POV: Marco
The restaurant sits right on the edge of the shore, old money quiet, the kind of place that doesn’t rush anyone out. Wide windows face the dark water, candlelight reflected in slow, broken lines across the glass. I chose it deliberately. Neutral ground. No strategy meetings. No blood on the floor. Just food, history, and the illusion of normalcy.
I haven’t had that in a long time.
“Marco Venetti,” Alessandro says as he stands to greet me, his smile easy, familiar. “You look like hell.”
I snort despite myself and clasp his hand. “You always did have a talent for compliments.”
He laughs and pulls me into a brief hug before sitting back down. Alessandro Ferri—businessman, investor, former roommate, one of the few men in my life who knows me without the weight of power attached. We met in college, long before bloodlines and alliances dictated everything I did. Back when ambition was still an idea instead of a weapon.
“I was starting to think you forgot I existed,” he says as the waiter pours wine.
“I didn’t,” I reply. “I just… got busy.”
That earns me a look. “That’s Venetti-speak for disaster.”
The waiter leaves us alone, and for a few minutes we talk about nothing important. The food. The weather. A mutual acquaintance who married badly and divorced worse. The rhythm of it feels almost surreal, like stepping into a memory instead of a moment.
“I miss this,” Alessandro says eventually, gesturing between us. “Talking without everyone trying to read between the lines.”
“So do I,” I admit.
The admission surprises me with its honesty.
He studies me more closely now, his expression softening. “You’re carrying a lot.”
“I always do.”
“No,” he says quietly. “This is different.”
I take a slow sip of wine, letting the silence stretch. The waves outside crash gently against the rocks below, steady and indifferent.
“How’s Carmen?” he asks finally.
The question lands harder than I expect.
My hand stills around the glass. For a moment, I consider deflecting. Lying. Giving him the version of my life that looks clean from the outside.
Instead, I exhale.
“She left.”
Alessandro’s eyebrows draw together. “Left as in… temporarily?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Maybe. Or maybe not.”
“That doesn’t sound like you,” he says gently.
“Nothing about this feels like me anymore,” I reply.
He leans back in his chair, thoughtful. “You two were solid. Everyone knew that.”
“We were,” I agree. “Until we weren’t.”
The words taste bitter.
“What happened?” he asks.
I hesitate. There are things I can’t say. Names I can’t mention. Wars I can’t explain to a man who chose a different life.
“Someone came back,” I say instead. “Someone from the past. And everything started unraveling.”
“Another woman,” Alessandro guesses.
I stiffen. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” he asks calmly.
I don’t answer immediately. My mind flashes with images—Carmen standing in my office, furious and hurt. Arianna in my study, composed and reassuring. The dock. The ambush. Blood on concrete.
“I don’t know what it is,” I say finally. “I just know it’s complicated.”
Alessandro nods slowly. “Carmen always hated complications.”
“She hated betrayal more,” I say sharply.
His gaze sharpens. “Did she betray you?”
The question is direct, unfiltered by fear or politics. I open my mouth to answer—and stop.
Did she?
“She left,” I say instead.
“That’s not an answer.”
I look away, jaw tightening. “I accused her of things. Things I didn’t have proof of.”
“And?” he presses.
“And she told me if I truly believed she could betray me, there was nothing left to save,” I say quietly.
Alessandro exhales slowly. “That sounds like Carmen.”
“She walked away,” I repeat, as if saying it enough times will make it simpler.
“Or she stepped away before she was destroyed,” he counters.
The words hit too close.
The waiter returns briefly to refresh our glasses. Alessandro waits until he’s gone again before speaking.
“Are you planning to have kids?” he asks casually.
The question blindsides me.
“What?”
“You and Carmen,” he continues. “You always talked about it back then. About building something that wasn’t just power.”
My chest tightens painfully. “We… talked about it.”
“And now?” he asks.
I stare into my glass. “Now I don’t know anything.”
He studies me carefully. “You sound torn.”
“I am,” I admit. “Between what I had and what I think I need now.”
“And what do you think you need?” he asks.
I think of Arianna—her certainty, her loyalty, the way she positions herself as an anchor in chaos. I think of Carmen—her fire, her integrity, the way she looked at me like I was capable of better.
“I need stability,” I say. “I need someone who doesn’t leave when things get ugly.”
Alessandro’s voice is quiet but firm. “Or someone who refuses to become ugly with you.”
I flinch.
“You’re talking about another woman,” he says, not accusing, just stating fact.
“Yes,” I admit.
“And she’s making you doubt your wife.”
I don’t deny it.
“That’s dangerous,” he says. “Not because of romance. Because doubt rots everything it touches.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I snap.
He raises his hands slightly. “I think you’re human. And humans make terrible decisions when they’re hurt.”
Silence settles between us again.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say finally, the words dragging themselves out of me. “Every choice feels wrong.”
Alessandro watches me for a long moment, then leans forward. “Then stop choosing for a moment.”
“That’s not an option in my world.”
“It is if you want to live with yourself later,” he replies.
I scoff softly. “You always were idealistic.”
“And you always were stubborn,” he says with a faint smile. “That hasn’t changed.”
We finish the meal slowly, conversation drifting back to safer ground—college memories, stupid mistakes, nights spent planning futures that never came to be. For a brief moment, I almost forget who I am now.
When we stand to leave, Alessandro grips my shoulder. “Whatever you do,” he says quietly, “make sure it’s something you can explain to your future children.”
The words follow me all the way to the car.
As I drive away from the shore, the city lights blurring past, my chest feels heavy with something I can’t name. Guilt. Longing. Fear.
Carmen’s face rises unbidden in my mind—angry, wounded, resolute. Arianna’s voice follows, calm and assuring, promising loyalty when everything else feels unstable.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
I’m standing between two futures.
And for the first time in my life, power doesn’t feel like enough to choose the right one.