? Family Gathering ?
It was late afternoon when Alex and Dante stopped in front of the hotel — one of the tallest buildings in the city, its glass and brass catching the last gold of the sun. Both wore tuxedos that didn’t quite feel like theirs.
Alex’s was crisp and formal — black wool with silk lapels, a white pleated shirt, and a bow tie that felt too tight around his neck. The fabric smelled faintly of starch and someone else’s cologne. Dante, on the other hand, had refused the bow and tied a slim black necktie instead, leaving his collar slightly undone — just enough to look defiant, not careless.
The two boys stood there for a moment, out of place among the polished carriages and liveried doormen, their reflection caught in the glass doors — two street-worn shadows dressed as gentlemen.
Alex kept glancing down at himself, tugging at the cuffs, smoothing the lapels. “Aren’t we a little overdressed? I can barely recognize myself with this on.”
Dante shoved his hands into his pockets, calm as ever. “Dominick’s orders. We kinda represent him, so we have to be well-dressed.” He smirked, side-eyeing Alex. “Didn’t you ever wear something like that back home?”
Alex smiled faintly. “Not like this. My parents once got me one from a nearby town for a wedding... but this… how much does it even cost?”
Dante grinned. “Walk through the slums dressed like this, and we wouldn’t last five minutes. Someone would strip us clean.”
Alex exhaled, half a laugh, half a sigh. “I’m not keeping it anyway. It’s not mine, and I don’t want to know who suffered for this to be bought.”
Dante nodded, not surprised. “Let’s sell them once this is over—get warm blankets for the winter, and maybe donate the rest. Giving them back to Dominick would only make him suspicious.”
They finally reached the hotel doors, sunlight glinting off the handles.
As they approached, two doormen stood tall, shoulders squared, caps angled just so, faces sharp but not unkind. Their coats were dark, pressed, with brass buttons that caught the afternoon sun.
One of them stepped forward as Alex and Dante reached the curb.
“May I help you, kids?” he asked, voice firm but curious.
Dante, ever the mischief-maker, produced a card from his pocket. “We’ve got an invitation. We’re… classmates and friends of Don Silvano’s granddaughter.”
Alex nodded, stiff with nerves.
The doorman took the card, scrutinized it for a heartbeat, then a smile softened his features. He stepped aside.
“Grazzie, sir,” Dante said, walking in like he owned the place.
Alex followed, glancing around in awe.
Once clear of the doormen, he whispered, “Can’t we just go in as ourselves for once?”
Dante smirked. “Like ‘Oh, hello, we’re the kids Dominick uses for some key missions and doesn’t want anyone to know about’?”
Alex exhaled. “But this… even the doorman at the hotel the Dons own?”
Dante shook his head. “Mostly. The Veraccis have a stake here, too. It protects us in the end of the day. No one knows we work for Dominick or the Dons, not even their own men, so I don't mind.”
Alex frowned. “When will he be here? Dominick?”
Dante shrugged. “He didn’t say. I don’t know if Vince will come either. Parties aren’t really his thing. Not to mention we are here so early... I doubt we will find any guests until an hour later or so.”
They stepped through the doors, and the world changed. The lobby’s marble floor gleamed under the afternoon light spilling through tall windows. Each step echoed softly, swallowed by thick rugs that led toward the grand staircase.
A faint scent of polished wood and waxed brass hung in the air, mixed with the subtle perfume of guests passing by. Footsteps whispered across the tiles, hushed voices murmured, and the distant clink of a silver tray from the service corridor punctuated the quiet.
Alex’s eyes darted around, drinking it all in: a crystal chandelier hung high above, catching the light in tiny prisms. Bellhops moved in practiced rhythm, trays in hand, never colliding, never breaking the invisible rules of the space. The air felt heavy with etiquette and wealth — a world far removed from the streets and alleys he knew.
Dante walked beside him, unfazed, but even he slowed slightly, letting the luxury sink in. Alex felt a shiver of awe — and a pulse of nerves. Here, one wrong step, one careless glance, and the polished calm could shatter.
Alex whispered, “The Algraves’ palace… and now this?”
He waited for Dante’s answer, but the boy’s gaze was locked on something else. Alex followed it, catching sight of a girl in a wheelchair. At first, he smiled — a pretty face, elegant, and somehow commanding. He thought Dante is appreciating her.
But as he got closer, Alex noticed the sharp edge in Dante’s expression, a strange mixture of challenge and disgust, like he wanted to punch her.
“W?What is wrong?” Alex asked.
