Page 9 of Bound By Honor

Luca’s laughter fills the room, bright and unguarded, a sound I’d do anything to protect. He sits cross-legged on the floor, toy cars scattered around him like fallen soldiers, hanging onto every word of Alessandro’s story.

“And then,piccolo mio, yourziohad to swim through shark-infested waters to reach the boat.” Alessandro’s voice drops dramatically, his hands moving in elaborate gestures. “The moon was our only light that night.”

I lean against the doorframe, watching. Everything about this scene should warm my heart—my brother, back from the dead, bonding with my son. Instead, my jaw clenches at the calculated perfection of it all.

“Were you scared, Zio Alessandro?” Luca’s eyes are wide, innocent.

Alessandro’s laugh is smooth as aged whiskey. “Terrified. But you know what your papà always taught me? Being brave isn’t about not feeling fear—it’s about facing it.”

My chest tightens. The words are mine, spoken to Alessandro decades ago when we were boys ourselves. He meets my gaze, a ghost of our shared past flickering between us.

“Speaking of facing fears,” Alessandro turns to Luca, producing a wrapped package, “I brought something for my favorite nephew.”

“Your only nephew,” I remind him, keeping my tone light despite the tension coiling in my gut.

“Papà, look!” Luca tears through the paper, revealing a limited edition model of his favorite sports car. “Can we build it together?”

Before I can answer, Alessandro cuts in. “Why don’t we all build it? Like old times, ehfratello?”

I study my brother’s face—the same sharp features as mine, but somehow softer, more approachable. Everything about him is too polished, too precise. The Alessandro I knew was wild, unpredictable. This version feels like a carefully crafted performance.

“First, dinner,” I say, moving toward the kitchen. “Luca, wash up.”

“Si, Papà.” Luca clutches his new treasure, practically bouncing down the hall.

Alessandro follows me into the kitchen, his footsteps silent on the hardwood floor. “Domestic life suits you, Luciano. I never thought I’d see my stern older brother playing with toy cars.”

I busy myself with plates, not meeting his gaze. “A lot changes in five years.”

“Indeed.” He leans against the counter, casual yet somehow claiming the space. “Speaking of changes... Aurora’s grown into quite a remarkable woman.”

The plate in my hand hits the counter harder than intended.

“Leave her out of this.”

“Out of what,fratello?” His innocence is too perfect, too rehearsed. “I’m merely observing that our littleprincipessaisn’t so little anymore. Though she still has that fire in her eyes—reminds me of Maria sometimes.”

My body goes rigid at my late wife’s name. “Enough.”

“Have I touched a nerve?” Alessandro’s voice drips with false concern. “You seem... protective of her.”

“She’s Dominic’s sister. My loyalty is to the family.”

“Ah yes, family.” He traces a finger along the counter’s edge. “Tell me, does your loyalty extend to uncovering what really happened to Maria?”

Before I can respond, Luca’s footsteps thunder down the hall. Alessandro’s mask slips seamlessly back into place, all warmth and charm as my son returns.

Throughout dinner, I watch them interact, each of Alessandro’s carefully crafted stories landing like precise knife strikes. He’s building something here, using Luca’s innocent trust and Aurora’s curious nature as his foundation. Every father’s instinct I possess recognizes the threat, even as the consigliere in me admires the elegant manipulation. The roles war inside me—father, protector, would-be lover—each one a fault line threatening to crack.

Later, at the Salvatore mansion, the tension follows us like a shadow. The family gathering feels like a chess match, with Alessandro positioning his pieces with expert precision.

“Aurora,” he calls across the lounge, “come, let me tell you about the art galleries in Florence. You’d love them—they’re full of that rebellious spirit you possess.”

I watch her drift toward him, drawn in by his easy charm.

My fingers tighten around my whiskey glass as Alessandro leans in, too close, his hand ghosting over her arm as he speaks until the crystal threatens to shatter, matching the violent tension coiling in my gut.

Every muscle in my body strains toward Aurora while my mind screams to maintain distance, the war between instinct and control leaving me nearly shaking with restraint.

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