The sun hung low over the quiet city park, casting long golden shadows across the winding paths. Children laughed near the fountain, couples strolled hand in hand, and the scent of blooming roses drifted gently through the warm afternoon air. It was a peaceful scene — one that sharply contrasted with the life of Marco DeLuca.
Marco was a man feared by many and understood by few. Known across the city as a powerful mafia boss, he had built an empire from nothing. His name alone could silence rooms, settle disputes, and open doors that remained closed to others. Yet beneath his cold reputation was a man who had learned to bury his emotions long ago.
Walking beside him that afternoon was his fiancée, Isabella — elegant, confident, and fiercely devoted. She linked her arm through his, smiling as they wandered through the park.
“You should take days like this more often,” she said softly. “Even powerful men deserve peace.”
Marco gave a faint smile. “Peace isn’t something my world allows.”
They continued walking until something — or rather someone — caught Marco’s attention.
Across the park, sitting on a worn wooden bench, was a woman he hadn’t seen in years. Her dark hair moved gently in the breeze as three young children played around her feet. She looked older, tired perhaps, but her face was unmistakable.
Elena.
Marco stopped walking.
His heart, hardened by years of power and violence, suddenly pounded with unfamiliar force.
Isabella noticed immediately. “Marco? What is it?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the woman across the path.
Memories flooded back — memories he had locked away.
Years ago, before the wealth, before the power, before the fear his name carried, there had been Elena. She had loved him when he was nothing more than a struggling young man chasing dangerous dreams. She believed in him, supported him, and begged him to choose a life free from crime.
But Marco had chosen ambition.
He had walked away from her, believing love was a weakness he could not afford.
And now she was here.
With three children.
A strange feeling tightened in his chest.
Without thinking, he began walking toward her.
“Marco,” Isabella called, confused but following.
As they approached, Elena looked up. Her eyes widened in shock, then settled into a calm, guarded expression.
“Marco,” she said quietly.
Her voice still carried the same warmth — but also distance.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
The children, unaware of the tension, ran around laughing. The youngest, a small boy with dark hair and intense eyes, paused and looked directly at Marco.
The resemblance struck him like lightning.
The boy had his eyes.
His posture.
Even the same serious expression he himself had worn as a child.
A chilling realization crept over him.
He looked back at Elena, his voice barely steady. “Are they… yours?”
She nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Marco swallowed. “All three?”
Another pause.
“Yes, Marco.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths.
His mind raced, calculating timelines, remembering their final days together. The dates aligned too perfectly to ignore.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered.
Elena’s expression hardened slightly.
“You chose your path,” she said. “A dangerous path. I wanted my children to have a different life.”
Her words were not angry — they were simply honest.
The oldest child, a girl of about ten, approached and tugged Elena’s sleeve.
“Mom, who is this man?”
Elena hesitated.
Marco found himself unable to breathe.
She looked at him, then at the children.
“This,” she said gently, “is someone I once knew a long time ago.”
The words cut deeper than any weapon.
Someone I once knew.
Not their father.
Not part of their lives.
A stranger.
For the first time in decades, Marco felt something he had not allowed himself to feel — regret.
Isabella stepped closer, sensing the shift in his emotions. “Marco, we should go.”
But he couldn’t move.
He watched the children laugh, their innocence untouched by the darkness of his world. They were everything Elena had wanted — safe, kind, free.
Everything he could never be.
“What are their names?” he asked quietly.
“Elia, Sofia, and Matteo,” Elena replied.
Matteo — the youngest — continued staring at Marco with curious intensity.
He stood and faced Elena, his voo closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a feeling he could not control.
A lifeice filled with a vulnerability no one had ever witnessed.
“I built an empire,” he said. “I gained power, wealth, fear… but standing here now, I see what I truly lost.”
