Salvatore De Luca sat on the balcony of his private estate, a crystal glass of deep red wine in his hand. The estate was a sprawling testament to his power—an immaculate combination of old-world Italian architecture and modern luxury. The setting sun bathed the manicured gardens and grand fountain in hues of gold and orange, yet the beauty of it all did little to ease the weight that settled on his chest.
Inside, laughter echoed faintly from the dining hall. His wife, Isabella, was hosting a gathering for a few close family friends—something she loved to do, even if Salvatore rarely stayed long. She had always been a woman of grace and poise, her dark hair streaked now with silver, but her beauty remained timeless. She was the anchor that held his world together, even as she dealt with her own quiet sorrows.
For years, they had tried to have children. Doctors, specialists, treatments—none of it had worked. It was a wound she bore silently, though Salvatore had never blamed her. He had reassured her time and again that her worth was not tied to such things.
Still, in his quiet moments, the thought lingered. An heir. Someone to carry on his legacy. Marco was a capable man, his most trusted capo, and a worthy successor in many ways. Yet Salvatore couldn't deny the faint ache that accompanied the thought of never having a son of his own to shape and mold.
A light knock at the balcony door broke his reverie. Isabella stepped out, her silk gown flowing in the evening breeze. She carried a small plate of biscotti and set it down beside him.
"You've been out here too long," she said softly, sitting across from him. Her dark eyes studied him, knowing without him having to say a word. "What's on your mind, Sal?"
He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. "The same as always," he replied. "The business. The balance of power. And… you."
Her lips curved into a faint smile, though sadness flickered in her gaze. "I know what you mean." She looked out over the gardens, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "Sometimes I wonder… if things had been different. If we had…"
Salvatore reached across the table, covering her hand with his. "Isabella. We've built this life together. With or without an heir, it's a life I wouldn't trade for anything."
Her smile deepened, and she squeezed his hand. "I know, caro. I just—"
"You've given me more than I could ever ask for," he said firmly, cutting off her self-doubt. "This empire. This home. None of it would feel real without you."
The faint hum of a violin drifted through the air, carried from inside the estate. Isabella tilted her head, her mood lifting slightly. "Marco was asking about the estate in Tuscany again. He thinks we should spend more time there."
Salvatore chuckled, a rare sound that softened the sharp edges of his demeanor. "Marco thinks about too many things. Tuscany will wait. This is where we're needed."
She raised an eyebrow. "So the great Salvatore De Luca does have weaknesses. Who knew it was his estate manager?"
He smirked, but the humor quickly faded as his thoughts returned to the future. "Weakness is what we make of it. What matters is how we use it."
Isabella watched him, sensing the shift in his tone. "You worry too much about what will happen when you're gone. You still have years, Sal. Decades, even."
"Perhaps," he said, though his expression remained distant. "But kings don't live forever. And they're always watching for the moment you falter."
Isabella reached for his hand again, grounding him. "Then don't falter, my king. Not yet."
The two sat in silence as the sun dipped below the horizon, the lights of the estate flickering to life one by one. Inside, the laughter and music continued, a stark contrast to the quiet, unspoken understanding shared between Salvatore and Isabella.
For now, the empire stood firm. But for how long, only time would tell.