? Half of Innocence ?
It has been more than one hour after the chaos erupted on the staircase near the upper suites.
The Dons’ bodyguards had already cleared the mess—three corpses gone: Pablo and Alphonse, the assassins killed by Dominick, and one of their own men, a “martyr,” as they called him.
But the night wasn’t clean yet.
In the upper suites, Katie was still being treated. Don Emilio had summoned the family doctor—trusted enough to come to the hotel and keep his mouth shut. The bullet was out of her leg now, but she had lost a great deal of blood. She lay pale against the white sheets, her breathing slow but steady.
Beside her sat Olivia, still in her wheelchair. Her hands clung to her mother’s limp one as though any loosening would make her vanish. The fear hadn’t left her yet; it came in waves—shuddering sobs breaking through moments of silence, each one dragging back the image of her mother bleeding on the carpet.
She kept imagining what would’ve happened if she hadn’t survived—if she’d never get to say she was sorry for all the times she’d been cruel.
The door opened quietly.
Don Silvano stepped in. He crossed the room and crouched beside his granddaughter.
“Olivia,” he said softly. “Doctor says your mother will be all right… just needs rest.”
Olivia nodded without lifting her head, tears still streaking down her face.
Silvano watched her for a moment, then sighed through his nose.
“It’s been almost an hour,” he said, half-teasing at first. “Still crying?”
His tone shifted, becoming lighter. “Come now, it’s your birthday. The guests downstairs don’t know a thing, Carlo made sure of it. You should go down, enjoy the rest of the night.”
Olivia shook her head quickly, clutching her mother’s hand tighter.
He tried again, patience thinning. “You didn’t even see your cake yet. Or the gifts. Come on, little one—”
Her sobs returned, small, trembling.
And something in him snapped.
“Enough crying!” Silvano barked, his voice cutting through the room.
Olivia froze, eyes wide, startled by the man who no longer sounded like her grandfather.
Silvano rose, straightening his coat, eyes sharp.
“You’re Don Silvano’s granddaughter! The daughter of Claude Marviano! How long will you sit there weeping? You must be strong, Olivia—not weak!”
His voice filled the suite, old pride and anger bleeding together.
“The bad men are gone! We’re all here to protect you—me, your Uncle Dom, Emilio, Carlo—every one of us! An army’s guarding this hotel to make sure no one lays a finger on you!”
He stepped closer. “Now come on, I'm taking you downstairs.”
The command was harsh, final.
But his shouting stirred the pale figure on the bed. Katie’s eyelids fluttered open, breath shallow.
Olivia spun to her, relief breaking through her tears.
“Ma!” she cried.
Katie’s voice came weak, but edged like a blade.
“…Don’t… yell… at my… daughter…”
Her tone was quiet, yet it cut through the air. Her face was drained of color, but her eyes—sharp, accusing—held Silvano’s without fear.
He stared back for a few seconds, jaw tightening. Then he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.
Outside, in the corridor, Dominick leaned against the wall, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. Beside him stood Don Emilio, hands clasped behind his back. They exchanged a long look — the kind that carried history, disappointment, and things better left unsaid. The air between them had changed.
Dominick exhaled, voice low and sardonic.
“Shame you didn’t all vote against Silvano coming out yelling like a maniac with an axe in his hand like he is haunting some deer in the antiquity age.”
Emilio stayed stone-faced. “You know how he gets when it’s about Olivia. That’s all the blood family he has left.” He paused, his tone softening. “We’re getting old, Dominick. Age makes men emotional.”
Then, without warning, his voice turned colder.
“But not blind.”
Dominick’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Sounds like you’re trying to say something.”
Emilio met his gaze. “You know what I mean.”
Dominick smirked faintly. “You think I’d ever let something happen to Katie and Olivia? I’m competent, not divine. I was playing the assassin."
Emilio didn't flinch. "Did you also play the assassins of Steve and Matteo? Maybe even Claude?"
Dominick stepped closer, until they were almost nose to nose. Though slightly shorter, Dominick’s presence was heavier.
“Don’t insult me again, Emilio. Matteo was my brother as much as he was your son. So was Steve.”
His voice dropped lower, edged with quiet danger.
“I’ve served this family for decades.”
The two men stared each other down, the hum of Silvano's shouts and the muffled sobs from behind the door filling the silence.
Finally, Emilio exhaled and placed a hand on Dominick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, son.” He looked up, almost pleading. “You’re all we have left. I just— I’m afraid we’ll lose you too. And the thought that you were never truly one of us… it terrified me.”
Dominick held his gaze, the faintest flicker of emotion breaking through before he muttered, “Keep acting like idiots and I'll pullet a bullet in your head myself.”
