest and muttering incoherently under her breath.

"Serafina," Nicole sighed at her sister-in-law, rubbing her eyes and making her way over to her husband, drowning in one of his t-shirts. Pulling his hands away from their crossed place on his chest, she tangled their fingers together and leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek. "I do not like this, Salvatore. These gatherings have never brought glad tidings," She murmured to him.

"Neither will this," Salvatore sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side as she sighed and rested her head against his chest, looking out at the people slowly settling down at the table.

"Hey, baby," Sofia settled down on the seat beside Marco's hunched figure, locking their fingers together on top of the table and kissed the top of his head, receiving no response from him.

Salvatore watched them all settle down with mugs of coffee and something quick to eat before Marco stood from his place and made his way to the lounge. Everyone following his example and settling down around the place, everyone facing Marco's figure on the dining table in the center of the room. Salvatore leaning against the archway to the room, head pressed against the threshold.

"Alright, we're all awake now," Arsenio spoke over his mug of coffee. "What do you want to say to us, Salvatore?"

"Salvatore is not the one who ordered you all here," Marco spoke up barely above a whisper. "I did. He refuses to say anything, and believes it best that the fewer people that know the better, but I felt that you all deserved to hear the truth," The youngest spoke and spared a glance towards his brother, finding him standing with his back to the archway and gaze at the dining room, refusing to respond.

"Alright, why did you call us all here, then?" Sofia spoke up first from her place beside Nicole.

"If this is another vendetta, I swear to God-" Serafina began to growl at her brother but was stopped by Marco speaking.

"-I found my biological father,"

It felt like time stood still in that room. No one moved, no one breathed, and even the dust particles remained suspended in the air.

Marco sitting beneath their stunned gazes, eyes downcast and fingers grasped tightly and his chest tightening before he gritted his teeth to hear Salvatore's words resound in his head when they had parked outside the house.

"Look them in the eyes and see what you are doing,"

"I found my biological father in Russia," Marco spoke through gritted teeth and looked up at the stunned faces before him. "I-I...and I, I'm the enemy,"

"Marco," Rosalie was the first to speak, calling out to him in a way he was so familiar with. So comforting and warm, and just bursting with love, and that only had the tears sting his eyes. "Marco, sweetheart, what do you mean by that?"

"I-I'm not a Regnante, mom," Marco's voice cracked and he shook his head, resisting the urge to look away. Knowing he had to face the consequences of his actions. "I-You guys adopted me and I love you all so much for that, and I-I came to you as a slave, I came to you broken. But before I was a slave...I..."

"I was Aleksander Romanov,"

The only response Marco got to those words was an even more suffocating silence.

The thick blanket broke by Serafina bursting into a fit of laughter. The sound dying away as abruptly as it had started.

"Don't fuck with me this early in the morning, Marco," Serafina growled, glaring at the youngest from her place on the couch. "I have much more important things to be doing that indulging you in your bullshit pranks," She snarled and stood up from the place, about to make her way out but froze when Salvatore grabbed hold of her wrist, preventing her from leaving.

Both twins glaring at one another and seemingly having a complete conversation with their eyes alone. Serafina's eyes widening after a few silent minutes and turned to look at Marco slumped form with a parted mouth.

"You're lying," Serafina denied. "You're in on this sick joke. I thought you were better than this, Salvatore," Her voice grew louder with every successive word.

Teeth gritting at the way her twin's grasp tightened on her wrist and his eyes remained unmoved.

"You're lying. Both of you are lying. This is just some sick joke. Mom, don't you dare listen to these two psychos, they're lying," Serafina denied fervently, her voice growing tighter with every word and Marco's heart shriveled in his chest as the tears blinded him to hear his sister's voice crack and a sob escape her. Burying her face into Salvatore's chest as he held her.

Rosalie's eyes widening as she stared from Salvatore to Marco, then to her husband, silently begging him to make sense of what was going on.

"We..." Marco managed to choke out through the lump in his throat. "We had an event at the Winter Palace and...and, and Nikolai showed up. After twenty-five years of self-imposed exile he showed up at this event and I got excited and I-"

"-Marco, no," Sofia hissed out, covering her mouth with her hands. "Please...please, baby, tell me you didn't engage him,"

Swallowing thickly, Marco lowered his gaze in shame and refused to meet his wife's eyes, listening to the sharp inhale of breath with Serafina crying into Salvatore's chest on one side and the tangible disappointment on the other side. Pressing in on Marco and he forced himself to resist the impulse to run.

