8 - Harper
A lessia closes the office d oor behind her and I let out a deep sigh. Man, that women is frustrating as hell.
I shouldn’t do this, I shouldn’t immerse myself into this world but I can’t help myself. Alessia has a hold on me. Even thought my brain is constantly yelling at me to get the hell out of here, I can’t.
For a minute I just stare at the screen in front of me before I press the button to open her folders. Multiple folders pop up in alphabetical order.
I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the mouse, but the curiosity burning inside me is too strong to ignore. The folders are labeled in a way that feels almost mundane, until I actually start clicking through them.
The first folder, simply titled Shipments, opens to reveal a meticulous ledger.
Dates, times, locations. Some shipments are labeled with innocent-sounding descriptions like ‘textiles,’ ‘electronics.’ ‘produce.’ But as I scroll further, the codes shift, and suddenly the truth is laid bare in front of me.
Firearms. Pharmaceuticals. My stomach twists.
This is deeper than I thought. This isn’t just some underground family business.
This is a fully operational empire built on corruption and power.
I swallow back the bile rising in my throat and click into another folder labeled Legal Documents.
There are contracts, business agreements, shell company records.
All carefully forged or manipulated to ensure the family’s dealings remain just on the fringes of legality.
Enough to maintain their front as legitimate businesspeople, but not enough to convict them.
The way everything is laid out so neatly makes me uneasy.
It’s not the chaos of a criminal enterprise, it’s the order, the precision, that makes me realize how far out of my depth I am.
And yet, I can’t stop.
I dig deeper, clicking on Leverage. The file is filled with names. Politicians. Police officers. CEOs. Some names are highlighted in red with additional notes beside them: ‘Owes us,’ ‘Blackmail material secured,’ ‘Unreliable. Remove if necessary.’
My pulse quickens as I skim through. There’s a name I recognize, someone prominent, someone whose face is on the news almost daily. And next to their name? A series of photos, emails, and a single, chilling note: “Not compliant. Potential problem. Resolution pending.”
I shove my chair back, my breath coming faster. The weight of what I’ve uncovered is pressing down on me like a vice. She controls everything. She has her hands in every pocket of the city. There’s no escape from her, not without consequence.
And then , I see it, the folder labeled Hitlists.
My fingers tremble as I open it. My heart pounds in my ears. A series of documents pop up, each with a name, a photo, and a status. Ongoing. Confirmed. Eliminated.
My mind races, trying to piece it all together.
The shipments, the leverage, the legal manipulations.
It all forms a terrifying picture. Alessia’s world isn’t just dangerous; it’s unstoppable.
The reach of her family extends beyond what I ever imagined, and yet, she had let me in, even when she didn’t have to. Even when she shouldn’t have.
As a nurse, I’ve sworn to preserve life, to do no harm. But what I’ve uncovered is the opposite of that oath. People have died, people will continue to die, because of this family. I should be disgusted. I should run and never look back.
But I don’t. Instead, I think of Alessia.
The way she moves through the world with confidence, her sharp mind, her undeniable presence.
She isn’t just a part of this world, she rules it.
And somehow, despite everything, she had pulled me into her orbit.
I know that if I walk away now, I’ll never see her again.
Never understand the full depth of what she’s offered me.
A life outside the lines.
I take a shaky breath, my decision solidifying. My morals are screaming at me to leave, but my heart, my very soul, tells me otherwise. I could be afraid, or I could take control. I close the folder, my hands steady now. I know what I’m choosing.
I stand from the chair and walk out of the office in search of Alessia.
I need to talk to her. I need to ask her if this is all she wants, all she can be.
I find her in the living room, reading a book , a glass of red wine is standing on the coffee table. She looks rather peaceful considering I just went through her entire digital empire.
“I’ve seen what I needed to see.” I say, her shoulders tense up before she lays down the book and stands to face me.
“I guess that we’re done now?”
“I don’t know yet. I have one more question to ask you actually.”
“Which is?”
“Is this all there is to you? Are you really only this world?”
“What do you mean?”
“I kind of find it hard to believe that this is all there is to you.”
Alessia lets her eyes focus on the floor and doesn’t respond. I walk over to her and take her hand.
“If I’m in , if I become a part of your world , I want to understand who you are. All of you, not just the parts you let people see. You don’t have to hide from me, Alessia. I want to know about the things you keep tucked away, the stuff that’s yours and yours alone.”
Her hand feels cool against mine, and I sense the weight of her hesitation.
For a moment, the room is filled only with the soft hum of the street outside and the slow beat of my heart.
She stands still, her eyes still trained on the floor as though the very act of meeting my gaze would require too much of her.
I wait, patiently. I know she’s a woman of few words, but there’s a depth to her silence that speaks volumes.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she looks up, her blue eyes locking with mine. There’s something fragile in her expression, something raw, but she doesn’t look away.
“You think you can handle it?” she asks, her voice softer now, tinged with something I can’t quite name.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I want to try. I want to know all of you, even if it’s complicated or messy.”
She exhales, a quiet sound, as though she’s weighing my words. She takes a step back, pulling her hand from mine, and sits back down on the couch. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve pushed too far. Maybe I’ve asked too much too soon. But then, slowly, she pats the space beside her.
