Morning sunlight filtered through the grand windows of Salvatore De Luca's private study, casting warm streaks across the polished mahogany desk. The room smelled faintly of aged leather and the sharp tang of ink—a place where many of Salvatore's greatest strategies had been devised. It was his sanctuary, far from the prying eyes of enemies and even his most loyal associates.
He sat in his high-backed chair, his focus on a ledger in front of him. Unlike most men in his position, Salvatore liked to oversee certain details personally. He never trusted others with his books—not even Marco.
A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Enter," he called without looking up.
Marco stepped inside, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. "The morning report," he said, setting a folder on the desk.
Salvatore nodded, picking it up. "Anything notable?"
Marco hesitated. "Luciano's men have been spotted in the northern sector. Just a few, likely scouting."
"And the Grecos?"
"Quiet, for now," Marco replied. "But that's not unusual. You know how they operate—silent until they strike."
Salvatore leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "They think I'll move impulsively. It's what they want. But no... not yet." His dark eyes flicked to Marco. "Let them keep watching. Let them think they hold the upper hand."
Marco smirked. "As always, your patience is unmatched."
"It's not patience, Marco. It's control."
Later in the afternoon, Salvatore found himself in the estate's greenhouse, a quiet reprieve from the weight of his responsibilities. The space was Isabella's creation, a haven filled with vibrant blooms and lush greenery. She often tended to it herself, finding peace among the plants.
Today, however, Salvatore stood alone, his hand brushing against the petals of a deep red rose. Its thorns pricked at his skin, a sharp reminder of the nature of his life. Beautiful, but dangerous.
"You always linger here when something's on your mind," Isabella's voice came from behind him.
He turned to see her entering, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She wore a simple white dress, her usual elegance undiminished by the years.
"I was just thinking," he admitted. "About legacy."
Her expression softened. "Still worrying about what comes after you?"
He nodded. "This empire wasn't built to crumble. But I can't deny... sometimes I wonder if I've built it to last, or if I've only built it to endure until I'm gone."
Isabella stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. "Salvatore, you've done more than anyone thought possible. You've kept this family safe. You've kept us strong. That's your legacy."
As night fell, the estate was calm, but Salvatore's mind remained restless. He stood on the terrace overlooking the vast grounds, his silhouette framed by the glow of the moonlight. Marco joined him after a while, standing silently by his side.
"Have you ever thought about leaving this behind?" Salvatore asked suddenly.
Marco glanced at him, surprised. "No, sir. This is my life. You gave me a purpose when no one else did."
Salvatore nodded. "Loyalty is rare these days. You've been good to me, Marco. Better than most."
"It's not loyalty, sir," Marco said, his tone firm. "It's family."
For the first time that day, Salvatore allowed himself a small smile. He patted Marco's shoulder before turning back to the view.
Family.
The word held so much weight for Salvatore. It was the foundation of everything he'd built, the reason he'd fought so hard and sacrificed so much. Yet, even in its strength, it carried with it the shadows of what he lacked.
For now, he'd remain the king. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that his legacy might one day come from somewhere he least expected.