Chapter 24: To become strong

Soraya woke up early the next morning. The sun was just coming up, and its light fell through her window.

She got out of bed and put on a warm sweater before leaving her room.

The house was quiet. Not having any guards or servants around made her feel that she had gone back to her normal life.

Soraya freshened up and prepared breakfast for both of them. Since it was still early, she decided to explore the house.

She passed several closed guest rooms, a quiet study filled with books, and a glass hallway that had a grand view of the valley. At the end of the second-floor corridor, she noticed a slightly opened door.

Curious, she pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room looked like an old storeroom, with wooden boxes, rolled-up paintings, and furniture covered with sheets. Sunlight came through a small round window near the ceiling.

Soraya looked around and noticed a small wooden box on top of an old trunk. Some tools lay nearby, along with a few loose photographs that someone had left there.

Soraya stepped closer and picked up one of the photos.

She blinked in shock.

In the faded photograph, a young boy of about ten stood in an oversized sweater, holding a small wooden toy. He wasn’t smiling, but his dark eyes looked just like Santino’s. Behind him stood a beautiful woman with deep brown eyes and a cold smile, and she had one hand on the boy’s shoulder.

"It’s such a precious picture of a mother and son; why did he just leave it out like that?" Soraya muttered as she stared at the picture in surprise.

She picked up another photograph of Santino playing in the snow, holding wildflowers, and sitting beside his mother on a wooden porch.

She couldn’t understand why he had left these precious memories in a dusty storeroom, as if they meant nothing to him.

"You shouldn’t be in here. It’s dusty." Santino’s voice made her turn around. He stood against the doorframe, wearing a grey shirt and sweatpants. His hair was a little messy, as if he’d just woken up.

He didn’t look angry that she had entered the room; instead, he seemed completely relaxed. "I couldn’t find you on the first floor, so I came looking."

"I... I was just exploring," Soraya said softly, holding up the photo in her hand. "I am sorry if..." She was still talking when Santino cut her off.

"What’s there to apologize for?" he said as a smile appeared on his face. "You are my wife.

Soraya looked at him for a while and then asked, waving the pictures in her hand. "Why are these here?"

Santino glanced at the picture, his face remaining completely calm. "Where else should they be?"

"In a frame? In your room?" Soraya looked at him in disbelief, pointing around the dusty room. "Santino, these are your childhood pictures. This is your mother. You just dumped them in a storage room with old tools?"

Santino walked into the room, his long strides silent on the wooden floorboards. He stood beside her, looking down at the small photograph in her hands.

"I don’t need frames to remember her," he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual sharp edge. "She was my mother; I keep her in my mind."

Soraya looked up at his face, trying to read the emotions behind his calm eyes. "Did she love you?"

Santino stayed silent for a long moment, staring at the picture of the smiling woman. "I’m not sure what you want to ask, but... I can tell that your definition of love was pretty much far from mine," he admitted in a low tone.

The honesty in his voice caught Soraya completely off guard.

"When I was born, I was already thrown into the mafia world," Santino continued softly, running a hand through his hair. He took the photo gently from Soraya’s fingers and set it back on the dusty box, looking at it one last time.

"My father always taught me about business and how to become strong. My mother was different. She took care of me, made sure I ate on time, helped me sleep, and took me on trips during the weekends. Back then, I didn’t know what love was. I just knew I felt happy when she was around."

He paused, his eyes still on the photograph.

Soraya looked at him in surprise. "You... you knew me when I was a child?"

"You were still in diapers, and I had only just stopped wearing mine." He chuckled at her shocked expression. "But let’s talk about that later. I’ll prepare a nice breakfast for us."

"Oh... I... I already made it," Soraya said softly, feeling a little shy.

Santino raised his eyebrows. "You made breakfast?"

She nodded, avoiding his eyes. "I thought you might be hungry when you woke up."

For a moment, he said nothing. He was used to people doing things because they feared him or wanted something from him. But Soraya had prepared breakfast without asking for anything in return.

A smile appeared on his face. "Then I guess you should show me what you’ve made."

Soraya finally looked up at him. "You haven’t even tasted it yet. What if you don’t like it?"

"I’ll eat it anyway," he replied, giving her hands a gentle squeeze before letting go. "You made it for me, didn’t you?"

She bit her lip to hide her smile and turned toward the door. "Come on, let me serve you."

Santino followed her out of the room, taking one last look at the photographs before closing the door. He had never shown anyone those pictures or talked about his childhood like this. Yet somehow, talking about it to Soraya didn’t feel wrong.

As they entered the dining room attached within the kitchen, he saw dishes and cutlery were already on the table.

"Did you always see blood and violence around you?" Soraya asked suddenly after she took her seat. "And I didn’t see any of the pictures with your father. Why?"