Mafia Lord's Mute Sweetheart

Chapter 9: Chapter 9 Ricci brothers

Two days later, Daisy had grown used to the guards around the hospital whenever she went outside.

Every time she stepped out of Grandpa’s room to walk to the vending machine or the small garden on the fourth floor terrace, they were there. Black suits, earpieces, cold unreadable faces, standing by the elevators, outside the stairwells, near the main entrance of the VVIP wing. Some of them even nodded at her now. The one with the scar above his eyebrow, she had started thinking of him as "Scar" in her head, gave her a small, awkward smile every morning.

They didn’t stop her anymore, since she had become familiar to them.

But there was something strange about them that Daisy hadn’t noticed at first. They weren’t normal security. Their suits were too expensive, their postures too military, their weapons too real. Hospital guards carried tasers and walked in lazy circles. These men stood like soldiers awaiting orders, and their eyes followed everything, the nurses, the visitors, the delivery boys, even the dust floating in the air.

Daisy had once seen Scar speak quietly into his cuff, his lips barely moving, and she realized they were communicating constantly, watching for threats she couldn’t see. But she still didn’t know who they worked for.

❀┈┈┈┈❀

Meanwhile, inside Ward 417, the door was closed with two guards standing outside, larger than the others, more alert, more dangerous. Their eyes never stopped moving, their hands never strayed far from the bulges under their jackets.

Inside, the room was dim, the curtains drawn, and on a leather couch near the window sat a man in a hospital gown.

His expression was emotionless, his face sharp and dangerous. High cheekbones that could cut glass, a tall straight nose that gave him an aristocratic look, soft dark hair that fell across his forehead in waves so perfect they looked sculpted. His plump lips were pressed into a thin, unreadable line, his jaw chiseled like marble, his chin strong enough to break fists.

But it was his eyes that attracted all attention. Deep forest green, the color of ancient secrets and moss-covered stones and shadows where predators hid. They held no warmth, no mercy, no flicker of humanity. Just cold, calculating intelligence that measured everything and everyone like pieces on a chessboard.

He was the kind of handsome that made women look twice and then look away quickly, afraid of being noticed. The kind of beautiful that felt dangerous. With his eyes, you would feel like being stared at by a snake.

His perfect brows were drawn together in concentration as his fingers, long and elegant, the fingers of a pianist or a surgeon, held a single chess piece. A knight. His name was Alessio Ricci, head of the Ricci family, and he was playing chess with someone.

Opposite him sat a man who looked younger by several years. His dark black hair was messy, falling across his forehead in careless waves, and his eyes were the same shade of green as Alessio’s, deep and vibrant, but warmer, like summer meadows after rain. Tattoos covered both his hands in intricate designs, skulls wrapped in roses, words in Italian that curved around his knuckles, flames licking up his wrists.

His arms, visible beneath rolled-up sleeves, bore a full sleeve of dark art that looked complicated yet beautiful, snakes coiled around daggers, angels with broken wings, a woman’s face hidden in shadows. He looked annoyed. His name was Rafael Ricci.

Rafael stared at the chessboard, then at his emotionless brother who was clearly winning again. He rolled his eyes so hard his whole head moved. "Big bro! Every time! Every single time! How do you always manage to win?"

Alessio said nothing. He simply placed his knight down, capturing Rafael’s last rook with a soft click. "Checkmate," he said, his voice flat and unmoved, like winning gave him no pleasure, like nothing gave him pleasure except maybe the quiet satisfaction of proving he was smarter than everyone else in the room.

Rafael threw his hands up in frustration, his tattoos seeming to dance in the dim light. "Why are you so ruthless today? I’m your little brother! Have some mercy! I came here to accompany you!"

"You came to me," Alessio pointed out. "I didn’t call you here."

Rafael crossed his arms. "Because Mom’s ghost told me to check on you in a dream."

Alessio’s eyebrow twitched, barely, almost imperceptibly. "We don’t believe in ghosts."

Rafael rolled his eyes again. "You don’t believe in anything."

"Exactly."

Rafael groaned and slumped back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t know why I bother. You have the emotional range of a brick wall."

Alessio placed another piece on the board. "Brick walls are useful. They protect what’s inside."

Rafael sat up sharply, his green eyes narrowing. "Is that what you think you are? A brick wall? Protecting us?"

Alessio began resetting the board, methodical and precise, each piece placed exactly where it belonged. "I am whatever I need to be to keep you and Mateo alive."

The room fell silent for a moment. Then Rafael leaned forward, resting his tattooed elbows on his knees. His voice took on a mocking tone. "Love makes you weak. You’ve said it a thousand times."

"Because it’s true."

Rafael continued, still mimicking. "I hope Eva didn’t distract you from your mission. That’s what you said to me. Right before you called me weak."

Alessio’s dark green eyes lifted to meet his brother’s. "Did I call you weak?"

"You implied it."

Alessio’s voice was calm, almost cold. "I stated a fact. Love makes men careless. Careless men make mistakes. Mistakes get people killed."

Rafael’s jaw tightened, his tattooed hands curling into fists on his knees. "Bro, I told you. I love Eva. And it’s serious. And please—please—please, don’t try to separate us."

Alessio picked up a white pawn, turned it over in his fingers, and said nothing.

Rafael’s voice rose slightly. "She is so scared of you. You should behave a little bit more gently around her. Every time you walk into the room, she flinches. Every time you look at her, she hides behind me. She thinks you’re going to kill her or send her away or—"

Alessio interrupted, his voice still flat. "I have never threatened her."

Rafael threw his hands up. "You don’t have to threaten her! Your face threatens her! Your eyes threaten her! The way you breathe threatens her!"

Alessio set the pawn down. "I cannot change my face."

"Then change your attitude!"

The two brothers stared at each other. Rafael’s chest was heaving. Alessio’s was perfectly still. Finally, Rafael looked away, ran a hand through his messy dark hair, and sighed. "I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to fight with you."

Alessio’s voice was low now. "You came here to check on me."

"Yes. And to tell you that I love her. And that nothing you say or do will change that."

Alessio was silent for a long moment. His green eyes, cold and unreadable, studied his younger brother’s face. Then he looked down at the chessboard, at the pieces he had just reset and picked up the white king. He turned it over in his elegant fingers, his expression never changing.