The tension was cut by the creak of the door. Don Silvano emerged, face flushed, muttering under his breath.
“Still crying… like a little girl.”
Dominick flicked ash from his cigarette. “We heard the warm conversation,” he said dryly. “All of this could have been prevented if you postponed the birthday to a different day.”
Silvano inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, forcing calm back into his voice.
“I don't expect you... a man with no wife or children to understand, Dom."
Then, he added. "Where are Alex and Dante?”
Dominick tilted his head toward the end of the corridor. “Lounge.”
At the far end, Dante sat slouched on a sofa, a white bandage around his forehead where he’d hit his temple during the fall. Beside him, Alex sat quietly, his head low, eyes distant — weighed down by too much blood and noise for one night.
Silvano walked over and sat beside them.
“Dante,” he said, voice softer now, “My little hero... You alright?”
Dante grinned weakly. “Yeah… just a bit dizzy.”
Silvano’s gaze drifted to Alex, who still hadn’t looked up.
“Alex,” he said after a pause, “I’m sorry about the… axe thing. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Alex gave a faint nod, still staring at the floor.
Silvano continued, “You both did good tonight. Saved Olivia. I owe you for that.” He hesitated. “One last favor... Could you make sure she… calms down a bit?”
Dante shrugged. “We’ll try. She’s been through a lot.”
Silvano smiled faintly, then stood. “That’s all I ask.”
He turned and walked back toward the corridor, joining Emilio and Dominick again as the two boys exchanged a glance.
Dante nudged Alex gently. “Buddy… shall we check on Lady Katie and Olivia?”
Alex finally lifted his eyes. “Good idea.”
The two rose and followed the Don’s path down the corridor, passing between Emilio and Dominick before Dante knocked softly and the boys slipped inside the suite.
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Downstairs, Don Carlo stepped out of the kitchen, straightening his vest as the sharp scent of wine and smoke filled the air.
A few of the waiters looked on edge. Nearly a quarter of the staff vanished.
“Faster, gentlemen,” Carlo said briskly, clapping his hands once. “Keep the trays moving. Every guest gets their drink before the next song ends. And tell the band to keep playing — louder if they must.”
He glanced over their faces, reading the unease.
“I’ll see to it you’re all paid double tonight,” he added, voice softening, “but I don’t want anyone running off before the guests do. Clear?”
The men hurried off, tension tightening their steps.
Carlo adjusted his cuffs and walked into the main hall. The ballroom still shimmered under its chandeliers, but something had changed. Laughter came too quickly; conversations stuttered mid-sentence. Guests had started to drift toward the exits in pairs, whispering behind gloved hands.
The shattering of glass earlier hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Carlo’s eyes swept across the tables. Some faces looked pale, others feigned smiles. The smart ones, those who dealt in politics or trade, were already slipping away, sensing that when Dons disappeared from their own celebration, trouble wasn’t far behind.
He offered polite smiles as he moved among them, greeting names he barely cared for, murmuring reassurances in the practiced charm of an old negotiator.
“Just a small accident upstairs, ladies and gentlemen. Nothing to worry about. Lady Katie fell ill and she won't attend the rest of the party and Olivia is with her, but she will come down at any moment. Our host insists the night goes on.”
They nodded, not believing him, but pretending to.
Carlo’s smile never faltered. Inside, though, his thoughts churned.
"Someone get down here already..."
He checked his pocket watch. Nearly ten o'clock. The important men, the politicians and bankers, would soon arrive, expecting grace, wine, and calm conversation.
"If they sense something’s wrong," he thought grimly, "they’ll sniff blood like sharks and use this night to measure our weakness."
His fingers tightened around the silver chain of the watch.
"Come on."
Then, setting his jaw, he turned back toward the crowd, raising his glass, smiling like nothing had happened.
“Gentlemen,” he called out warmly, “to Olivia’s birthday— and to our fine guests who graced us tonight!”
The band struck a livelier tune, masking the unease that crept like smoke beneath the chandeliers.
The knock went unanswered.
Dante waited a second, then pushed the door open anyway, stepping in with Alex close behind.
“Madam Katie,” Alex said quietly, “how are you feeling?”
Katie, lying in bed, turned her head toward them, voice weak but gentle.
“Better, Alex… Thank you. Both of you. For saving my daughter.”
Dante gave a short laugh — then winced and held his head. “It’s nothing,” he said, forcing a grin. “We’ve been through worse, ma’am.”
He looked at Alex. “When I was rushing upstairs, I saw buddy climbing from the floor below.”
Dante gestured vaguely, animated despite the fatigue.
“With all the shouting and gunshots above, we couldn’t do much as kids — but we figured whoever tried to run would take either the elevator or the stairs. So, we split up to cover both.”
