Felix's Room – Night
The notes from the piano finally faded, the last chord lingering in the still air like breath caught in a throat.
Felix sat motionless, back straight, fingertips frozen above the keys.
Slowly, his hands fell to his lap.
He exhaled, eyes drifting toward the edge of the bed — where a small wooden frame rested against the lamp base, slightly tilted but always in view.
He stood, walked over, and gently picked it up.
A quiet, wistful smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The photo was worn at the edges, like it had been handled too many times — or maybe not enough.
In it, a younger Felix beamed up at the camera, cradled safely in his father's arms.
His father's smile was easy. Open. The kind that made everything feel alright, even when the world wasn't.
Felix brushed his thumb over the glass, gently tracing his father's face.
"Would you be proud of me now?"
"Engaged to a man who doesn't love me. Still playing piano to fill the silence. Still pretending this is what you wanted for me."
His throat tightened, but no tears came.
He'd cried enough years ago.
"You used to say I feel too much for this world…" He swallowed. "But what else do I have, Papa, if not how I feel?"
He sat back on the bed, frame still in hand.
And for a moment, the cold of Matteo's voice, the weight of the silence downstairs — none of it mattered.
It was just Felix and that memory, fragile but safe.
Then his eyes softened… and the flashback began.
Flashback — Eight Years Ago
Hospital Wing – Late Evening
The sterile white lights above buzzed faintly as the hallway stretched long and quiet — too quiet.
Felix ran. His shoes hit the tile with frantic rhythm, breaths ragged, chest burning.
He turned a corner, then slowed abruptly.
Just ahead… someone stood outside a hospital room. Tall. Dressed in all black. Long dark hair fell across his shoulders like shadows under the fluorescent lights.
Matteo.
He wasn't moving. Just staring at the door, expression unreadable — except for the way his hand gripped the edge of the frame, knuckles white.
Felix swallowed, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.
He walked forward, steps faltering as he reached for the door.
It opened with a soft creak.
Inside, the world dimmed.
His father lay on the hospital bed — pale, still, machines humming beside him like whispers trying to fill the silence.
A soft blanket covered him to the chest, but even from here… Felix could see the weakness in his breathing.
Beside him sat Matteo's father, arms crossed, eyes shadowed with something between guilt and fear. His face turned, but he said nothing.
Felix stepped inside.
His hand trembled.
"Dad…" he whispered, voice barely there. It cracked under the weight of everything unsaid.
His father's eyes fluttered open. Weak — but warm. Always warm for him.
"Come here, son…" his voice was hoarse, but soft. "Let me see your face."
Felix rushed forward, dropping to his knees by the bed.
He clutched his father's hand tightly, pressing it to his cheek.
"I'm here," he choked. "I came as fast as I could."
A soft smile broke across his father's lips, fragile like glass.
"You've grown so much," he whispered. "Fifteen… and already braver than I ever was."
Felix shook his head, tears streaming silently. "Don't say that. You're going to be okay. You're strong. The doctors—"
"Shh…" His father raised a weak hand, resting it gently on Felix's curls. "It's alright. I don't have much time… but I still have something to give."
He turned his gaze toward the door.
"Matteo."
Matteo didn't move. His jaw clenched, but his eyes flicked up — hesitating.
"Come in," Felix's father said again, firmer this time. "Please."
Matteo stepped inside slowly, his face expressionless, but his hands betrayed him — slightly shaking as he brushed his hair behind one ear.
He approached the bed and stood at the foot, silent.
Felix's father looked between them… then extended a trembling hand, reaching for them both.
"Give me your hands."
Felix offered his immediately. Matteo hesitated — just for a breath — then let out a quiet sigh and placed his beside Felix's.
Their fingers met in the middle, not by intention — but Felix didn't move.
The older man clasped their hands together gently with both of his.
"Take care of him," he said, his voice barely above a whisper now, yet heavy with meaning. "He's soft-hearted. He'll pretend he's fine when he's breaking inside."
Matteo's brows drew slightly together. He didn't answer — not with words. He looked over at his own father… and the man gave him a small nod.
Matteo turned back to Felix's father and gave the faintest bow of his head. Silent. But clear.
"I will."
And in that moment — the room stood still. One life fading… two others unknowingly being bound.
Moments Later
His father's grip loosened.
Just slightly.
Felix barely noticed it at first — too caught in the sound of the heart monitor beside the bed, too focused on his father's face, waiting for another word… another breath…
But it didn't come.
His father's eyes, once gentle and half-lidded, now stared past him — unfocused, still.
The monitor's steady beep changed.
A single, flat tone.
Then silence.
"…Dad?" Felix whispered.
He blinked. Leaned in. His fingers gently tapped his father's wrist, as if coaxing him back.
