Chapter 3
3
AURORA POV
He leans back in the leather armchair, glass in hand, spinning a tale so compelling even I almost believe it. My stomach twists, a tight knot of unease blooming as I study the way his fingers wrap possessively around the glass. The library’s warmth wraps around us like a cocoon, masking the predatory grace beneath Alessandro’s charm.
“Tell me about the night you disappeared.” The words slip out before I can stop them, hanging in the thick air between us.
Alessandro’s smile doesn’t waver, but something flickers in his eyes—there and gone so fast I almost miss it. He swirls the amber liquid in his crystal glass, looking every bit the prodigal son returned.
“Ah, direct as always, piccola . You remind me of myself at your age.” He leans forward, moonlight from the library windows casting shadows across his face. “It’s not a pleasant story.”
“I’m not looking for pleasant.” I meet his gaze steadily. “I’m looking for truth.”
He chuckles, the sound warm yet somehow hollow. “Truth is rarely simple in our world, wouldn’t you agree?”
The leather chair creaks as he settles back, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. The library feels smaller suddenly, despite its towering shelves and vaulted ceiling. The scent of aged leather and paper mingles with his expensive cologne—a combination that should be comforting but instead sets my nerves on edge.
“I was betrayed,” he says finally. “Left for dead in a Rossi warehouse while our own men retreated.” His voice carries just the right amount of pain, perfectly measured. “The official story was that I died in the crossfire. Easier that way, I suppose.”
“But you survived.”
“Obviously.” That smile again, sharp as broken glass. “Though sometimes I wonder if the man who walked out of that warehouse was the same one who walked in.”
The grandfather clock ticks heavily in the corner, marking seconds that feel stretched thin with tension. I study his face, trying to reconcile this polished stranger with the brother Luciano lost. Something doesn’t add up.
“You mentioned being in Milan,” I say carefully. “But earlier, at dinner, you said Rome.”
His recovery is seamless. “Ah, I moved between cities. Survival meant staying mobile.” He stands, moving to the window with fluid grace. “The years blur together sometimes.”
The moonlight catches his reflection in the glass, doubling his image. For a moment, I see two Alessandros—the charming survivor and something darker lurking beneath.
“And now you’re back,” I press. “Why?”
He leans in slightly, the warmth of his confidence wrapping around us like a cloak. “I walked away once, wanting to escape the violence and betrayal, but no one truly leaves the mafia. La famiglia has a way of pulling you back, even when you think you’re free. Blood ties are stronger than any silence; they echo in ways you can’t ignore.”
“Family calls to family, cara. ” His eyes meet mine in the reflection. “Besides, I heard interesting whispers about changes here. About you, about Luciano...”
My pulse jumps at Luciano’s name, heat flooding my cheeks. My fingers tremble against my glass, and I force them still, knowing Alessandro tracks every reaction with those calculating eyes.
“What about him?”
Alessandro turns, his expression almost pitying. “He’s changed since I knew him. Harder. More... constrained.” A pause. “Tell me, does he still carry that photograph of his dead wife?”
“I wouldn’t know.” The words come out sharper than intended.
“No?” His smile turns knowing. “Interesting. Very interesting.”
The library door opens before I can respond. Luciano himself steps in, freezing momentarily at the tableau before him. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees.
“Alessandro.” Luciano’s voice could cut diamond. “I believe Dominic was looking for you.”
“Was he now?” Alessandro doesn’t move. “Aurora and I were just discussing old times. Family history, you might say.”
“Some histories are better left in the past.”
The tension between them crackles like lightning before a storm. I stand, unable to bear the weight of it any longer.
“I should go,” I say, but Alessandro catches my wrist as I pass.
“Just remember, piccola —every family has its secrets. The question is: are you ready to learn ours?”
Luciano moves forward, his expression darkening. “Let her go.”
“So protective,” Alessandro murmurs, releasing me. “Some things never change, do they, fratello ?”
I slip past them both, my heart hammering against my ribs. At the doorway, I pause, glancing back. They stand like mirror images—dark suits, deadly grace, decades of history crackling between them.
“Sweet dreams, Aurora,” Alessandro calls after me. “Do try not to let our little chat keep you up at night.”
But it’s Luciano’s gaze I feel following me down the hallway, heavy with things left unsaid.
The cool night air hits my face as I step into the garden, but it does nothing to calm my racing thoughts. Alessandro’s words echo in my mind, each one a piece of a puzzle I can’t quite solve. The dates that don’t match, the carefully measured emotions, the way his charm feels like a weapon...
A twig snaps behind me, and I spin to find Luciano emerging from the shadows. Moonlight catches his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.
“You shouldn’t be alone with him,” he says without preamble.
“I can handle myself.”