“Come sit,” she murmurs.
I take a seat next to her, close but not too close.
The air between us is thick, but the tension has shifted.
There’s a vulnerability in her now, a softness that wasn’t there before, and I can see it in the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the way her fingers play with the edge of her sleeve.
“It’s not easy,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Being me. Being the person, you see. There’s a lot more to me, a lot more I’ve had to learn how to keep hidden. I’ve had to bury parts of myself to survive, to fit into the world that demands so much. It’s… exhausting.”
I lean i n, my voice gentle. “You don’t have to keep it hidden from me, Alessia. If we’re really going to make this work, whatever this is, I need to know all of it. Even if it’s hard to hear, or if it hurts.”
She looks at me then, her gaze so intense it feels like it’s reaching into me, testing me. Then, she nods slowly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, she lets herself truly be seen.
“I used to think I was broken,” she begins, her voice low and trembling.
“That I could never be whole, because I was always running from something. I tried to fill the empty spaces with distractions, with things that didn’t matter, people who didn’t matter.
But in the end, it was just me, alone with all the pieces of myself I didn’t know how to put back together. ”
I reach out, my hand stroking hers. The contact is light, but it seems to anchor her, to give her the space she needs to keep going.
“I never thought I’d meet someone who could see me like this,” she continues, her voice thick with emotion, eyes searching mine.
“Someone who would want to understand the broken parts, the messy, imperfect parts. I always thought I wasn’t worthy of love, not really, not after everything that happened when I was younger.
The way he used me… and the way she let it happen.
I thought I’d always carry that with me, that I’d always be too damaged to be loved, to be wanted.
That no matter how hard I tried to be good, to be whole, there was always going to be that stain on me. ”
Her brea th catches, and she wipes away a stray tear. The vulnerability so raw, it feels like she’s handing me pieces of her soul. “But here you are… And for the first time, I’m not afraid to believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m wrong about that.”
Before I can respond, she turns her head, and I catch the glimmer of something in her eyes. A vulnerability so raw, so real, it makes my heart ache. Without thinking, I move closer, my hand gently cupping her face, my thumb brushing her cheek.
She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she closes her eyes, her breath hitching, and I know in that moment that we’re both standing on the edge of something.
Slowly, carefully, I lean in. Her lips are soft, tentative, but when they meet mine, everything else disappears.
There’s no hesitation now. No fear. Just the press of our lips, the rush of warmth, the heat of wanting something real.
I feel it in every part of me. The way her hands slide to my shoulders, pulling me closer.
The way our bodies seem to fit together as though they were made for this.
When we finally pull back, breathless and with hearts pounding in our chests, she doesn’t say a word. But I see it in her eyes, the same thing I feel in mine. This is just the beginning.
“Stay,” she murmurs after a long pause, her voice steady now, but with a hint of uncertainty. “Just… stay tonight. You can sleep in the spare bedroom if you want. It’s… I don’t know.”
I smile softly, my fingers brushing the back of her hand. “Yeah. I’ll stay. Just for tonight.”
She exhales quietly, almost as if relieved by my response. “I’ll tell you more, Harper. About my past. About… everything that’s made me who I am. But not tonight. Not all at once. It’s just… too much to say. But soon. I promise.”
I give her hand a gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her lips curve into a small, appreciative smile, and for the first time, I see a flicker of peace behind her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice soft and vulnerable. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
I nod and she stands, gesturing for me to follow her. We walk together down the hallway, the silence between us comfortable, but thick with unspoken things. When we reach the door of the spare bedroom, she turns to face me.
Without a word, she steps closer. Her breath warm against my skin. And in that moment, her lips find the crook of my neck as she lightly dusts them over my skin, sending goosebumps up and down my body. My breath hitches, the sensation unexpectedly tender yet intoxicating.
I respond instinctively, my hand finding the small of her back, pulling her in closer, feeling the heat of her body against mine.
Her fingers graze the side of my jaw, the touch almost reverent, like she’s memorizing the feel of me.
Her lips trail softly, teasingly, upward along my neck, brushing my ear before she pulls back slightly, just enough to look me in the eyes.
The inte nsity in her gaze makes my heart race.
“Harper,” she whispers, her voice rough, almost as though she’s searching for the right words. “I’m… I’m not used to this. To wanting someone like this.”
Her fingers slip up to the back of my neck, gently massaging, as if grounding herself in the sensation of my skin beneath hers. “But you make it feel… easy. Like it’s okay to want more.”
I swallow, unsure if I should say anything at all. I feel that same pull toward her.
“We don’t have to rush anything,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in my chest. “Whatever this is… we take it slow, together.”
She rests her forehead against mine, “I don’t know how to take things slow,” she murmurs. “I’ve never known how.”
I smile gently, cupping her face in my hands. “Then let’s figure it out, one step at a time. No pressure, no expectations.”
Her lips brush against mine again. When we pull back, I see the relief in her eyes, the faintest trace of a smile on her lips.
“Goodnight, Harper,” she whispers once more.
“Goodnight, Alessia,”
Then she leaves me in the quiet of the spare room.