CHAPTER 2: BEFORE THE FALL.
1129 Words
(FLASHBACK)
The Vittori estate was never loud, not because it was empty.
But because everything within it had been built to move with intention.
Morning light spilled across long glass windows, warming polished marble floors and soft cream-colored walls. The house always smelled faintly of citrus, fresh linen, and the garden roses Julia Vittori insisted on replacing every morning.
It felt less like a mafia household and more like a protected world.
Valentina sat at the breakfast table, her emerald eyes scanning a folded report beside her plate.
Across from her, her brother Edoardo leaned back in his chair, relaxed in a way only someone who had not yet been crushed by responsibility could afford.
“You’re reading that again?” he teased lightly.
Valentina didn’t look up. “It changes depending on how you interpret it.”
Edoardo smiled—warm, easygoing, the kind of presence that softened rooms without effort.
“Or maybe you just like overworking yourself.”
Before she could respond, a soft laugh came from the other side of the table.
Cara Moretti, the youngest.
She was half-lounging in her chair, golden-blonde hair slightly messy from having just run through the garden again.
“She’s always like that,” Cara said, sipping juice. “Papa says she was born serious.”
At that, Valentina finally lifted her gaze.
“I wasn’t born serious,” she replied firmly.
Edoardo grinned. “She absolutely was.”
From the head of the table, Julia Moretti let out a gentle sigh, shaking her head lightly.
“Come on, leave your sister alone,” she said softly, affectionately.
Julia was warmth itself in human form—golden-blonde hair, calm green eyes, a presence that made even silence feel safe.
She looked at Valentina then, softer.
“Eat something before you turn into paperwork,” she added.
Valentina obeyed without protest.
A moment later, the doors to the dining hall opened, and Gerado Vittori entered.
His presence was calm, a man who did not need to announce his arrival because the room already adjusted itself for him.
He smiled the moment he saw his family.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Morning, Papa,” Cara replied instantly, brightening.
Edoardo raised a hand in greeting. “Morning.”
Valentina gave a small nod. “Father.”
Gerado walked to Julia first, bending slightly to kiss her forehead.
Then he looked at his children.
His expression softened in a way no outsider ever saw.
“Edoardo, you have a meeting at noon. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
“Cara,” he added, gently, “no running in the west garden after rain. You’ll ruin your shoes again.”
Cara groaned. “You saw that? How do you always notice everything?
“That is my job,” he said lightly.
Then his gaze settled on Valentina.
“You’re coming with me this evening to a function,” he said.
She didn’t hesitate. “Understood.”
He smiled faintly.
The Vittori inner world was not built on fear; it was built on a structure that felt like protection.
And Gerado Vittori was its center.
That evening, the estate shifted into preparation for a private syndicate gathering hosted by the Vittori family.
Valentina stood in front of a mirror while a stylist adjusted her dress.
Behind her, Julia gently fixed a strand of her hair.
“You look beautiful,” her mother said softly.
Valentina met her reflection.
“I look appropriate,” she corrected.
Julia smiled faintly. “Same thing in your father’s world.”
Valentina didn’t respond, but her expression softened slightly.
The event hall was filled with quiet luxury.
Chandeliers reflected gold across polished floors. Conversations were low, respectful, and measured.
Gerado Vittori moved through the room with ease, greeting allies, shaking hands, and listening more than speaking.
People respected him.
Not because they feared him.
But because they trusted him.
Valentina stayed close, observing.
Edoardo stood nearby with one of the representatives, already being slowly introduced into the family structure.
Cara had been left at home under supervision—Julia’s decision, always protective when events grew too formal.
At one point, Valentina stepped toward the balcony doors for air.
That was when she noticed him.
Nico Barone.
He was speaking with one of the operational coordinators near the edge of the hall.
Young. Composed. Focused.
Not trying to impress anyone—but clearly already aware of his place within the system.
Valentina observed him quietly.
He looked up.
Their eyes met briefly.
No tension, just awareness.
Then he returned to his conversation.
Later, Gerado approached her beside the balcony.
“What's running through that busy mind of yours, Tesoro,” he said gently.
“I’m observing papa,” she said.
He smiled faintly.
“That is worse,” he said lightly.
Valentina glanced at him. “Why?”
“Because observers notice everything,” he replied. “And everything eventually becomes responsibility.”
She looked back into the hall.
“Is that bad?”
Gerado shook his head.
“No,” he said softly. “It is necessary, but you're not ready for that yet,” he replied.
Near the end of the evening, Gerado spoke briefly with Nico Barone.
Valentina watched from a distance.
Nico listened carefully, nodding once or twice.
When his gaze briefly shifted toward her again, it lingered only for a second longer than before.
Not intrusive, just aware.
On the drive home, Valentina sat between her father and brother in the quiet car, her head on Edoardo's shoulder and her eyes admiring the scenery as they drove by.
The city lights passed like blurred gold streaks outside the window.
After a little while, Gerado spoke.
“You noticed Nico Barone tonight.”
Valentina didn’t look away from the window.
“Yes.”
Edoardo hummed, "Hmm."
“He’s been around the family since he was young,” Gerado said. “His father worked closely with me before he passed.”
“I am giving him responsibility now.”
Valentina nodded slightly.
“Is he reliable?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then—
“Yes,” he said. “He is learning quickly.”
Another pause.
Then he added, softer:
“You two will be working with people like him more as time goes on.”
Valentina finally turned her head slightly.
“Why?”
Dante glanced at her briefly.
“Because one day,” he said calmly, “this will no longer be just my responsibility.”
The words were heavy and true.
And Valentina Moretti, sitting in the quiet glow of passing city lights, did not yet know that
“One day” was much closer than anyone in that car believed, and neither did she know she'd have to do so alone.
- Writer
