The morning after Elena's return, Enzo didn't sleep. He sat in his room, head bowed, torn between duty and desire. He could still smell her hair, hear the way she'd said his name — like a prayer and a wound all at once.
But Naples was not a city that waited on romance.
That same evening, Lucia's father, Don Carlo Ferretti, called a private dinner. Enzo arrived late, dressed in a crisp white shirt, shadows under his eyes.
Carlo poured two glasses of red wine and handed one to him. "I hear an old flame's back in town."
Enzo froze.
"I don't care who you danced with as a boy," Carlo continued. "You're going to marry Lucia. That's the deal. And in return, I'll make sure you never have to clean another man's floors again."
Enzo understood. This wasn't love. This was politics. Carlo Ferretti wasn't just a merchant. He was connected — with influence in the docks, the unions, the judges. A marriage into his family would give Enzo legitimacy, protection, and a stairway to real power.
"I have one condition," Enzo said, setting his glass down. "I run my business my way. No drugs. No flesh. I keep it clean."
Carlo smirked. "A romantic, are you?"
"No. Just a man with lines I won't cross."
Carlo leaned back. "Fine. But cross my daughter, and I'll cross you out."
---
The wedding happened three weeks later.
It was grand—white roses, violinists, hundreds of guests. Lucia looked radiant. Enzo looked… still.
Elena didn't attend.
He caught word that she'd left again, quietly. Some said she was heartbroken. Some said she never expected anything. Either way, she vanished like smoke, and Enzo sealed his past behind a ring.
---
Married life with Lucia was polite. She was kind, thoughtful, and she tried to love him. But Enzo was a man building an empire. He was rarely home. He worked late. Made deals. Took over small ports. Reinvented entire supply chains. His name began to travel in whispers:
"Marino. The clean one."
"Marino. Smart as hell, cold as ice."
"Don Carlo's son-in-law. He'll be next."
But with power came eyes.
Enemies grew jealous.
Brothers grew resentful.
And all the while, Enzo waited for something that might fix the hole inside him.
It came, one winter night, wrapped in hospital linen.
---
Lucia had gone into early labor. Panic had swept through the household. Enzo had driven like a demon to the hospital, praying to a God he no longer trusted.
But when the doctor handed him the tiny bundle of skin and stars, he felt something shift.
"A girl," the nurse whispered. "You have a daughter."
Enzo looked down at her, her little fingers curling instinctively around his pinky.
He didn't cry. But his soul did.
He kissed her forehead and whispered,
"You'll never know what I knew. You'll never suffer what I suffered. You're my light now. My legacy."
That night, Enzo Marino—the feared businessman, the clean Mafia mind—was reborn as a father.
And for the first time since he was fourteen, he believed in hope.
---