2§. Duty and Defiance

Alessandro’s Pov

Amelia's uniqueness was mesmerizing.

From the moment I saw her trembling beside that centerpiece in the ballroom, she captured my attention.

It wasn't her beauty, though she is quite attractive. But it was something else.

Fear.

Amelia radiated it, raw and unfiltered. Yet beneath all those facades, I saw something more. A spark. Faint, but present. Enough to intrigue me.

She was petite, her slight frame nearly swallowed by the crowd this evening.

Her pale skin glowed effortlessly, while her red hair, was pulled back in a bun, making her hazel eyes shine brightly.

I found myself watching her in the shadows after I dismissed her. She ran out of the room, clutching the hem of her dress like her life depended on it.

Weakness had no place in my world, and yet… she intrigued me. Why?

I leaned back on the chair in my study, pouring myself a glass of whiskey. The coronation ceremony was about to begin in an hour, but my thoughts weren’t on the the title I was about to accept.

They were on her. Amelia.

Who was she? She flinched too easily, avoided eye contact, and carried herself like a cornered animal. But there was a determination she tried to hide. I knew the look.

I had worn it once.

The first time my father threw me into the ring, I was thirteen. My brother, Diego, stood at the edge, his face pale.

“This is the world we live in,” my father growled, his voice dark. “You fight, or you die.”

The opponent was older, stronger, and more experienced. I knew I didn't stand a chance, but failure wasn’t an option.

“Alessandro!” my father shouted as I stumbled under the flurry of blows.

“Get up! You are a Rossi. We do not kneel. Ever!”

I didn’t get up for him.

I got up because Diego was watching.

Diego, who had inherited my mother’s gentle soul, always told me there was more to life than power.

He said I didn’t have to be like our father. That I could choose a different path.

He left before I ever had the chance to believe him.

I downed the rest of my drink, the taste sending a familiar warmth through me.

Diego’s departure had forced me at my father’s hand. I was no longer a second son with the luxury of time and mistakes. I became the heir. The future Don.

The training intensified. My father carved out the softness in me, leaving behind only what was necessary.

By the time I turned eighteen, I had learned to have control over myself and others.

Now, as I prepared to take my father’s place, I felt nothing.

No pride. No excitement. Just the weight of expectation pressing down on me, and the role of duty locking me in place.

**********************

The ceremony was flawless, as it had to be.

High-ranking officials, powerful allies, and distant cousins crowded the space, their gazes filled with anticipation.

The Rossi family’s strength was unmatched, and tonight, I became its living symbol.

As I walked to the dias, each step echoed with finality.

My father, Gabrielle, stood waiting, his imposing figure still commanding respect despite the lines of age on his face.

He gave a curt nod, his eyes roaming my figure in approval.

“Are you ready, Alessandro?” he asked, his voice low and even.

“Yes,” I replied, coolly. I had learned long ago not to show hesitation.

He placed the ceremonial blade into my hands, the steel cold and menacing.

For a moment, the weight of it made my chest tighten.

“Tonight, you are not my son,” my father continued, his eyes boring into mine. “You are Don Alessandro Rossi, the head of the Italian Mafia.”

“Thank you father.” I said, bowing in respect.

The room erupted in applause as I raised the blade high.

Cheers, toasts, and vows of loyalty rang out, but I hardly paid attention. My thoughts was else where, my eyes roamed the crowd and for a moment, I saw a flash of red hair among the crowd.

Amelia.

She moved cautiously through the crowd, carrying a tray of wine, with a calm expression.

I clenched my jaw, rubbing my temples. I couldn't explain what made me so attracted to her.

The applause was cut short by the sound of shattering glass, filling the room.

My head snapped towards the toward the commotion at the back, where the maids scrambled, their faces pale with panic.

Serena’s sharp voice sliced through the air. “Clean it up. Now!”

But my attention wasn’t on them. It was on Amelia.

She clutched her hands firmly, blood seeping through her slender fingers.

Something hot and unfamiliar surged through my chest. Anger? No,rage. Who had dared to hurt her?

My fists clenched as I walked towards her. My expression stayed cold void of any emotion but inside, I burned.

Her delicate frame seemed even smaller as I approached. Her face was pale, and she swayed slightly on her feet.

“Amelia,” I barked, harsher than I intended. “Let me see.”

She blinked up at me, wide-eyed. “I….It’s nothing, sir,” she whispered, a tear escaping her eye.

“Quiet.” I grabbed her hand, inspecting the wound. It wasn’t deep, but the sight of her blood stirred something wild in me.

Her skin felt cold against mine, her body barely able to stay upright.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered, a tear escaping her eye.

“You’re not fine,” I snapped, masking my concern with irritation. “Stand still.”

Grabbing a nearby cloth, I wrapped her hands carefully. My touch was firm, almost rough, but I couldn’t risk being gentle. Not here. Not now.

“Who let this happen?” I demanded, turning to the other maids.

They froze, Serena included, and avoided my gaze. No one dared to speak. Useless.

Amelia tugged at my hand, her voice weak. “Please… I can handle myself.”

“Stop talking!” I warned. I was beyond furious now.

Footsteps echoed behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Alessandro!” My father called out. I felt his gaze biting holes into me from behind. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

I released her hand and straightened myself, pulling on the mask I’d perfected over the years. The ruthless Don my father had turned me into.

“Helping a maid,” I replied flatly, creating a distance between Amelia as though the contact disgusted me.

My father's glare was like a storm. “Do you have no sense? No pride? You’re the Don and yet here you are wasting time with a maid. A servant!”

My jaw tightened, but my expression remained blank.

“She was bleeding. I was only ensuring our reputation remains untarnished.”

“That’s no excuse!” his voice roared again.

Those words cut deeper than they should have. Truth was that in the Rossi's family we maintained a perfection that no matter the kind of dirty work we did, women in the household won't get hurt, servants included.

I turned to Amelia, who stood trembling. Her fragility stirred something in me and I hated it. Hated how she made me feel.

But I shoved it all down, locking it away.

My face hardened further as I looked back at my father. “You’re right,” I said coldly.

“She’s just a maid. That’s all she’ll ever be.”

I didn’t look at her as I said those words. I couldn’t. But from the corner of my eye, I saw the way her shoulders felt limp, her eyes filled with tears.

“Good,” my father growled, satisfied. “Now act like the Don you are.”

He turned and walked away, leaving the room heavy with silence. I didn’t move, my eyes fixed on the bloodstained floor.

I’d said the right words. The ones he needed to hear.

But deep down, I knew I didn’t believe them.