“See that little witch in the chair?” Dante muttered without shifting his glare. “That’s Olivia, Don Silvano’s granddaughter.”
Olivia’s hair fell in long, dark waves over her shoulders, and her posture was unnervingly poised — the kind of straight-backed elegance that suggested she’d been drilled in etiquette from birth. Her dress was deep burgundy silk, high-necked with delicate lace at the cuffs and collar, cinched at the waist with a satin sash. A small, jeweled brooch glinted at her throat, catching the afternoon light through the lobby windows.
She met Dante’s glare — almost lazily, almost detached — but there was a spark in her eyes, a flash of awareness. She didn’t turn fully toward him, offering only a sidelong acknowledgment, yet the intensity of that look made the air between them taut, like electricity.
Alex felt it too, an unspoken tension stretching across the distance — the kind that could snap at any moment. Even from afar, their eyes held a conversation of challenge and warning, each daring the other to move first.
Alex leaned closer. “Something happened between the two of you?”
Dante relaxed for a fraction of a second, then tensed again. “Ah… nothing. It’s just that…” He paused, jaw tightening. “I hate her.”
He ground his teeth. “See Noor? She’s naturally graceful, elegant, carries herself without effort. Olivia? She tries to be like that. She studies it, practices it, and ends up looking down on everyone. Arrogant. Spoiled. Acts like a princess. Conceited. Lazy. Self-important. And—”
Alex held up his hands. “Alright, alright, I get it. Calm down.” He placed both hands lightly on Dante’s shoulders. “Should we go say hi? It’s her birthday party, after all.”
Dante waved him off. “Go yourself. Just pass along my greetings… the ones I said earlier.”
Alex laughed, but Dante added firmly, “Oh, and remember. No words about what we really do or who Dominick—or her grandpa—really is. She doesn't know and is not supposed to.”
Alex nodded and walked toward Olivia.
At last, the girl’s sidelong stare shifted. She blinked at him, finally letting her eyes meet his.
“Hello, Olivia,” he said, keeping his voice light, careful.
“Hi. You are?” she replied, her tone cool and measured.
“I’m Alex. Um… you didn’t know I was coming?”
“No. I don't even know you.” she said, her gaze flicking briefly over him. "Nice dress."
“Ah, thanks. You’re quite graceful yourself, Olivia,” Alex replied, sincere.
A shiver ran down his spine for no reason at all — or maybe because he could practically see Mira glaring at him from some imaginary corner
She nodded, as if acknowledging the obvious. “Why won’t your friend come over and greet me?”
“I don’t know. You tell me,” Alex said with a small shrug.
Olivia tucked a dark strand of hair neatly behind her ear. “We’ve met twice before—on my birthdays, actually. We never got along. Still, it’s rude not to greet the host.”
Her eyes flicked toward Dante across the hall. “You’d think he’d have better manners, considering we’re the ones feeding him.”
Alex tilted his head slightly.
She went on, matter-of-factly, “Being one of the children uncle Dom took in off the streets, he should be more grateful and respectful.”
Alex blinked, her casual tone landing harder than any insult. His fingers curled briefly into a fist at his side, tension coiling in his chest. It wasn’t Olivia’s words that struck him — it was the thought behind them. The Dons and the mob hadn’t truly “saved” Dante; they were using him, shaping him, molding him into something that served their power. The weight of that knowledge pressed on him, but he forced himself to relax, aware that Olivia couldn’t possibly understand. This wasn’t the moment to burden her with the truth.
“I…” he hesitated, forcing a small smile. “I wish you two could get along. I’ll try to work on that today.”
Olivia’s lips curved faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “So, are you one of them too? Another stray my family decided to save?”
Alex shook his head, but said nothing.
“Gone mute?”
“No,” Alex said quietly. “I just don’t want to talk about my past. I hope that’s alright with you.”
“Then keep it to yourself.”
Olivia rolled her chair forward — straight toward Alex. He stepped back instinctively to make way, her tone sharper than he expected. But his concern wasn’t for himself.
"Why isn’t anyone helping her with the chair?"
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
A few meters ahead, the marble floor rose by a single step — just enough to stop the wheels. Olivia halted, glanced around. Her earlier arrogance faltered, replaced by a quiet, flickering hope. Most guests were elsewhere; no one seemed to notice her struggle.
Then she bit her lip and pushed. The wheels thudded against the step, refusing to move. She pushed harder, breath catching, face tightening in effort.
Alex rushed forward. “Here, I can help you—”
Dante was already walking up lazily.
But Olivia’s voice snapped through the air, “I don’t need your help!”
