SCARES OF THE PAST

Silvio’s POV

My chest tightened at the sound of her gasp. The sharp intake of breath cut through the air, louder than the ache in my shoulder. I’d expected it—I always did. It was a familiar reaction: wide eyes, surprise, a flicker of disgust. Everyone who had seen me like this had reacted the same way. Women I had shared my bed with, business associates I had once trusted—they all saw my scars and recoiled, as if the marks were a curse, a reminder of something broken.

Her reaction wasn’t surprising, but it stung all the same. I shoved the pang of emotion down before it could surface, my face already hardening into a mask of indifference.

I moved swiftly, pulling my shirt back on in one smooth motion. The fabric pressed against my wound, but I didn’t flinch. I refused to give anything away. Without sparing her another glance, I turned on my heel, my boots echoing sharply against the floor as I stormed out. The door swung shut behind me, sealing the moment as firmly as the walls around my heart.

My scars were mine to bear, my pain to remember. They weren’t a sight for pity or sympathy.

The ache in my shoulder flared with every step, a reminder of the bullet wound, but I didn’t pause. I couldn’t. My mind was already elsewhere—on Nicolas. The man needed to be reminded of who he was dealing with.

As I descended the grand staircase, my right-hand man, Leo, appeared at my side.

“Status report,” I barked, my tone clipped.

Leo gave a firm nod, his voice steady as he listed the names of our fallen men.

“Markus Aile. Tony Witsoni. Luka Schmenti. Daniel Cone.”

My jaw tightened, but I only nodded. “Send gift baskets to their families. Make sure they know they’re not forgotten.”

“Will do, boss,” Leo replied before disappearing into the shadows.

The mansion’s main hall, once a battleground hours ago, was now spotless, a chilling contrast to the chaos that had unfolded. It was as though nothing had ever happened, the pristine walls ignorant of the blood that had been spilled.

I stepped outside, my strides purposeful as I made my way to my uncle’s estate.

The door creaked open with a gentle push, and Nicolas’ voice greeted me immediately.

“Silvio.”

Nicolas’ sharp eyes roamed over my disheveled appearance, lingering on the blood seeping through my shirt. Without hesitation, he reached for the phone on his desk.

“Yes, send him in immediately,” Nicolas ordered before hanging up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I growled, my voice low and dangerous.

Nicolas met my glare without flinching. “Watch your tone, Silvio. I won’t tolerate your disrespect.”

“No, Uncle,” I snapped, stepping closer. “It’s you who has forgotten yours. I am the Don, not you. And I’ll be damned if I let you penetrate my fortress again.”

Nicolas’ jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s a heavy accusation, Silvio. I hope you know what you’re saying.”

The tension in the room thickened, but before I could respond, the door clicked open. The family doctor stepped inside, his expression calm as he moved toward me.

I sank onto the sofa, suppressing a wince as the weight of my shirt pressed against my wound. The doctor began his work in silence, his hands steady and practiced as he tended to my injuries.

As the alcohol burned against my skin, I gritted my teeth, and Nicolas’ voice broke the silence. “Don’t you think this girl is keeping you on edge?”

I didn’t look up. “My wife is none of your concern. You made the arrangements; I married her. It’s no longer in your court.”

“You married the wrong one!” Nicolas snapped, his voice rising. “That was not the arrangement.”

The clink of the bullet hitting the metal tray echoed in the room. I flexed my now-treated shoulder before standing.

“The agreement was that I marry a Moretti. I married a Moretti,” I said evenly, my voice calm but firm.

“And you gave out fifty million dollars for what exactly?” Nicolas barked, his anger boiling over.

I stepped closer, my movements deliberate, my gaze unwavering. “I do not answer to you, Nicolas. And last I checked, you don’t control my finances. Stay out of my way.”

Without waiting for a response, I stormed out of the office, slamming the door shut behind me.

Instead of returning to the room I shared with Martina, I made my way to my penthouse, a place far enough from the estate to give me the space I needed.

Under the warmth of the running water, I let the events of the day wash over me—the loss of my men, the fierce defiance in Martina’s eyes, and the echo of her gasp when she saw my scars. The look on her face, the mixture of shock and something else, left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I couldn’t shake the burn in my chest, the lingering ache from seeing her expression. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t stay near her tonight. I needed distance—distance from her gaze, her questions, and that damn fierceness that reeled me in against my better judgment.

As the water continued to run, I clenched my fists, my mind already calculating the next move.

Then, I froze.

“Don’t move,” an unfamiliar voice commanded behind me, cold and steady.

Adrenaline surged through my veins. I glanced at the fogged mirror, catching the faint outline of a figure reflected in the steam. The bastard thought he had me cornered.

Big mistake.

In a calculated motion, I turned off the faucet, letting silence fill the room. My hand shot out, grabbing the heavy soap dish on the counter. With a swift turn, I hurled it behind me. The sound of shattering porcelain filled the air, followed by a grunt of pain.

I didn’t hesitate. I lunged toward the intruder, ignoring the sharp sting in my shoulder. The man stumbled, but I was faster, pinning him against the wall.

“Who sent you?” I growled, my grip tightening around his throat.

The man chuckled darkly, his defiance etched in the blood on his lips. “You think you can stop what’s coming? It doesn’t matter who sent me. Your time’s running out, Don Argento.”

I slammed him harder against the wall, rage flaring hot and fast. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

Before he could respond, the bathroom door burst open, and Leo entered, his gun drawn.

“Boss, are you—”

“Fine,” I snapped, cutting him off. I released the intruder, letting him collapse to the floor. “Tie him up. I want answers.”

Leo nodded, already pulling out restraints.

As I stepped out of the room, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The name on the screen stopped me cold: Martina.

For a moment, I considered letting it ring. But against my better judgment, I answered.

“What is it?” I asked, sharper than I intended.

“Silvio…” Her voice was softer than usual, hesitant. “Are you okay? I heard something happened.”

I swallowed hard, my mind still reeling from the attack. “I’m fine. Stay where you are.”

“Silvio, I—”

“Martina,” I interrupted, my voice firm. “This isn’t your concern. Stay out of it.”

Her silence was deafening, a reminder of the growing tension between us.

“Fine,” she said finally, her tone icy. “But don’t expect me to sit back and do nothing.”

The line went dead before I could respond, leaving me with the bitter taste of regret.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and turned to Leo, my expression hard. “Wake him up,” I ordered, nodding toward the unconscious intruder. “We’re about to send a message.”