ELENA
I walked into the orphanage, my heart immediately softening at the sight of the children playing outside. Their laughter tugged at something deep within me.
I had stopped coming here after marrying Lorenzo. If it were up to me, I would have never stayed away from these sweet angels. But life had pulled me in a different direction. Now, as I made my way toward Francesco's office, I felt a familiar warmth creeping in.
Reaching the door with his name engraved on it, I knocked gently.
"Come in," came the familiar voice from the other side.
I opened the door and stepped inside.
"Well, look who we have here!" Francesco exclaimed, rising from his chair with a wide smile. He pulled me into a tight hug, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed.
Francesco was my ex. We had dated for eight months in college before life pulled us apart. He had gone abroad to further his studies while I pursued a career in modeling.
After his parents left him a large inheritance—one that would last him several lifetimes—he used part of it to build this orphanage. His heart had always been soft toward those less fortunate.
Our paths had crossed again during one of Lorenzo's charity events. By then, I was already engaged.
"I'm so sorry about your husband," Francesco said gently, pulling me from my thoughts. I realized I had been absently scanning his office, taking in the framed awards and certificates lining the walls.
"Thank you," I murmured, not particularly eager to linger on the subject.
"Would you like to step outside and see the children?" he offered, his tone light.
"I'd love that."
I watched him as he closed the laptop he had been working on. His brown curls still brushed his shoulders, and with his tall frame and long, graceful fingers moving across the keyboard, he looked older—maybe a bit worn from being tucked away here for so long.
"All set," he said, holding out his hand to me with a soft smile.
I accepted his hand as he led me toward the playground. The sound of children's laughter mixed with the soft rustling of the breeze.
My heart swelled at the sight before me — children running, playing, their faces bright with pure, unguarded joy.
"They're so innocent and pure," I murmured, almost forgetting the dreadful meeting I'd had earlier with the Mafia elders. The sharp contrast between this world and that one tightened something in my chest.
Francesco smiled at me, his thumb brushing softly over the back of my hand.
"Why didn't you ever get married?" I asked, glancing up at him.
Before he could answer, a small voice interrupted us.
"Excuse me… can you help me?"
I turned to see a little girl tugging at my leg, clutching a sketch pad and a pencil in her tiny hands.
"Of course," I said with a warm smile, crouching down to her level. I released Francesco's hand and let the little girl take mine as she led me toward a nearby bench.
Francesco's eyes followed me, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. He gave me a playful wink before turning to join the other children.
As I settled onto the bench, the little girl climbed up beside me, her sketch pad resting on her lap. Her dark curls framed her round face, and wide brown eyes peeked up at me shyly.
"What are we drawing?" I asked, brushing a curl from her cheek.
She hesitated, her small fingers tracing the edge of the sketch pad. "A family," she said softly.
My chest tightened. "That sounds lovely. Do you want me to help you?"
She nodded, handing me the pencil. I guided her hand gently across the page, sketching the outline of a house.
"Who's in the family?" I asked.
She pointed at the paper. "A mommy and a daddy." Her finger paused, then she added, "And me."
My heart squeezed at the innocence in her voice. "Okay," I whispered, adding soft lines to form the figures.
"Is your mommy here?" I asked carefully.
She shook her head. "No. But Francesco says I have a family here."
I smiled at that. "He's right."
As I handed the pencil back to her, she started adding details—tiny hands, smiling faces.
"Does your mommy look like you?" I asked.
She smiled. "Francesco says I look like her."
The little girl leaned against me, her head resting on my arm as she colored in the drawing.
Francesco strolled over after a while, hands in his pockets. "How's the masterpiece coming along?"
The girl grinned and held up the drawing. "Look! It's us!"
Just then, my eyes drifted toward the playground, landing on a familiar figure among the children. A tall man with dark, slightly tousled hair, crouched down and laughing with them.
My breath hitched. "Who is that?" I asked, pointing toward him.
Francesco followed my gaze. "Oh, that's DeLuca — DeLuca Adrian. He comes here often to check on the kids. Do you know him?"
My stomach tightened at the name. I barely heard Francesco's question over the sudden rush of blood in my ears.
I forced a nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah… I know him."
But I could hardly believe what I was seeing.