"Dad, hey—no," his voice faltered. "You didn't finish. You were talking…"
Stillness.
That stillness that fills a room when a soul leaves it — quiet, thick, suffocating.
Felix's chest caved. His throat closed, the ache rising slowly, like drowning.
"No—no, you promised…" he said, barely audible. "You said… not yet."
He leaned forward, burying his face into his father's blanket-covered chest, clutching at the fabric like it could bring him back. His shoulders trembled.
Matteo stood frozen. His eyes locked on Felix — the boy who just shattered in front of him.
He didn't move right away.
He didn't know how.
But then Felix's sobs broke through the room like cracked porcelain. Quiet, muffled, raw.
That sound — Matteo had never heard anything like it.
He took a hesitant step forward… then slowly lowered himself beside the bed. His hand reached out — awkward, unsure — before resting gently on Felix's shoulder.
And though Felix didn't look up…
He didn't pull away either.
After the Funeral
The sky had dulled to a deep gray, as if even the sun mourned.
The grave was fresh — soil dark and raw.
Felix stood by it, silent, unmoving.
His black coat looked too big on his thin frame.
His hands were tucked inside his sleeves, knuckles pale from how tightly he gripped the fabric.
Wind brushed through the trees, lifting the edges of his hair, but he didn't flinch.
One by one, people offered quiet nods and left — some with a pat on his shoulder, some with hushed murmurs of "He was a good man." He didn't respond.
He couldn't.
Only when the last footsteps faded did another join him.
Don Luciano Romano stepped to his side — tall, composed, yet his eyes were swollen at the corners.
His presence was firm, but not imposing.
His gloved hands were folded neatly in front of him, gaze locked on the same fresh earth Felix couldn't stop staring at.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, softly: "Your father and I… we met when we were just boys. High school. He once punched a senior because the boy stole my lunch," Luciano chuckled lightly under his breath, though it didn't reach his eyes. "We fought, fell in love, raised hell… then raised families. Built our companies. Our names. Our empires… side by side."
His voice cracked just a little. "And now he leaves me behind." A quiet pause. "He leaves you behind."
Felix's lips trembled, but he said nothing.
Luciano turned slightly, finally looking at him.
"He spoke to me before the end," he continued. "He knew it was coming… and he made me promise."
Felix turned his head slowly, uncertain. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. "What… promise?"
Luciano's jaw tightened — not coldly, but with the weight of responsibility. "That you would come home with us. Be raised under my roof. Be protected like my own." He paused again. "And… that when you turned eighteen, the engagement between you and Matteo would become official."
Felix's breath caught.
Luciano added gently, "It wasn't a business deal, Felix. It was his hope. His way of making sure you'd never be alone. He wanted to bind our families forever. Not just by ink or contract… but by heart."
Felix's brows drew together, pain flickering across his face. "He really wanted that?"
Luciano gave a soft nod. "He did. And if… if you ever change your mind, you only need to say so."
Felix lowered his gaze. His fingers reached toward the chain around his neck, the silver edge of his father's ring tucked beneath his shirt. He pressed it between his fingers.
He thought of Matteo. Of how he'd always admired him — the way he carried himself, sharp, untouchable… like a distant star Felix could never reach.
And now… fate was placing him right beside that star.
His throat tightened, but he nodded — just once.
"If it's what Dad wanted… I'll honor it."
Luciano didn't speak again. He simply placed a gloved hand on Felix's shoulder — firm, protective — then stood beside him in silence as the wind picked up again.
They stayed there a long while.
Just the two of them… and the grave that had shifted everything.
Back to the Present
The piano keys had long gone still.
Felix sat there, unmoving. His fingers had fallen away from the ivory, resting quietly in his lap.
The frame still sat in his hands — his father's photo catching the dim light filtering through the curtains. Dust swirled in the air, suspended like time itself had paused with him.
He blinked slowly.
A breath in. And then another — this one a little sharper, trembling faintly.
His thumb traced his father's smile again. Slower this time.
"You really left me with a whole new world to carry." The thought whispered through his mind like a passing wind — not bitter, not angry… just tired.
He placed the photo gently back on the nightstand.
His eyes lingered on it a second longer before he rose.
Gone was the boy in black at the cemetery. What stood now was someone shaped by loss — not broken, but reshaped. The kind of quiet strength that doesn't need to prove itself anymore.
He moved toward the window, parting the curtain with his fingers.
Outside, the city pulsed — soft, alive, unaware.
And somewhere in it… Matteo was out there. Complicated, distant, unreadable Matteo.
Felix exhaled, the weight in his chest not quite gone, but not unbearable either.
If this is the path he wanted for me…
His reflection stared back — steady, unyielding.
Then I'll walk it my way.
He turned from the window. The piano remained untouched. But something in the room had changed.