THE MAN YOU MADE

The air crackled with tension as Alessia sat down. Marco's eyes, like a predator sizing up its prey, devoured every detail of her. A smirk played on his lips, a tailored red suit hugging his powerful build. His pomade-slicked hair gleamed under the dim lights, as did the gold Rolex on his wrist.

"Good morning, Miss Guerrilla," he greeted, his voice smooth as silk. "How was your morning?"

Alessia licked her dry lips, her gaze flitting around the room, taking in the strategically placed men in black suits. A forced smile played on her lips as she complimented the restaurant, a supposed family favorite of his.

"No appetite, I see," Marco noted, his smile widening, a touch too sharp.

Alessia rose abruptly, but a strong hand clamped onto hers. "Sit down," he commanded, his gaze hardening.

She stole a glance at his men, their expressions unreadable. With a resigned sigh, Alessia sank back into her chair.

"This isn't exactly friendly, Marco," she said, her voice laced with ice.

"Just a business lunch," he countered, his hand lingering on her arm a touch too long. "Besides, it'd be a shame to waste good food."

Ignoring the veiled threat, Alessia cut to the chase. "Why Azure Enterprises, Marco?"

He shrugged, his gaze lingering on her curves, the way her dress accentuated her figure. "Needed a change of scenery. Heard good things about Azure's methods."

Their eyes met, a silent battle raging between them. Marco couldn't deny his attraction to Alessia, a stark contrast to the woman he knew years ago. Her hair was done in a stylish way, and she wore perfume that tickled his senses. Her lips were painted a sensual red, and she was undeniably his type, though different from the Alessia he once knew.

He watched her order her meal, a steaming plate of pasta, his gaze lingering on her painted lips. This woman was trouble, but undeniably his type.

"How's your partner?" he asked casually.

Alessia shrugged, a flicker of something crossing her eyes. "Fine."

Marco's gaze narrowed. "Let's keep things professional, shall we?" he said, his voice a low rumble.

A nervous laugh escaped Alessia's lips as he took away her wine glass. "A little early for intoxication, wouldn't you agree? Besides, I need you sober."

A tense silence settled between them. Finally, Alessia spoke, her voice low.

"What do you want, Marco Salvador? Or should I say Don Marco?"

A dangerous glint flickered in his eyes. "Tell me, Alessia, why you're here in Italy, knowing the risks."

"Personal reasons," she replied curtly.

"And what business does someone like you have meddling in my world?" he countered, a cold edge to his voice.

As if on cue, her meal arrived: a steaming plate of pasta. Just as Alessia reached for her fork, a glint of metal caught her eye. A dagger lay on the table, a silent threat.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She wasn't safe here. Marco was toying with her, and she knew he could have her disappear without a trace.

"Who are you working for, Alessia?" he demanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "Working for the wrong side can be deadly."

A wave of terror washed over her. She glanced around, spotting his men, their faces emotionless. They were all his.

"Marco, please," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "There's no need for dramatics,"

"Just tell me who you answer to." Alessia shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "No one. I'm not here on anyone's behalf."

"And that boy from the other day?" he pressed, his gaze sharp.

"Forget him," Marco said with a finality that brooked no argument. "Can't we move past this?" Alessia pleaded. "Let me explain."

Marco threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. Then, with a curt nod, the restaurant began to clear. His men ushered out the patrons, leaving them alone.

"Time flies, doesn't it, Alessia?" he said, his voice hard. "Seven years isn't the same as seven minutes."

He circled behind her chair, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "Did you miss me, Alessia?"

Alessia couldn't respond, frozen in terror. Marco wasn't playing around. Her only hope was to tread carefully and avoid provoking him further.

"No," she managed, her voice barely a whisper.

"Good," he said, a low growl emanating from his chest. "Because I won't hesitate to use this if you don't cooperate."

He tapped the dagger on the table with a menacing click. Alessia nodded, her throat dry. Marco's eyes held a chilling glint, and she knew he was capable of anything.

"Now," he continued, his voice steely, "tell me about Leonardo. Who is his biological father?"

The question struck Alessia like a physical blow. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and her mind reeled. Leonardo? How could Marco possibly know?

"What?" she stammered, her voice barely audible.

"Don't play dumb, Alessia," he snapped. "The DNA test results don't lie."

From his pocket, he produced a manila folder and tossed it on the table. Alessia's eyes widened as she saw the familiar logo of a prestigious private investigation firm emblazoned on the front. Hesitantly, she opened it.

Inside were documents detailing a DNA test, a cold, scientific confirmation of what Marco had just revealed. Leonardo's biological father...was Marco.

Dread washed over Alessia. The truth she'd desperately hidden for years was now laid bare. She stole a glance at Marco, his face an unreadable mask.

"I can explain," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Just then, a commotion erupted from outside the restaurant. Shouts and raised voices pierced the tense silence. Marco's eyes narrowed, and he whipped his head towards the door.

The carefully constructed illusion of their private meeting was shattered.

*****(previous episode)*****

Quinto watched the chaos unfold, a grim understanding settling over him. Even he, hardened by years in the mafia, couldn't deny a flicker of sympathy for Marco. This was a family matter, a tangled web of blood and betrayal.

Alessia was a wreck, her face stained with blood – Marco's blood. The revelation of Leonardo's paternity had ripped through their fragile truce, leaving them both reeling.

On one hand sat a broken man, burdened by the weight of a son he never knew existed. On the other, Alessia, her defiance replaced by a raw vulnerability.

Quinto approached Marco, his voice low and urgent. "Don Marco, we need to leave. The Godfather is summoning us."

Marco rose with a detached coldness, his face etched with a storm of emotions. He shrugged on his suit jacket, a crimson stain blooming on the fabric.

In a curt order laced with menace, he spoke to a nearby waiter in Italian, ensuring no evidence of the bloody encounter remained. The waiter, his face schooled in stoic obedience, simply nodded.

Turning to Alessia, Marco's voice was a hardened rasp. "Bring me my son," he commanded. "Three days. Not a minute more."

Alessia bristled. "This isn't how this works, Marco!"

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering within. "This isn't a request," he countered, his voice dropping to a low growl.

He then spoke again in Italian, the language sharp and laced with possessiveness, "Donna (Woman), it's my son or nothing else."

With that, Marco swept out of the restaurant, his men following like silent phantoms. Alessia watched them go, a cold dread settling in her stomach.

She turned to find Quinto's gaze upon her, a flicker of something akin to pity in his steely eyes.

"You shouldn't be surprised," he said softly. "You made him who he is today. Cold hearts don't mend easily."

Alessia ran a hand through her hair, a choked sob escaping her lips. She gnawed on her thumbnail, her mind a whirlwind of frantic thoughts.

What had she gotten herself into?

Mr Gonzalo