The late afternoon sun poured through the high windows of Raphael De Varezzo's study, gilding the room in soft amber light. The heavy air carried the faint scent of cigar smoke and old books. Raphael sat behind his mahogany desk, posture straight, expression unreadable, his fingers loosely gripping a crystal glass of scotch. Across from him sat Lorenzo Romano—calm, composed, and sharp-eyed—and beside him, lounging carelessly on the couch, was his younger brother Marco, who looked far too relaxed for a meeting that involved men who could command armies with a phone call.
"You're saying the shipment will arrive through the southern port," Lorenzo said, his tone smooth but firm. "You trust the handler?"
Raphael's cold eyes lifted from the papers. "I don't trust anyone. But I control everyone who matters."
Marco snorted, tipping his head back. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you were born without the ability to smile, Raph."
A faint twitch of Raphael's lips—almost a smirk—was all the response Marco got.
Lorenzo shot his brother a warning glance. "We're discussing business, Marco."
"Yeah, yeah, business." Marco waved lazily, leaning forward with a grin. "You know what I think? I think Raph's too busy glaring at people to actually enjoy life. When was the last time you left this study, huh?"
Raphael's reply was slow, deliberate. "The last time I left, someone almost died."
That earned a low chuckle from Lorenzo and a raised brow from Marco. "Point taken," Marco said, his grin widening. "Still, you should try being human once in a while."
The room fell into an easy silence after that—comfortable, even. Despite their banter, it was clear the three men shared a bond that ran deep, rooted in years of loyalty and bloodshed.
Then came the soft knock on the door.
"Come in," Raphael said without looking up.
The door opened, and Bianca stepped inside. Graceful as ever, her movements careful, almost rehearsed. A white dress hugged her frame, elegant and composed. In her hands, a tray—coffee, sugar, and a small plate of pastries.
"I thought you might need this," she said softly, eyes flickering toward Raphael but never meeting his directly.
"Leave it there," he murmured.
She set the tray down, her fingers trembling slightly. For a brief moment, her gaze brushed over the Romano brothers, her smile polite. "Good evening, Lorenzo, Marco."
"Evening, Bianca," Lorenzo replied with polite restraint.
Marco, however, leaned back with that boyish grin of his. "Bianca, always a pleasure. You make better coffee than Raph's servants. You should stay."
Bianca smiled faintly—tight, controlled. "Maybe another time."
She turned to leave, and as her hand touched the doorknob, Marco's voice broke the silence again.
"Oh, by the way," he said, a glint of mischief lighting his eyes. "Raph, did you hear? Your little Starlight is coming back."
Raphael's glass paused midway to his lips.
Lorenzo's brows furrowed, though he said nothing. Bianca froze mid-step, her fingers curling against the doorframe.
Marco, oblivious—or perhaps pretending to be—continued cheerfully. "Ellara's flight lands at the end of the week. You remember her, right? Hard not to—she used to follow you everywhere, even when you pretended not to notice."
The glass in Raphael's hand made a soft clink as it touched the desk. "I remember," he said quietly, voice low enough to send a shiver through the room.
Marco grinned wider. "Then you also remember how she used to play that old piano in your estate. The one no one touches now. Maybe it's time you dust it off, huh?"
Bianca's breath hitched ever so slightly. She didn't turn around, but her reflection in the glass door betrayed her discomfort. Her husband's gaze—calm, unreadable, and distant—wasn't meant for her. It was elsewhere.
Lorenzo shot Marco a warning look, murmuring, "Enough."
But the silence that followed said everything.
Raphael leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming once against the glass before stilling completely. His voice came out low, detached—almost gentle, but dangerous in its calmness.
"She's really coming back."
Marco grinned. "In a few days. Try not to look so thrilled."
For the first time that evening, something flickered across Raphael's face—too brief to name, too guarded to understand. But it was there.
And as Bianca quietly slipped out of the study, her elegant smile faltering the moment the door closed behind her, she realized the truth she had been trying not to see:
The woman her husband had never stopped waiting for… was coming home.