The sunlight spilled gently through the large windows of the penthouse, casting a warm morning glow over the marble floors. Bell stood at the kitchen island, stirring Enzo's favorite oatmeal—brown sugar and cinnamon, just the way he liked it.
She glanced at the clock on the stove. Nearly 9:00 a.m. here. It was already afternoon in Italy.
She hadn't heard from Alessandro since the night he called and told her he was going back to confront his grandfather. She had no idea how that had gone. Had it been explosive? Cold? Did he regret going? Did he regret anything?
"Mom?" Enzo's voice tugged her back to the present.
Bell turned, her eyes softening. "Yeah, baby?"
He was sitting at the table, kicking his feet back and forth under the chair, still in his little pajama set—navy with planets on them. His spoon was in his oatmeal but untouched. "Is Alessandro coming today?"
The question was so simple, so unassuming, and yet it made something sharp twist inside her chest.
She moved to sit across from him and reached out to brush his curls off his forehead. "No, not today," she said gently. "He had some business to take care of, but he should be back around soon."
Enzo looked down at his bowl and nodded, quiet for a beat. Then, "He said he'd teach me how to throw a real curveball. Do you think he still remembers?"
Bell gave a tight smile. "I think he remembers a lot more than you know."
There was a silence between them that wasn't heavy, just… thoughtful. Enzo picked up his spoon and took a bite, and Bell watched him quietly. He had no idea of the storm happening across the ocean. Of the years lost. Of everything that had been stolen from them.
She reached for her coffee and looked out the window, her gaze distant.
What's happening over there, Alessandro?
She wondered if he was okay. If he had gotten the answers he went looking for. If he was thinking about Enzo. About her. About what they all could have had.
"Mom?" Enzo's voice brought her back again.
"Yes?"
"Can we go to the bookstore later? The one with the café? I wanna get a book about space."
Bell smiled more genuinely this time. "Yeah, baby. We can do that."
And with that, she stood, gathering their dishes. She didn't know what was coming next. But for now, she had her boy, and he had her. Until Alessandro came back with answers.
INT. ITALY— MARCHETTI ESTATE
The air was colder here. Crisper. The way the wind moved across the open fields of the Marchetti estate made everything feel detached, suspended in some echo of time. Somewhere in the distance, marble statues stood frozen in gardens no one visited anymore, and the faint rustle of olive trees whispered secrets too old to be understood.
Alessandro stood near the edge of the property, where the gravel path ended and the land dropped into a sweeping valley below. His coat hung open, but he didn't notice the cold. Not really.
It was almost poetic—how much land they owned, how much power they held. But it all felt useless now.
He had gone inside that house to face a monster, and when he left Giuliano's study, the world didn't collapse like he thought it would. The ceilings didn't crack. The walls didn't bleed.
Instead, the silence was louder. He'd told them everything—his father, his mother. Watched the disbelief on their faces curdle into fury. Lorenzo had sat down like the air had been knocked out of him when Alessandro said the boy's name: Lorenzo.
His son. Their grandson. Hidden. Erased.
Alessandro stared out at the endless land his family had conquered over generations. The blood money, the legacy, the empire.
And none of it mattered.
None of it could give him back what he lost. What had been stolen from him. Time. A family. Her.
Bell's voice still haunted him, soft and breaking from the only voicemail he'd seen:
"Please, please just answer me…"
He never had.
And now, the thought that Enzo had taken his first steps, said his first words, cried his first tears — all without him — made something tighten in his chest until it felt like it might snap open.
He bent slightly, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
He wasn't sure if it was grief or rage anymore. Probably both. But under it all was something far worse:
Regret.
He straightened, eyes burning against the wind.
Alessandro stood still for a long moment, the wind playing with the edges of his coat. His jaw clenched as he pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb hesitating over her name.
He hadn't called her since he landed. He hadn't updated her since the night he told her he was coming to confront Giuliano. But now… after everything, he needed to see her face. Hear her voice. Ground himself.
With a deep breath, he pressed FaceTime.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then the screen lit up, and there she was—curled up on her couch, a throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the glow of the evening lamp casting warmth on her face. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him.
"Alessandro," Bell said softly, straightening up.
"Hi," he said, his voice low, rougher than usual.
There was a silence. Not tense—just full.
"Are you okay?" she finally asked.
He looked away briefly, then back at her. His expression had changed from the rigid anger she'd last seen to something quieter. Bruised.
"I told them," he said. "My family. About everything. About you. Enzo." His voice caught slightly. "They didn't know either. Not my parents."
Bell's brows pulled together, her lips parting as if to say something—but she didn't.
"I… I confronted him. Giuliano," Alessandro added. "I lost it, Bell. I said things I've been holding in for years. I told him I would burn everything down before I ever let him take anything else from me."
Her eyes softened a bit, the anger she still held tempered by the pain she saw in his.
"I walked out of that house, and I just needed to tell you," he confessed. "I don't know why I thought this call would fix anything. But I needed it anyway."
Bell swallowed hard. "I'm glad you did." She hesitated. "Are you coming back soon?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow night," he said. "I've been here long enough."
He looked at her through the screen, his eyes heavy.
"Tell Enzo… tell him I'll see him soon."
"I will," she said quietly. Then, more gently, "You look tired."
"I am," he murmured. "But talking to you… helps."
Her expression flickered with a mix of emotions. She didn't say anything to that. Instead, she gave a small nod.
"Goodnight, Alessandro."
"Goodnight, Bell."
The screen went dark, but the ache lingered.