Chapter Ten: A Storm Within

Antonio’s fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white with anger. The tension in the room was thick, palpable, like a storm waiting to break. His men stood around him, all tense, awaiting his judgment. He had never been a man to show weakness—his cold demeanor, the ruthless reputation he had carefully built, all masked the depth of the conflict raging inside him. But tonight, that mask was slipping.

The deal had gone wrong. A shipment, a simple exchange of goods that should have gone off without a hitch, had been botched by a careless mistake. And it wasn’t just the deal that had gone wrong—it was the endless questions his son had been asking him about Isabella Carlos. His innocent curiosity, his desire to see her again, to talk to her—Luca, of all people, had found pictures of Isabella on the internet, flipping through them with a wide-eyed fascination, showing Antonio how “pretty” she was.

Antonio’s jaw tightened as the weight of his son’s words echoed in his mind.

“She’s so pretty, Daddy. Look! Look how pretty she is!” Luca had said just that morning, holding up his tablet with photos of Isabella, her warm smile lighting up the screen.

Antonio had barely looked at the photos. He had already seen her—knew she was beautiful in a way that made men weak, in a way that made him question his own judgment. She was everything he despised, and yet everything his son adored.

He could feel the simmering frustration in his chest, the frustration of not being able to control his thoughts, of not being able to shut out the memories of Isabella and his son’s innocent affection for her. He had spent years building his empire, tearing down anyone who dared challenge him, but now, as he stood here, his mind was tangled, distracted, unsettled by his son’s innocent affection.

"Idioti!" Antonio shouted in Italian, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension in the room. (Idiots!)

His men flinched, their eyes shifting uneasily, but no one spoke. The room seemed to grow colder as Antonio’s fury surged. He paced across the room, his boots clicking sharply against the floor, each step a reminder of the danger he was capable of, the power he wielded. But today, that power felt hollow. It felt as though the walls he had built around himself, the walls he had fought so hard to maintain, were crumbling.

“Are you all fucking blind?!” Antonio continued, his voice a growl, his temper barely held in check. “How could you let this happen? A fucking mess! A simple deal, and you fuck it up like a bunch of amateurs!”

(“Avete rovinato tutto, idioti! Che cazzo avete fatto?!”) (“You ruined everything, idiots! What the hell did you do?!”)

His men stood frozen, their heads bowed in submission. They had seen Antonio angry before, but this—this was different. There was a raw edge to his anger now, something that felt deeper, more personal.

Antonio’s eyes flashed with a dark intensity, his mind flicking back to Luca’s innocent face. The boy had no idea what he was doing to his father, had no idea how badly he was tearing Antonio apart with each mention of Isabella. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry at Luca. How could he? Luca was just a child, a child who was reaching out for something his father was too afraid to give. Love. Trust. A connection to someone who wasn’t tainted by the darkness that had consumed Antonio’s life.

As Antonio’s thoughts swirled, his men remained silent, the weight of his fury hanging in the air. One of them, an older man named Marco, who had served Antonio for years, finally spoke up, his voice quiet but steady.

“Antonio, calm down,” Marco said, his tone a mixture of concern and respect. “We’ll fix this. We’ll get the deal back on track. You know we can handle this.”

Antonio’s fists clenched tighter, but Marco’s words didn’t soothe him. Nothing could soothe him right now—not the business, not the men around him, and certainly not the empty bottle of whiskey that sat in front of him. His mind kept returning to one thing: Isabella.

“She’s too fucking pretty,” Antonio muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the thought. “Too fucking pretty for her own good.”

He hadn’t wanted to think about her again. He hadn’t wanted to let her into his world, into the small space he had left for anyone other than his son. But here she was, lingering in the back of his mind, making his chest tighten, his resolve weaken. And Luca—his son, his flesh and blood—kept reminding him of her, of her warmth, her kindness, the way she made him feel something Antonio hadn’t felt in years: hope.

But hope was a dangerous thing. It was fragile, easily crushed, and Antonio knew better than to let it take root. He had learned that lesson the hard way.

He turned back to his men, his gaze hard and cold. “Get it together,” he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We don’t have time for mistakes. Handle it. And next time, don’t fuck it up.”

With that, he stormed out of the room, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of Luca’s innocent questions and Isabella’s smile. As he made his way down the long corridor, the air around him seemed to grow heavier. The walls that had once felt so solid now seemed to pulse with a new kind of energy—a threat that Antonio couldn’t quite understand.

His son was growing up too fast. Too fast for him to keep control, too fast for him to shield him from the things that could hurt him.

When Antonio reached his office, he slammed the door behind him, locking it as if to shut out the world. But even here, in the silence of the room, the weight of his son’s words pressed on him.

“She’s pretty, Daddy.” Luca’s voice echoed in his mind, soft and trusting. “She makes me smile. She’s really nice.”

Antonio sat down behind his desk, his fingers running over the smooth surface, trying to focus, trying to ground himself in the reality of his work. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of Luca, holding up his tablet, his small face glowing with admiration as he showed Antonio the pictures of Isabella.

He had never wanted this. Never wanted to care about anyone else. His world had always been about power, control, and survival. But now, as his son spoke so innocently about a woman he didn’t trust, Antonio felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about Isabella that unsettled him. Something about her kindness, her beauty, the way she made Luca smile. It made him question everything he had built, everything he had believed in.

Was this what it was like to be a father? To be torn between protecting your child and protecting yourself from the world that could break you?

Antonio leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, his fingers massaging his temples as the chaos inside him swirled. He had spent his entire life avoiding attachments, avoiding vulnerability. But with Luca’s questions, with Isabella’s smile, everything he had worked for—everything he had tried to keep under control—was slipping through his fingers.

He couldn’t protect Luca forever. The boy would grow up, and Antonio would have to make a choice: continue down the path he had chosen, keeping his distance from everything, from everyone. Or—he would have to take a chance. Take a chance on Isabella.

But that meant letting go of the walls he had so carefully constructed. Letting go of his anger, his fear, and maybe—even his distrust.

As the thoughts swirled through his mind, Antonio knew one thing for sure—his son had already taken the first step. And now, it was up to him to decide whether to follow.

The storm inside him raged on, and Antonio knew that nothing would ever be the same again.