Her arms trembled as she tried again, the chair refusing to budge.
“You’ll tip over, Olivia,” Alex warned softly.
“Just leave her,” Dante muttered.
Suddenly, a woman hurried over — lifting the back of the wheelchair just enough for the wheels to clear the edge. She guided it smoothly up the step.
For a heartbeat, pride filled Olivia’s face. She thought she had done it.
Then came the voice behind her, “Sweetheart, I told you to wait for me in front of the restroom.”
Her lips parted, not anger this time, but a crack of wounded pride. “Ma… so it was you after all.”
The woman was in her mid-forties, her features a gentler echo of her daughter’s. Her dark hair was tied neatly under a modest hat, her gown of soft gray silk with lace trimming — elegant, but not flaunting wealth.
“Oh, hi, Lady Katie,” Dante called out, a grin tugging at his lips. "It's been a while!"
Katie turned to him — her tone warm, eyes kind, the exact opposite of Olivia’s sharpness. “Hello, Dante. It’s good to see you.” A small breath escaped her, part relief, part worry. “I’m glad you’re… alright.”
Dante shrugged lightly. “Of course I am.”
Katie turned toward Alex. “I’m Katie. Don Silvano’s daughter-in-law, and Olivia’s mother.”
Alex smiled politely. “A pleasure to meet you, Madam Katie. I’m Alex.”
Olivia had already wheeled herself to a nearby window away from them, staring outside, her back to them all. Katie made a motion to go after her, then stopped, choosing instead to stay with the boys.
“Dante…” she began gently, “could you please try harder today? To get along with Olivia?”
Dante sighed, eyes flicking toward the window. “Ugh… I’ve tried hard enough already last year. But she’s too much.”
“For me,” Katie said softly. “Please.”
He met her eyes, then relented. “Okay.”
Katie smiled faintly before turning to Alex. But before she could speak, he asked, “What kind of illness is it?”
The lady blinked, then smiled faintly. “You… work with Dante, don’t you?”
Alex hesitated, unsure, but Dante cut in smoothly. “Yeah. Lady Katie knows everything — about the family’s real business, and us. You don’t have to hide anything from her. Also she doesn’t live here anymore.”
Katie nodded. “I only came because Don Silvano insisted. He wanted Olivia’s birthday to be celebrated here, like every year.” Her voice grew quieter. “I left this city years ago, after his son and my husband, Claude, passed away.”
She looked toward her daughter, eyes glassy. “That was the same night Olivia…” She trailed off, unable to finish.
Katie took a slow breath, steadying herself. “She was born that same night,” she said softly. “Too early… too suddenly. The doctors said it was the shock.”
Alex’s gaze flicked briefly toward Olivia by the window.
“She lived,” Katie went on, her voice breaking just a little, “but her legs never grew strong enough to carry her.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Alex’s eyes widened; Dante remained still, his expression unreadable as he’d heard this story before.
“Rest assured, madam Katie,” Alex said softly. “We’ll make sure Olivia enjoys her birthday today.”
Katie looked up at him, not surprised — but searching, struck by something familiar in his tone, in his eyes. “You… somehow look familiar, Alex.”
“Hm?” Alex blinked.
“Ah!" Dante clapped his hands, "He’s Dominick’s nephew. Maybe you knew his parents.”
Katie froze, lips parting, eyes wide. “You’re… Elena’s son?”
Alex’s breath caught. “Yes! I am.”
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Katie stepped forward, hands trembling, and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Her fingers lingered, tracing the line of his jaw, as if memorizing him. She pressed her palm gently against his cheek, thumb brushing his temple, and whispered, her voice cracking, “How is she? How is Gilbert?”
Alex’s throat tightened. He couldn’t speak. The touch, the warmth, the way her hands lingered like a mother — it overwhelmed him. His eyes blurred, tears spilling before he could stop them.
Katie leaned closer, her forehead resting briefly against his temple, inhaling the scent of him, grounding herself and him at the same time. Then she wrapped him in her arms, pulling him close, rocking him just slightly as if she could steady the years of loss and guilt pressed against them both.
“I’m so sorry… Alex. I’m terribly sorry,” she murmured into his shoulder. "They took you from her, didn't they?"
His voice cracked through the sobs, barely audible. “It was… on my birthday… Dominick took me away on my birthday…”
Katie held him tighter, pressing her cheek to the top of his head, murmuring fragments of apologies and reassurances she didn’t know how else to give, letting the silence fill the gaps that words could never touch.
Dante stood a step back, chest heavy, watching the boy who had become his brother finally feel a trace of the warmth of a mother he’d been missing for months.
