Once Was Ours

The plane touched down just after midnight.

No press. No fanfare. Just a sleek black car waiting on the tarmac and a man stepping off with a leather duffel over his shoulder and a sharpness in his eyes that hadn't been there six years ago.

Alessandro Marchetti was back in New York.

But he wasn't the boy who left.

THE LEGACY

The Marchetti name carried weight — here, just as it did across the Atlantic.

In Milan, he was the heir.

In Rome, the shadow of his grandfather.

But in New York, he was now the face.

The new CEO of BORSANY & Co. New York Division — the company's most lucrative international expansion. The board expected results. His grandfather expected perfection.

And Alessandro? He expected nothing.

No welcome. No warmth. No mistakes.

....

He was twenty-five now.

Six-foot-one. Clean-shaven. Tailored suits. Fluent in five languages. Unreadable.

Gone were the crooked smiles and lazy Saturday mornings. Gone was the boy who once whispered sweet nothings under an oak tree. That softness had been burned out of him.

What remained was all precision and purpose.

He didn't love.

He didn't trust.

He didn't ask questions he didn't want the answers to.

There were whispers back in Milan — of cold deals closed without blinking, of parties left early, of women never seen twice. He was charming, polite… and completely unreachable.

...

The Marchetti penthouse in Manhattan's Upper East Side was as grand as ever — glass walls, black marble floors, silent staff.

Alessandro stood in front of the massive windows, watching the city breathe beneath him. Lights glittered across the skyline like stars — beautiful, distant, untouchable.

He loosened his tie and sat in the quiet.

And for the first time in a long time, a memory crept in.

Her laugh.

The smell of summer grass.

The way her green eyes used to catch light when she smiled at him like he was her entire world.

Bell.

He blinked once.

And buried it.

He didn't come back for her.

He didn't come back for memories.

He came for the Marchetti name.

For the empire.

For the life that was built for him — whether he wanted it or not.

....

BORSANY & CO.

Alessandro sat at the head of the table, flanked by men twice his age. All of them silent now. Waiting.

The company conference room buzzed with the low hum of city noise, but inside, not a word was wasted.

He closed the folder in front of him and looked up slowly.

"Tell the supplier if the shipment is late again," he said in perfect, unshaken Italian, "we'll move our business elsewhere. We don't need loyalty from people who confuse respect with convenience."

Someone nodded too quickly.

Another cleared his throat.

Nobody argued.

He didn't raise his voice.

He didn't need to.

He had presence.

Not the kind built in gym mirrors or designer clothes.

The kind carved in silence. In watching. In choosing his words like blades.

FAMILY BUSINESS

Though the world knew the Marchettis as global tycoons — real estate, luxury imports, private banking — those who mattered knew better.

The New York branch wasn't just about expanding revenue.

It was about expanding territory.

The Marchettis, like the Riccis in Sicily or the Bellinis in Naples, still held influence. Still made problems disappear. Still owned the kind of silence that came at a cost.

At the center of it all, still pulling strings, was Don Gioliuano Marchetti — Alessandro's grandfather.

Old-school. Brutal. Brilliant.

And grooming Alessandro for more than a seat at the head of the table.

"Family first," the old man always said.

"Not just the one you're born into — the one you bleed for."

...

Alessandro didn't drink much. He didn't party. He didn't ask questions about what he didn't need to know — but he always knew.

His world was deals behind closed doors, calls that couldn't be traced, and knowing who owed who — and for what.

But he was still controlled.

Disciplined.

Unflinching.

He wore the Marchetti name like armor.

And if the armor felt heavy sometimes, if it crushed what was left of the boy inside — he didn't show it.

That boy fell in love under an oak tree.

This man builds empires.

He didn't look back. He never did.

In his mind, the past was buried. That boy was gone. The empire was rising — and nothing could stop it now.

Little did he know, just a few blocks away, lived a woman and a young boy who could bring it all crashing down.