Storms In Silence
941 Words
He looked like me.
Ricco's chest rose and fell slowly, as if breathing itself had become a task. He dragged a hand through his hair and walked to the window, his gaze sweeping across the skyline - but his mind was far from the glittering towers.
His phone buzzed.
Mamma.
He let it ring.
Then again.
And again.
"God," he hissed under his breath, finally grabbing the phone. He didn't answer - he knew what the call was about. She'd been on his case all week.
A second later, a voice note dropped.
> "Ricco, amore mio, how many times must I tell you-you're not getting younger! Your cousin Enzo is getting married next month. Again. What will people say if you show up alone? Find a wife or you get married to Lucia. "Or better still pretend to try".
He rolled his eyes and dropped the phone on the desk. "Pretend to try," he muttered with a humorless chuckle. "If only she knew."
The irony wasn't lost on him - his mother begging him to find a wife, while the woman he once loved stood in his office a few moments ago, lying about a child that might be his.
-
Emilia closed her apartment door softly behind her. The world outside had grown darker, the city lights casting a soft yellow hue over the polished floor.
She took a breath - the kind that never truly filled her lungs - and leaned back against the door. Her heels slipped off one by one, and she sank onto the sofa, exhaustion washing over her like a cold wave.
Henry was already in his room, humming quietly as he arranged his cars beside the bed.
She buried her face in her hands.
Ricco had seen him. And not just seen - noticed. There was no way he hadn't.
That look in his eyes...
He knew.
And she had lied.
Again.
But what else could she do? How could she tell the truth now, after five years of silence, of raising a son who had no idea his real father was alive, let alone walking the same halls?
She stood and walked slowly into Kelvin's room.
The boy looked up and smiled. "Mama, he had nice eyes."
Her heart twisted.
"Who, sweetheart?"
"The man in the office," he said. "He looked like someone I dreamed about."
Her legs weakened, and she sat beside him.
"Do you dream about him often?" she asked gently, brushing his curls from his forehead.
Henry nodded. "Sometimes he carries me on his shoulders. We eat ice cream. He laughs. And his eyes look just like mine."
Emilia held back a sob.
"I think I love him," Henry added, so casually, like he'd said nothing at all.
She couldn't speak. She simply leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Good night, baby."
---
That night, Ricco didn't go home.
He went to his penthouse - the private one, away from everything and everyone. The place he only used when the world became too loud and his name too heavy.
He tossed his keys onto the counter and poured himself a glass of bourbon.
The lights from the city glittered like diamonds through the tall glass windows. The silence in the room buzzed louder than any nightclub he'd ever been in.
He loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and leaned back on the sofa, glass in hand. But nothing dulled the fire in his chest.
Not the drink. Not the skyline. Not even the comfort of silence.
He scrolled through old pictures he took with Emilia when they went to a cafe.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then whispered, "You left me with nothing but questions... and now you show up with a child that could be mine."
The memory stung more now than it had back then.
-
The next morning, Emilia woke up with a weight in her chest. She moved mechanically - brushing Henry's hair, packing his snack, and forcing a smile. But inside, she was unraveling. He was going to be enrolled in a new school even if they won't be staying longer.
She kissed him at the school gate, then lingered, her fingers cold.
"Mom, we couldn't call Uncle Matteo yesterday," Henry said.
That's right, we will do so when you come back, she responded.
Would Ricco confront her today?
Would he demand what she wasn't ready to give?
Or worse... had he already guessed everything?
---
The next morning, Ricco's mother showed up at his office.
Without warning.
She breezed in with her oversized sunglasses, designer perfume trailing behind her like smoke.
"You didn't answer my calls," she said, settling into the chair across from his desk. "Which means you're hiding something from me.
Ricco didn't even blink. "I was working."
"You work too much. It's no wonder the women leave," she said sweetly, with a mother's lethal grace.
He arched a brow. "I don't recall anyone leaving".
"Oh, please. You think you're immune to heartbreak, but I know that look in your eyes." Her gaze narrowed. "You saw her, didn't you? The one you don't talk about."
Ricco stiffened.
His mother leaned in, resting her chin on her manicured hand. "It's written all over you. I know my son."
"I'm not talking about this, Mamma."
"You never do. That's why you're still alone."
He stood abruptly, pacing to the window. "Some things are better left buried."
His mother stood as well, voice softer now. "And some things... refuse to stay buried."
She kissed his cheek and left, heels clicking like a countdown behind her.
- Writer