The hotel’s basement stretched beneath the marble floors like the belly of a ship — brick walls sweating with moisture, iron pipes hissing softly overhead. The air smelled of starch, damp cloth, and the faint tang of wine from the storage racks. Gas lamps flickered along the corridor, throwing long, thin shadows over the tiled floor.
When the Dons’ men descended — tall, broad figures in black coats — the chatter broke off. Their boots echoed against the stone, heavy, deliberate. Every waiter in sight straightened at once. Someone fumbled a silver tray.
“The Dons’ men…” one whispered, his voice dry. “They’re early. Isn’t the party at night?”
Another leaned closer, voice low. “They’ll search us, most likely. The birthday is early, but the toast—” he glanced around, “—that’s when the real guests come.”
A pause. Then the first waiter swallowed, uneasy. “I have a bad feeling about today. Didn’t you notice?”
The other nodded faintly. “Yes… lots of sick leaves lately. And too many new faces around.”
Their eyes moved, just briefly — catching on the young waiters polishing glasses at the back of the room. Boys with neat hair, pressed shirts, and movements just a little too careful. They didn’t chat like the others, didn’t joke, didn’t spill or rush. Their eyes followed every enforcer that entered, and when the men in black passed close, their hands twitched, brushing the pockets of their aprons.
No one said it out loud, but something electric rippled through the air — that slow, silent recognition that something wasn’t right.
One of the enforcers, a thick-necked man with a cigar already between his teeth, barked, “Line up! Hands out! Empty your pockets!”
The clatter of trays and cutlery followed, the scrape of boots. The old waiters obeyed without a sound. The new ones — too still, too smooth — took a heartbeat longer.
And from the corner, one of the veterans muttered under his breath, “See? That’s not how hotel men move.”
Alex and Dante had been talking with Katie for some time now, the afternoon sun slanting through the tall windows of the hotel restaurant, casting warm patterns across the table. The quiet hum of the lobby floated in from beyond the marble pillars.
Dante sat on the left, Alex in the middle, and Katie on the right. Olivia’s wheelchair was beside her, carefully positioned so she could reach it easily when they left.
Alex leaned slightly forward, eyes bright. “Could you tell me more?”
Katie smiled warmly. “I believe I told you most everything, Alex. But… despite the short time we knew each other, your mother and I were like best friends. Gilbert and Claude got along wonderfully, too. The four of us always found reasons to gather—just to see each other.”
Her voice softened. “Your father was a good man. He looked after me during my pregnancy as though I were his sister...”
Alex nodded, but his expression grew serious. “Madam Katie, my father… he chose to get close to the Dons for better work and payment. And somehow that brought him, my mother, and later me into... all of this.”
Katie’s gaze was gentle. “Parents are people, Alex. They make mistakes, hard decisions. I don’t think your father did wrong. If anything, it led to something good—it brought me two wonderful friends, and now a third...”
Dante grinned and gave Alex a light pat on the shoulder. “That’s what I think too. I’m just glad he’s here to keep me company.”
Katie turned to Dante, her tone just as soft. “I hope you find it in you to forgive yours too, Dante.”
Dante waved lazily, "I bet they’re still fighting and arguing like the night I ran away from them. I have a brother right here. That's all I care about now.”
Alex smiled, the warmth of their conversation easing some of the tension he’d carried all day.
All three were careful, leaving unspoken the darker truths, the criminal dealings and dangerous alliances that swirled just beyond Olivia’s knowledge, who stayed quiet, hands resting on her lap, watching from across the table. Alex noticed her stillness. "Oh no… We've been talking about my parents too much and now... she feels left out on her own birthday party."
He softened his voice. “Hey, Olivia… I was going to bring you a gift, but I thought it might be inappropriate for our first meeting. Could you tell me what you like? That way I can bring you something nice next year.”
Olivia didn’t answer.
Katie reached toward her, "Sweetheart, I'm sorry that we—"
Olivia slapped her hand away sharply, a quiet reminder of her stubbornness. Dante rolled his eyes, and Alex felt the unease settle back over him.
Katie froze for a heartbeat, her eyes dropping, a pang of guilt tightening her chest. Raising Olivia on her own had never been easy, and in moments like this, the weight of it pressed down on her. Her hand lingered midair, trembling slightly, as if the years of responsibility had settled on her shoulders all at once. She forced a small, sad smile, trying to mask the ache in her heart, but Alex and Dante glimpsed the fleeting shadow of regret pass across her face.
