Shadows of a Son

The door to Diego Rossi’s office creaked open, the sound sharp in the heavy silence. Leonard stepped inside, his polished shoes muffled by the thick carpet, and made his way toward the wide mahogany desk. Diego sat behind it, elbow resting on the table, his fingers pressed against his temple as though his thoughts weighed too much to hold.

“Father, you sent for me?” Leonard asked, his tone carefully measured.

Diego’s eyes lifted, and the coldness in them made the room feel smaller.

“You told me to trust you with getting your brother back. It’s been over a week, Leonard,” he said, voice calm but coiled with suppressed anger. “And Marco is still not here.”

Leonard swallowed. “Father, I’m still working toward it. You know Alessandro is not an easy person to deal with—”

Diego’s scoff cut him off like a blade.

“Are you not ashamed of yourself?” he said sharply. “You shouldn’t be afraid of Alessandro. He should fear you. You are too weak.”

The words stung, each one lodging itself under Leonard’s skin. His fist clenched at his side, nails digging into his palm, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. He was used to this—Marco missing, Marco hurt, Marco breathing the wrong way, and somehow, it was always his fault.

It had been that way for years. As if his entire existence was only to be compared against his younger brother’s shadow. Marco—the one their father had once planned to hand the Rossi empire to, the one who had refused. That refusal had left Leonard as the second choice, and he hated it.

Leonard had always believed Marco had been born into the light, while he had been left to claw his way out of the dark. Marco could walk into a room and earn loyalty without trying. Leonard had to fight for scraps of respect. And now, with Marco in Alessandro’s hands, Leonard saw the opening. An opportunity. If he played this right, the spotlight could finally be his.

“I’ve been gathering intelligence,” Leonard said, forcing the words steady. “One of my men—our spy—reported that Alessandro plans to take Marco to the upcoming party.”

He unlocked his phone, stepping closer. “Here.”

Diego took the device, scanning the message on the screen. Leonard watched his father’s face, searching for a flicker of pride, or even relief, but all he saw was calculation.

“That’s from the spy,” Leonard clarified.

Diego set the phone down and leaned back. “So, Marco is safe. For now?”

“Yes.” Leonard pocketed his phone.

Diego’s voice dropped to something low and deliberate. “Leonard, I need you to get Marco back at the party.” His gaze sharpened, cutting through the space between them. “I don’t care what it takes. Use any means necessary.”

Leonard hesitated—not because he disagreed, but because those words carried an unspoken truth: it wasn’t about Marco’s safety. It was about winning against Alessandro.

Leonard lifted his eyes to his father’s, but there was no reassurance there. Diego’s face was a mask of ruthless expectation.

A flicker of resentment burned through Leonard’s chest. What was it about Marco that made his father’s heart beat faster? Why was it that no matter what he did, it was never enough?

“Father, I will do everything I can,” Leonard said at last. He kept his voice level, though inside, frustration churned. “But I can’t rush this without a solid plan. If I go in unprepared—”

“Were you born a fool?” Diego’s voice rose, the sharp edge back. “You don’t carry the Rossi name because you were born into it. You carry it because you are expected to act like it. Get Marco back. No matter the cost.”

Leonard nodded slowly. He knew how his father’s world worked. Loyalty and power were the only currencies that mattered. But loyalty to whom? And power for whose sake?

A dangerous thought crept in—what if Marco never came back? Would his father finally see him then? Would he, Leonard, finally be the only son worth worrying about?

“I will get Marco back,” Leonard said, his voice firm, his jaw tightening. He unclenched his fist only to clench it again. “But I want you to know… I’m doing this for you. For us. For our family. I want to make you proud.”

For the briefest moment, Diego’s gaze softened—just enough for Leonard to think he had pierced the armor. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the same heavy worry that had haunted him since Marco’s abduction.

“I believe you will,” Diego said quietly. “You are my son. I should trust you… and you should act like one.”

The words felt like both a promise and a threat.

Leonard drew in a slow breath, a wave of determination pushing back against the resentment. He would get Marco back—not just to win his father’s approval, but because he needed to prove to himself that he was more than a shadow.

He turned toward the door, hand gripping the handle. But just as he was about to pull it open, Diego’s voice stopped him.

“I want to trust you,” Diego said, his tone lower, almost conversational.

Leonard froze, the metal of the handle cold under his palm.

“But I can’t,” Diego continued, each word deliberate. “If only I had a son like Alessandro as my eldest… I wouldn’t be worried about claiming the world—and closing it in my palm.”

Diego curled his fingers into a fist, holding it in the air before letting it fall onto the desk.

"You are my son by blood, but not by worth. Prove me wrong." Diego said softly.

The sound was soft, but it might as well have been a gunshot to Leonard’s chest. The words shattered him into pieces, the cracks running deep into places he’d long tried to seal.

Without looking back, Leonard walked out, his father’s voice echoing in his head. But in the hollow silence of the hallway, one truth took root: if Alessandro was the kind of son his father wanted, then maybe, just maybe—he would have to become far worse.