He grinned, placing a proud hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Alex went to Don Carlo and told him to keep the elevator's operator busy so he wouldn't go up. If we’d told the operator not to go up, he wouldn't listen to us, thinking we're kids messing around.”
Alex didn’t react, his expression still empty.
Dante went on, “That left only the stairs. We thought, if the guy tried to use them and drag someone as a hostage, we can trip him. We just… hoped no one would fall too far.”
Katie smiled faintly. “And then you jumped in, heroically, to shield Olivia.”
Dante shrugged. “Yeah… surprised myself there.”
The air hung still. Olivia hadn’t spoken a word. She sat by the bed, eyes unfocused, lips trembling, trapped somewhere between the screams in her head and the quiet around her.
Then she finally whispered, “Who were those men?”
Katie answered at once, her mother’s instinct overriding exhaustion.
“They’re enemies of your grandfather.”
Olivia’s voice cracked. “Why did they...”
Katie’s eyes filled. “I wanted to tell you tomorrow… I wanted tonight to be just your birthday. But it wasn’t meant to be.”
Her voice faltered. “Your grandfather, sweetheart, is—”
Alex cut in softly but firmly, “—a businessman with a lot of enemies.”
Katie blinked, startled. Even Dante turned to him, surprised — Alex never interrupted, and certainly not with that dead, steady tone.
Alex continued, “He’s a good man, Olivia. But some evil people want him dead.”
Olivia looked up sharply. “How do you know that?”
Alex met her gaze. “Uncle Dominick told me.”
Katie frowned at the lie about Silvano's identity and its intentions. The boy forced a small, gentle smile.
“But it’s safe now. Do you want to stay here, with your mother? We can bring your cake up — have the rest of the party here if you like. Us four together.”
Olivia’s lips parted slightly, as if she’d just been slapped.
“Cake?” she echoed.
Alex nodded kindly. “Yes. If you are afraid and don’t want to go downstairs, we can—”
Something cracked inside her.
Her hands trembled on the wheelchair’s arms; her breathing quickened, shoulders rising and falling. Then her voice broke out, trembling at first, then burning.
“WHAT CAKE? WHAT PARTY?!” she screamed.
Everyone froze.
“Do you understand what I saw?!” Her voice rose, shaking. “I saw a man’s head explode from behind a door! I saw blood! I fell down the stairs and almost died!”
Katie’s tears returned, streaming freely as she watched the last of her daughter’s childhood crumble.
Dante stepped forward, wanting to calm her, but couldn’t move— the sheer pain in her voice rooted him still.
Olivia kept going, louder, rawer.
“You’re all talking like everything’s fine! Like I’m supposed to smile, to pretend this is normal! You, Nonno Silvano, Ma—everyone! YOU THINK I'M STRONG ?!”
Her voice cracked again. “NO! I'M WEAK ! I CAN'T EVEN WALK ! I CAN'T EVEN DO SUCH AN EASY THING ! I'M A DEAD WEIGHT !”
Her trembling hand grabbed the vase beside her bed. With a burst of strength, she hurled it at the wall. It shattered, scattering glass across the carpet.
“I hate this chair! I hate this life! I hate you ALL!”
The last words tore through the room like a wound opening.
The room went silent after Olivia’s last scream— the vase shards still glinting near the wall, the air heavy with the echo of her voice.
No one moved.
Then Alex pointed at Dante, his tone calm but sharp, as if starting a new argument entirely.
“Dante doesn’t know how to read. A basic and easy thing too.”
Dante’s head snapped up. “Alex!”
The shout came from pure outrage at the betrayal.
Even Olivia blinked, stunned, her sobs caught mid-breath.
Dante shot back, “This guy can’t even use a telephone! He held the receiver upside down earlier like it was a shoehorn!”
Alex crossed his arms. “Dante ruins his laundry twice a week. He once tore his own trousers trying to hang them.”
Dante’s brows furrowed. “At least I don’t think automobiles have horses hidden inside! This guy asked where they tie the reins when we saw Don Emilio's in front of the hotel!”
Alex, stone-faced. “They are a brand new invention, so I get a pass. You on the other hand are afraid of cockroaches.”
Dante gaped. “Remember when you thought water comes in buckets from the city pipes, shepherd?”
The words kept flying— childish, ridiculous, overlapping.
Not laughter yet, but noise.
Real, alive, noisy life filling the room that had been suffocating a minute ago.
Olivia’s fingers slowly unclenched on her lap.
The storm inside her — the anger, the helplessness — all cracked under something she didn’t expect: confusion first… then disbelief.
These two boys were fighting like idiots... about who was more helpless.
Her expression broke— not from rage, but something softer, uncertain.
