Still in disbelief at what had just been said, Alessandro watched Costa walk away as if he had the nerve to leave him standing there without giving orders or instructions. Something about the man's attitude grated at him. Costa needed a reminder of his place—he was Alessandro's guard, not his grandfather.
Alessandro's mind raced. He knew he had to assert control, make Costa fear him more than the old man's wrath. Reluctantly, he took out his phone and dialed the number he didn't want to call. Not because he wished to, but because he knew what would happen if he didn't: access to the family fortune, his car, and privileges could all be blocked in an instant.
The phone rang once… twice… and then, on the first ring, his grandfather picked up. Alessandro could hear the calm, satisfied sigh on the other end. It was deliberate, meant to irritate him—and it did.
"You finally agreed to call me, mio coraggioso nipote," the old man's voice boomed, trembling with icy authority. "Why didn't you pick up immediately when I called?"
Alessandro felt the familiar chill run down his spine. The Romano family was known for men of valor, voices so commanding and terrifying they could shake the bravest of men. Rumor said their words alone could strike fear as surely as a bullet. Now, Alessandro was being pulled into the legacy—the cold, ruthless lineage he both admired and resented.
"Grandfather," Alessandro replied, his own voice as cold and controlled as steel, "I told you, do not disturb me at school. Haven't I made that clear?"
"Ah, ma certo… you will answer when I speak, but first, answer my question," the old man responded, sharp as a blade, his tone cutting through the air even over the phone.
Alessandro pinched the bridge of his nose, knuckles white. He let out a low sigh, wishing he could conjure a death wish right then and there.
"I was in class when you called," he said curtly, trying to shield himself.
There was a pause—then Alessandro froze. His grandfather's next words stopped him in his tracks:
"Figlio mio… we both know that's not true. Tell me the truth."
Shock was too mild a word. Alessandro's blood ran cold. The old man had eyes everywhere—personal bodyguards reporting every move. Chi mi ha spiato? he thought furiously. I'll find out who betrayed me later. But for now, he had to play along.
"Okay… fine. Yes, I lied. Happy now?" Alessandro asked, irritation lacing his words.
"Buono… I just want you to know, mio caro, that I have my eyes on you… always," his grandfather said, calm, authoritative, a subtle reminder of the grip he still held on Alessandro's life.
"Yes, I know," Alessandro muttered, frustrated by the power his grandfather wielded over everything and everyone around him.
"Next time, pick up on the first ring, non il secondo. Capito bene?" The old man's tone carried an unmistakable edge of command.
"Yes, understood. Loud and clear," Alessandro replied, seething inside. He just wanted this call to end.
"Good… molto bene," his grandfather muttered, a satisfied chuckle escaping him.
Alessandro's patience wore thin. The man's continuous, ominous laughter grated against his nerves. "Can we get to the point now? Why are you calling, and what exactly do you want from me?" His tone was icy, bold, and fearless.
"I see you tire of my words, mio nipote," the old man replied, voice deceptively calm, as if hurt by Alessandro's impatience.
"Yes… now back to my question," Alessandro snapped, cutting him off.
"The reason I called," the old man said, "is to discuss your future."
Alessandro froze. His future? The gears in his mind turned, trying to guess what new game his grandfather had devised. Che diavolo vuole adesso?
"My future? What's there to discuss? I'm still a young man," Alessandro asked, his voice tight, confused, and wary.
"You think being young means you are free, mio caro? Ti sbagli," the old man replied, voice steely and unyielding. "My birthday is coming—seventy-five this year. I will celebrate it… grandi festeggiamenti. And I expect something from you."
Alessandro bristled. "And what would you want that I haven't already given you?"
"Un bambino… a grandson, mio nipote. Nothing else. Nothing more," his grandfather declared, firmly, almost breathlessly.
Alessandro's mind went blank. He jerked upright as if stung, mouth dry, ears ringing. A grandson? The words didn't compute.
The old man's voice continued, calm yet powerful, "It is the greatest gift you can give me, Alessandro. And you will not fail me. Capito?"
Alessandro sat there, heart hammering, the weight of the family empire—and the dangerous legacy of the Romano-Mafia influence—pressing down on him like a storm he couldn't escape. What the hell is he asking me? he thought, mind racing with dread and disbelief