Ferreti Mansion — Rome, Italy | Night of March 26, 1986
The mansion slept.
That thick, almost solid silence — the kind that only appears when everyone has surrendered to sleep and time itself seems to stop — draped over every corner.
Andrea was in the sitting room, reading.
He smoked with the same elegance with which he turned the pages, the book held in one hand and his legs crossed on the divan, as if the night were eternal. The lamp behind him spilled a warm light that bathed the worn pages in gold.
—"And to my eyes, my dear… you are the moon, the stars, the clouds, the sky, my love, my life, and the mistress of my existence," —he read softly.
A short, joyless laugh escaped him. More a sigh laced with smoke.
—Do people really ever love this much… enough to feel something like that?
The creak of footsteps made him turn his head.
Soft, uneven. Bare feet.
Félix.
The boy appeared drowsy, in rumpled pajamas and clutching a stuffed lion under his arm. He rubbed one eye as he shuffled across the carpet.
—Uncle André… what are you doing here?
—I'm reading —he replied, without lifting his gaze from the book—. And you? Why aren't you asleep?
Félix lowered his head.
—I can't… I'm sad.
Andrea closed the book with a dry snap and removed his glasses, letting out a sigh loaded with annoyance.
Whiny children. His weakness… and his curse.
He patted the armchair.
—Come, sit.
Félix didn't just sit — he climbed up, curled against him, and hugged him tightly.
Andrea stiffened.
Didn't anyone teach these brats about personal space?
—I miss Mom —Félix whispered.
He looked down.
Seven years old. Just a child.
And Dana… had been gone for two years now.
—Ethan is with you —Andrea said, uncomfortable.
—But it's not the same —he murmured—. Mom used to sing to me before bed. She let me brush her hair and hold her until I fell asleep. Uncle Ethan gets tired too fast.
Andrea didn't answer.
He held him in silence.
The blond head resting on his shoulder, the small fingers clutching the lion. An absurd scene, almost ridiculous for his world… yet familiar.
He had lost someone too.
Gabriel Moretti.
His father.
Three years ago.
The heart of the family. The thread that held everything together, even amid chaos. And since his absence, everything had tasted of rot.
Awkwardly, he ran a hand through Félix's hair. Wiped his tears in a brusque way, like someone who didn't know how to do it better.
Then, without a word, he lifted him into his arms.
—Come. We're going to do something.
Félix clung to his neck. Andrea carried him to the piano. He sat him beside him on the bench, lifted the polished wooden lid, and let his fingers settle naturally over the keys.
—What are we going to do?
—Listen.
The first notes were soft, tinged with a trace of nostalgia. The melody had breaks of tenderness and strikes of absence; it sounded like a memory turned into music.
—When you're starting to forget someone you loved deeply —he said as he played— come to the piano. Do this.
—Play?
—Yes. Because the people we love are still here. In the melodies, in the heart… and in the soul.
Félix looked up at him with wide eyes, resting his chin on his stuffed toy.
—Do you miss Grandpa?
Andrea nodded, still playing.
—Every day.
The keys seemed to tremble beneath his hands.
Félix nestled closer and hugged him around the waist. The plush lion fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Andrea didn't look at him.
He kept playing, but his eyes were fixed on an empty point, lost in a corner of his memory he rarely allowed himself to visit.
Could children feel pity so early?
He didn't know.
But the way Félix hugged him, as if he understood that Andrea was sad too, made him think… yes. Children do understand, in their own way, with that secret language they have.
And that night, while music drifted through the mansion, Andrea allowed himself to stop being the monster.
For a few minutes, he was only a man.
An uncle.
A brother.
A son.
Another child, playing so as not to forget.
——-
Andrea closed Felix's bedroom door gently, making sure the sound didn't break the silence.
The boy slept curled around his small stuffed lion, golden curls clinging to his forehead from the heat.
The hallway was wrapped in shadows, broken only by the dim glow of wall lamps. It wasn't empty.
Andrea stopped short when he saw someone waiting at the other end.
—What the hell are you doing standing there like a ghost? —he asked, quickly regaining his composure.
Ethan gave a tired smile. He was wearing a robe, his hair slightly mussed, his gaze low, and that expression of exhaustion that seemed to have settled permanently on his face.
—I didn't mean to startle you. I saw the light on… assumed you were here.
Andrea leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
—Seems like maybe you're not the monster everyone thinks you are.
Andrea arched a brow.
—Because I calmed a crying child? That doesn't erase my crimes, Miller. The list is still long.
—Maybe. But monsters don't let a child hug them.
Silence stretched. Andrea looked away, uneasy with where the conversation was heading. Ethan, however, went on:
—I think you'd make a good father.
The word hit his stomach like a cold blow. His posture hardened.
—I wouldn't. AndIdon't want to.
—Never? You're not even thinking of getting married?
Andrea hesitated. A shadow crossed his eyes—something he preferred not to touch.
—Maybe someday… but it doesn't excite me. I'd rather this than end up like you and Lorenzo: tied down, worn out, drained.
Ethan let out a small laugh, without a hint of offense. He took a few steps toward him.
—Think what you want, Andrea… but I love Lorenzo. In spite of everything. He's selfish, yes, and a bastard, but I love him. And he loves me. Our love isn't perfect, but it's real.
Andrea said nothing.
—When you truly love —Ethan continued, softer now— you'll want a child. You'll want proof that not everything you touch turns to ruin. You'll want to leave something no one can break. Maybe you'll even want to keep a piece of that person with you. Forever.
He gave him a look filled with tenderness and, before stepping back, laid a hand on his arm for just a second, as if afraid a wrong touch might shatter him.
—Sooner or later… traditional love will catch up to you. Even if it's in your own way.
He turned away, walking down the hallway with slow, resigned steps until he vanished beyond the curve of the staircase.
Andrea was left alone, bathed in the golden light of a lamp, with the scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes.
Traditional love? A child? A memory?
Ridiculous.
And yet…
The echo of the piano persisted in his head. The melody he had played for Felix. The fragile warmth of thin arms wrapping around his waist. Green eyes filled with childlike faith.
Andrea closed his eyes for a moment. Just one.
Then he continued down the hallway as if none of it mattered.