Marco watched Alessio and Nicole's feet stand up from their place, Alessio trying to take Serafina but froze when Salvatore shook his head, resting his cheek on the top of her head and looking at the empty dining room. The twin's spouses giving each other an uncertain look before stepping away.

"He..." Marco tried to finish the story. "He recognized my bracelet and then asked me where I got it from and I told him I had always had it, and then he asked me how old I was, and I told him and then...then he laughed and said something in Russian, but then he...he said that I was Aleksander Romanov and his son and I-"

"-Why didn't you stop him?" Arcangelo finally spoke up, gaze vacant, but words directed to Salvatore. "Why didn't you stop him, Salvatore?"

"He did!" Marco exclaimed, realizing that the people with even an inkling of how the Mafia operates must be blaming Salvatore. "He ordered me not to engage. He ordered me not to answer, but I...I didn't understand the significance of such trivial questions and I...I disobeyed him,"

"Marco," Arsenio hissed and clutched at his hair. "You-"

"-What now?" Sofia halted Arsenio's words, making her way over to her husband and crouched beside him, tangling their fingers together. "What should we do now, Salvatore?"

"I told him we contain this," Salvatore murmured vacantly, as if though he were talking to himself. "I told him that we forget about it and it never happened because his being a Romanov among the Regnantes has serious repercussions in the underworld-"

"-Don't tell me you're actually thinking about your reputation," Angelica growled in disgust, instantly regretting the words the moment they had slipped out as everyone in that room tensed and the temperature dropped by a few degrees.

"Angelica," Arsenio hissed and watched Salvatore straighten from his place against the archway, gently guiding Serafina away from his chest and walked into the lounge. Coming to stand mere centimeters away from his sister in law and gave Arsenio a glare when the man attempted to speak.

"Who the fuck do you think I am, Angelica?" Salvatore asked her calmly crouching to be at face level with her. "Hmm?"

"I-I-I-"

"-You're looking at me as the Regnante Mafia Boss aren't you?" Salvatore cooed sardonically. "If that is the man you view me to be then be prepared to deal with him-"

"-Salvatore!" Arcangelo snapped, standing from his place, cheeks flushed and teeth gritted. "That is enough!" Salvatore remained crouching in front of Angelica with his gaze clashing with his fathers

"That is enough," Arcangelo repeated, glaring at his son as the Mafia Boss gave a fleeting look to the woman before him and stood from his place, backing away. "I don't want to hear another word from any of you. You hear me?"

Various people nodded and looked away before Arcangelo returned his gaze to Marco.

"What do you want us to do?"

"What do you mean?" Marco's eyebrows pinched together at the question.

"You're telling us you're a Romanov. An enemy of the Regnantes'. What do you want us to do with this information? Legally you're a Regnante, but biologically you're the heir to the Romanov Mafia. There is a conflict of interest here that needs to be resolved. How do you want to resolve it?"

"I-I don't,"

"For God's sake!" Nicole finally burst. "He is asking you if you want to remain a Regnante or go and take over the Romanov Mafia! If you want to stay a Regnante then we will fight tooth and nail to make that happen, but if you want to go be a Romanov then we will make that happen. Dad is asking you this: Are you Marco Raffaele Regnante or Aleksander Nikolovich Romanov?"

"I..." Marco looked at all the faces before him, eyes shifting from Nicole's burning expression to Alessio's sad eyes and Serafina's tear-streaked cheeks. He looked up at Salvatore's impassive mask with eyes crying without shedding tears. Shifting his gaze to Arcangelo's downcast gaze and Rosalie's stunned into silence figure. To Arsenio's gritted teeth and Angelica's bloodshot eyes, and finally at Sofia's soft smile. His wife's glossy eyes as she gave him a gentle smile and pressed her palm into the side of his face, silently assuring him that she was here no matter what.

The question before him burning.

Regnante or Romanov?

Ally or enemy?

Family or a competitor?

It had always been family above else for Marco. It was always family.

But...the Romanov's were his family, too.

"I..." Marco choked out, looking back at Sofia's assuring smile and let out a shaky exhale. "I don't know,"