“Can you?” He moves closer, his presence making the garden feel smaller.”Alessandro isn’t what he seems.”
“And what does he seem to you?”
His eyes search mine. “Dangerous.”
“Everything in this family is dangerous,” I counter. “Including you.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Yes. Which is why you should stay away from both of us.”
I step closer, drawn by the conflict I see in his eyes. “Is that what you want?”
“What I want...” He reaches out, almost unconsciously, brushing a fallen leaf from my hair. His fingers graze my cheek, sending electricity down my spine. For a moment, the mask slips, and I see raw hunger in his gaze.
Then he pulls back, control snapping back into place like a shield. The loss of his touch feels like physical pain, and I have to stop myself from swaying toward him, seeking that connection again. His eyes darken with something that looks like regret—or desire.
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they hang in the air between us like smoke.
Luciano takes a deliberate step back, his expression shuttering. “Aurora?—”
“No.” Frustration burns through me. “I’m tired of everyone deciding what I should and shouldn’t know. What’s safe for me to hear. Alessandro comes back from the dead, and suddenly everyone’s walking on eggshells, trading looks, keeping secrets?—“
“Because secrets keep people alive in our world.” His voice roughens. “You think Alessandro’s return is a coincidence? That his interest in you is innocent?”
“I think I deserve to know what’s really going on.”
The garden falls silent except for the distant fountain’s whisper.
“Some truths are better left buried,” he finally says. He sounds just like Dom now.
“Like what happened to my mother?”
His sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve hit a nerve. “That’s not?—“
“What? Not my business? Not something I’m ready to hear?” I move closer, refusing to let him retreat. “I heard Dominic and Marco talking about her death. About loose ends and evidence. It wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“Aurora, stop.”
“Why? Because you’re all so busy protecting me that you can’t see I’m suffocating under all these secrets?”
His hands come up to grip my shoulders, the touch electric even through my sweater. “Because some knowledge comes with a price I’m not willing to let you pay.”
We stand frozen, too close for propriety, his breath warm against my face. His cologne wraps around me—spice and leather and something darker that makes my pulse race.
“That’s not your choice to make,” I whisper.
Something flashes in his eyes. Before I can decipher it, he releases me, stepping back into shadow.
“Go inside,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s not safe out here.”
“Is it safe anywhere?”
He doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes.
I turn away, wrapping my arms around myself against the sudden chill. Alessandro’s earlier words echo in my mind: Every family has its secrets. Behind me, I feel Luciano’s presence like a physical weight, full of unspoken warnings and impossible wants.
The walk to my room feels endless. Each step on the marble floors echoes through empty hallways, past oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors who seem to watch my progress with judging eyes. Their secrets are buried with them, but ours... ours are very much alive.
My bedroom offers little comfort tonight. I stand before the full-length mirror, studying my reflection in the dim light. The girl staring back looks different somehow—harder, more determined. My mother’s necklace glints at my throat, catching moonlight like captured stars.
Moving to my desk, I pull out the leather-bound journal hidden beneath a false bottom drawer. Its pages hold scattered pieces of truth I’ve collected over years—whispered conversations, odd coincidences, fragments of a puzzle I’m only beginning to understand.
Tonight’s entry flows from my pen.
Alessandro’s return raises more questions than answers. Dates don’t align—Milan vs. Rome. His emotions feel calculated, too precise. The way he watches Luciano...
And Luciano... the photograph Alessandro mentioned. Maria’s death. How does it connect to Mamma? What evidence were they hiding?
Something bigger is happening. Alessandro didn’t come back for family. He came back for...
I pause, pen hovering over the page. For what? Revenge? Answers? Power?
A shadow passes my window—one of Dominic’s guards making their rounds. Their presence feels less protective now, more like bars on a gilded cage.
I close the journal, sliding it back into its hiding place. The girl in the mirror catches my eye again, and this time I recognize the expression on her face. It’s the same one I saw in Alessandro’s reflection in the library window—the look of someone with a purpose.
“No more secrets,” I whisper to my reflection.
The words feel like a vow, like shattered glass that can’t be unbroken. Outside, clouds drift across the moon, casting my room in deeper shadow. Somewhere in this house, Alessandro and Luciano circle each other like wolves, while my brothers guard their secrets like crown jewels.
But they forget—I am a Salvatore too. And if they won’t give me the truth, I’ll find it myself.
I touch my mother’s necklace, finding comfort its familiar weight. Tomorrow, I’ll start digging. Into Alessandro’s lost years, into Maria’s death, into whatever darkness lies at the heart of our family’s carefully constructed facade.
Let them think their silence can protect me. They’re about to learn that some cages can’t hold their prisoners forever.
And some truths refuse to stay buried.