Suddenly, the restaurant seemed to pause.
Three men entered, elderly, yet moving with the precision and grace of predators.
Their age showed only in silver hair and weathered skin; their sharp, unyielding posture made onlookers instinctively step aside or avert their gaze. Conversations faded; glasses clinked softly, unnoticed. The aura of authority was undeniable.
The first approached Olivia. Don Silvano moved with controlled, deliberate steps, yet every motion softened for her. His large forehead and slicked-back hair framed a face marked by streaks of grey, hinting at decades of experience. Kneeling before her, his vigilant eyes flickered with warmth, and Olivia’s face lit up in delight — the joy of a child finally noticed. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then straightened, composure returning instantly as he regarded her fully.
“Nonno Silvano!” Olivia exclaimed, joy spilling over.
“Look at you,” he said, voice deep but soft. “You’re practically a lady now, not my little girl anymore.”
“How have you been? I missed you!” she cried.
“I'm the picture of health after seeing my sweet, beautiful Olivia,” Silvano replied, holding her hand just as she wanted, giving her the full focus she had dreamed of for her birthday. “How do you like this hotel? Isn’t it special to host your fourteenth birthday here?”
“Yes! I expected nothing less from you!” she gushed.
"She looks younger than fourteen. Barely twelve I would say." Alex thought, "I guess it's the weak body... poor girl."
Silvano chuckled, a faint glimmer of mischief in his eye. “And the best part will be later! The gift!”
“I can’t wait!” she teared up, her joy so pure that Alex found himself oddly disarmed.
Silvano turned toward Katie. “Thank you for bringing her, Katie.”
Katie’s smile was different now, polite, respectful, but threaded with deference and a touch of fear. “My pleasure, Don Silvano,” she said, using the formal Italian term for son-in-law, acknowledging both her position and her father-in-law’s authority.
Alex’s chest tightened. These were Dominick’s masters, the ones who had shaped the perilous world he now navigated.
The two men behind Silvano now approached.
Don Carlo moved with the quiet precision of a man accustomed to control, hands clasped behind his back. His sharply defined face — high cheekbones, strong jaw — held a faint, knowing curl of his lips, hinting at amusement beneath his measured demeanor.
Beside him, Don Emilio carried himself like a man who had never taken orders in his life. Deep-set eyes beneath a heavy brow, pale, lined skin, and tightly pressed lips radiated calm menace, a presence that could silence a room without a word.
Carlo extended his hand, not caring about age, greeting Dante, a thirteen-year-old boy, as if he were a business partner.
“Good to see you, Dante,” he said, eyes briefly assessing the boy as they shook.
Dante eagerly returned the gesture, chest swelling with the sense of being treated as an equal. “Thank you, Don Carlo. You look as great as ever.”
Carlo’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Not like last time. Age is getting to me, son.”
Emilio cut in, teasing. “This bastard says that, but last week he went hunting boars and walked the forest like it was nothing.”
He ruffed Dante’s hair playfully. “You’re even more handsome than last year, Dante. If I had a granddaughter—”
Dante interrupted, half-laughing, half-pleading. “Please don’t finish that sentence, Don Emilio.”
Emilio chuckled. “You little fox. No respect for this old man, huh?”
“I wouldn’t dare. But no marriage until I’m of legal age,” Dante replied.
Both men chuckled, the warmth of the moment only momentarily softening the quiet danger they carried.
Then,
It happened—
Alex felt it before he saw it.
All three Dons, Silvano kneeling beside Olivia, Carlo poised with a commanding presence, Emilio standing like the weight of years itself — turned their attention toward him from different angles. The room seemed to shrink, every movement slowing as their eyes settled on him.
Silvano studied him carefully, maintaining composure with Olivia. Carlo’s sharp gaze measured him in silence. Emilio’s piercing stare cut through the room, unflinching and commanding.
Goosebumps rose on Alex’s arms. He didn’t know where to look first — who was the deadliest, who carried the most influence. Together, the three were an undeniable force: strength, calm, and danger radiating in perfect harmony.
Finally, Emilio’s voice broke the silence, low and measured. “Hi, Alex.”
Silvano’s tone was softer, but precise. “You’re exactly what I imagined.”
Carlo stepped forward, deliberate, silver hair gleaming under the lights, expression unreadable yet commanding. “Apologies for not meeting you earlier.” He extended his hand. "Even though it’s late…"
“Welcome to the Marviano family, son.”
Note: 'Nonno' means Grandpa in Italian. Thought it's a nice touch to add to the dialogue and it fit.
Thank you for reading :)
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