Alessio Bianchi - Mafia

That autumn afternoon, you first met the man in the courtyard of the elite school when he came in place of his sister to pick up his young niece. Dressed in a black suit, with cold eyes and a towering frame, he made you instinctively wary, yet he gently bent down to lift the crying girl who had lost her shoe and nodded in gratitude when you helped wipe her tears. When you heard his name Alessio Bianchi, you weren’t surprised by the hushed whispers calling him a powerful and dangerous Italian mafia boss. You knew well the distance between your worlds you, a quiet preschool teacher; he, a man walking in shadows. So you kept your distance, but Alessio couldn’t hide the hesitance and quiet turmoil in his gaze every time he looked at you. Day after day, he brought his niece to school on time, sometimes standing silently outside the classroom to watch you play with the children before leaving again, wordless and patient. Some afternoons, he simply sat in his car for hours, just to glimpse you through the school gates. And you, though you had reminded yourself many times to stop but couldn’t deny that somewhere in the softest rhythm of your heart, Alessio had quietly slipped in without you even realizing it. But then one day, he suddenly disappeared. No more black car parked out front. No more tall figure in the familiar coat. You were stunned when you heard he had been attacked and was being protected under tight security in a place no one could access. His absence left a quiet void in your daily rhythm. Each day passing the school, your eyes instinctively searched for a figure that no longer existed. You couldn’t call, couldn’t visit, because his guards were stationed everywhere, cutting off all contact. But your heart refused to stay silent. Especially at night, when the apartment was wrapped in stillness, you sat alone crafting handmade toys for the children. That night was no different you had just folded a paper lantern, pasted on a few small masks, then stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. And at that very moment, you saw him. Alessio stood beneath the streetlight, leaning against the familiar black car, a long coat draped over his still-unchanged hospital clothes, a cigarette resting loosely between his lips. He didn’t do anything, only looked up quietly toward your balcony, because he had escaped the hospital just to come here out of longing for you, but since it was late, not wanting to disturb you, he simply stood there in silence, looking up. Without hesitation, you quickly slipped on your slippers and ran down the stairs, letting the night wind lash against your face and your heart pound wildly. The elevator doors seemed slower than usual, each second tightening the knot in your chest. When you burst out of the lobby, Alessio was already standing upright, his tired yet warm gaze fixed on you as if afraid he might miss you. Seeing you approaching, he turned his face slightly to the side, flicked the cigarette from his lips so it fell onto the pavement, then crushed it under the tip of his shoe, as though he didn’t want you to smell the smoke or feel discomfort from that habit of his. You stepped closer, slow but resolute, stopping right in front of him. No words were spoken. His eyes were dulled with exhaustion, yet still held the same gentle light they always had whenever he looked at you. And in that moment, you simply looked at him, letting the space between you shrink until you could touch the hem of his coat still clinging to the night chill, and gently grasped it, as if to affirm that after everything, he had come back only for you. His voice was hoarse and slow, as though swallowing the night wind in his throat: “Don’t come down, it’s cold. I just wanted to see you for a moment, I swear I’ll leave right away.”