The kind of warmth that sneaks in after you’ve cried too long.
Her eyes squeezed shut as if she was trying to hold back the gratitude.
Alex and Dante were still going — half arguing, half competing for her reaction — until she finally whispered, barely audible,
“...You’re both stupid.”
They froze, looking at her.
She wasn’t smiling yet, but her tears had changed.
And for the first time since the gunshots, she looked like a child again.
Dante rubbed the back of his neck, exchanging a glance with Alex, unsure whether to apologize or keep quiet.
Alex crouched down a little to meet Olivia’s eye level. “There you go,” he said softly.
That earned him a tiny, broken laugh— barely there, but real.
Dante grinned, seizing the chance. “Come on, birthday girl. Let’s go downstairs for a bit. Just for a minute.”
Olivia shook her head, eyes still red. “No. I don’t… want to see anyone.”
Dante leaned against the side of her chair, voice dropping low. “We will wash your cute face, then eat a cake... like how a typical birthday should be. This is also to shut your old grandpa up. He asked us to calm you down. After that we will do whatever you want.”
Alex added, quietly, “You don’t have to be fine. Just… don’t stay here alone with all this. I'll be here with madam Katie and watch her for you.”
Her gaze drifted to her mother. Katie managed a faint nod from the bed.
“Go, sweetheart,” she whispered.
Olivia hesitated. Then, wordlessly, she let her hands fall from her lap to the chair’s rims.
Dante gripped the handles. “Ready?”
She didn’t answer... but she didn’t stop him either.
As he pushed her toward the door, Dante lifted one hand briefly and bumped his knuckles against Alex’s, who was standing by. A silent thanks.
Then the two disappeared down the corridor.
Alex stayed behind. As soon as the door closed, he knelt by the wall, gathering the broken pieces of the vase into a napkin. One by one, carefully, like they mattered.
The warmth that had flickered in his face moments ago was gone. His eyes were empty again, the small, practiced smile that had saved Olivia already fading into silence.
Katie watched him from the bed, pale but awake. “Alex…” her voice cracked. “Why did you lie earlier?”
Alex looked up, hands still on the shards. “Tell her tomorrow, Madam Katie. Let tonight be hers — however small.”
She studied him, the way his calm didn’t fit his age— a boy’s face carrying a man’s burden.
She tried to sit up, wincing, and Alex rushed to her side. “Be careful, Madam Katie. Tell me what you need, I’ll get it.”
But as he leaned close, she reached out instead and pulled him into her arms.
It wasn’t a strong embrace... but more like a mother holding a ghost she didn’t want to lose.
Alex froze. For a heartbeat, he wanted to hold her back. To let that warmth mean something.
But he knew better.
How long before the next mission? The next corpse? The next person broken by something he couldn’t stop?
Whatever that warmth will be... it won't last long.
So instead, he just lifted a hand and gently patted her head.
Katie finally let him go, memorizing the shape of his face as if she could keep it.
“Never change, Alex,” she said softly.
He smiled faintly. “I'm trying.”
Then he bent down, picked up the napkin full of glass, and left the room quietly.
The corridor was empty — just as the boy hoped. Just two bodyguards by the stairs and the elevator, all the way in the end of the hall.
He walked slowly to the opposite end, the soft echo of his boots following him through the hush. The party’s noise was nowhere to be heard.
"Did I do the right thing? Tripping Pablo? I heard Olivia crying... I thought he was kidnapping her. But I didn't make sure... Maybe he was going to spare her like he spared me?"
"Did I mean to save a Don? Did I even want to?"
"Is it normal that I felt calm... that calm when Pablo was shot?"
"Could I have done more?"
"Did I make a mistake sparing him in the lobby?"
"I did... and madam Katie... got shot."
When he reached the lounge, he stopped.
Alex dropped onto one of the couches, elbows on his knees.
And sat there, alone.
Until he wasn’t.
“Mind if I sit?”
His shoulders tensed. The voice was low, familiar... and heavy.
“No.” Alex said, resigned.
Dominick’s footsteps crossed the carpet, slow and deliberate. He sat at the far end of the couch, not too close, but close enough that Alex could feel the gravity of him.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Alex muttered, eyes still on the floor,
“You want a report?”
Dominick turned his head slightly. “I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what you usually want from me,” Alex said quietly without looking up. “Not like you care about me or anything.”
Dominick studied him for a moment.
Then, almost dryly,
“I won’t mind then. Go ahead.”
Thank you for reading :)
- Alex and Dante making her feel better?
- Katie challenging Don Silvano in her state?
- Alex telling Katie 'I'm trying'... did you feel it? The violence, the deaths, the mafia world is reaching him despite how hard he tries to do good. Getting used to violence is disturbing to him.
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