9. Alessia
ALESSIA
I wake to cold sheets and the sound of the radiator knocking through the apartment. Enzo's side of the bed is empty. No note, no message. Just the faintest dent in the pillow where his head had been and the lingering scent of his cologne.
I force myself to get out of bed when I really want to lie here and stew over what happened and what it means. The heat of the shower helps me shake it off a little, but what really does it is the brisk walk across town.
By the time I get to the lab, the day’s already off to a bad start.
The cappuccino machine is broken. The receptionist glares like I’d personally offended her.
Then I open the door to my office and find Luca Bernardi leaning against my desk like he owns this whole department, though he's really just the supervisor in charge of things. Higher-ups don't rein him in, though.
He lifts a brow. "You’re late." I drop my keys in the tray by the microscope, letting the clang echo through the room, and I don't bother with an apology. If he's waiting for one, he'll be disappointed.
"You’re in my seat," I say flatly, tossing my bag onto the counter.
I move toward him without breaking eye contact, forcing him to acknowledge my presence.
He's not a bad boss, but this stiff we've been working on seems to have brought out some dark streak in him that butts heads with what my father expects of me.
He stays where he is, deliberately, so I have to physically walk around him to get a different chair.
His button-down shirt is loose at the collar, and his lab coat is nowhere in sight, giving him the air of someone who thinks the rules only apply to his subordinates, not him.
The smile on his face is slow and practiced, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. Creepy.
"Heard you’ve been putting in long nights," Luca says, idly thumbing through the stack of case files I left on my desk.
"Stressful week?" He lifts a file and flips it open like he’s reading for sport, not substance.
His fingers leave faint smudges on the corner of the folder, and it makes my skin itch.
I fold my arms. "Do you need something from me, sir?" My tone cuts sharper than intended, and I see the way his jaw tightens. The muscles in his neck flex like he’s holding something back.
He looks up at me from the file, eyes sharp now. "The task force has questions. Polizia are waiting. They’re impatient for answers, and they think you’re holding out." He sets the file down slowly, watching my reaction like he’s measuring my pulse and breath.
I stare at him as the tension starts to swirl in my chest. I can't really read him right now, which I'm normally good at, but fucking Enzo last night got in my head.
I don't know which way is up. "Are you threatening me?
" I don’t flinch, not even when he shifts his weight like he might move closer. My spine locks straight.
He clicks his tongue. "Friendly warning. You look tired. You should rest more." He gestures lazily toward my chair, like he’s doing me a favor by keeping it warm. The arrogance in that movement makes my stomach turn.
"I need space to do my work," I say, looking down at my desk so I don't have to look him in the eye anymore. The air between us snaps taut, and I catch the flicker in his eyes before he schools his expression. It’s confirmation enough that he has a burr up his ass about me for some reason.
He takes a step forward, suddenly all business.
"Enough excuses. We need results," he says, voice clipped. "Get the rest of those samples tested today and finalize your report. The task force wants movement before this case goes cold, and I won’t have them thinking my lab’s dragging its feet.
" He waits a beat to let it sink in, then he stands and turns toward the door like the matter's settled.
I hold his gaze a second longer, then sit down before I do something crazy like smack him. "Please leave my office." I point to the hallway like I’m dismissing a technician, not my boss. My hand trembles slightly, but I keep it steady.
He goes, but not before flashing that same thin smile that says he knows more than he’s telling me.
The door swings shut behind him, and I heave out a sigh of frustration, driving my elbows into my desk and covering my face.
I'm being squeezed from both sides—Enzo who wants me to bury evidence, no doubt, and Bernardi who just wants me to do my job, get the truth.
Neither of them is giving me room to breathe.
One man wants loyalty. The other demands results, and I’m trapped trying to serve both without losing myself in the process.
I feel like a live wire strung between two power lines—ready to snap.
There’s no middle ground. No one to trust. And every time I think I’ve found my footing, someone moves the line again.
I hate the feeling that no matter which way I lean, I’m betraying someone.
The rest of the day grinds by and nothing lines up.
These case files feel heavier the longer I stare at them.
I keep thinking back to what Dr. Bernardi didn’t say—what he hinted at.
When the word "task force" slipped out, I knew what he meant.
They're not just looking for a killer. They're trying to build a larger case— Article 416-bis: Criminal Association with Mafia Ties .
If I get it wrong, the whole investigation could collapse.
But if I do what Bernardi wants, I personally sentence my father to a life in prison and probably men associated with him too—like Vincenzo. Like Uncle Emilio…
I leave work feeling so heavy I want to collapse. By the time I get home, my feet ache and there’s a tight pulse blooming behind my eyes. I kick off my shoes and rub at my temples, but the pressure doesn’t let up. The apartment feels too quiet tonight. Like he was never here.
Maybe I should be relieved, because I did, after all, run away from my legacy and my father's name.
Until Enzo stormed into my life and that stiff landed on my table, I was Alessia Leone, star medical examiner.
Not Alessia Costa, daughter of a Mafia hit man.
I left that world behind when I changed my name, and Enzo sleeping in my bed threatens to suck me back into that black hole I escaped.
I don't bother with a glass. I pour the last inch of scotch down my throat in one gulp and sit at the kitchen table, staring at the grains of the wood.
My eyes trace each line, following the swirling pattern like a maze.
My fingers drum against the base of the bottle in a slow, steady pattern, a metronome for my thoughts.
My phone buzzes with an encrypted number—one I’ve memorized but never saved, though I’ve always known it would come back.
It's the only tie left, but I can't bear to break it even though I know what it means.
The sound cuts through the room, and a jolt runs through me like a spark of static, making me jump.
"Hello?" I answer. My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
I brace myself against the table with one hand, the other gripping the phone like I might drop it.
These calls always scare the fuck out of me, and it's not even that I fear him.
I am not afraid of my father at all. I'm afraid of what my future means if he's in it.
My father’s voice comes through, tight and low. "Alessia, Tesoro . Stop digging, figlia mia ." The way he says my name makes my throat constrict. I hear the emotion in his tone, the way he cares for me. I've never doubted he loves me. But there’s a rasp there I haven’t heard before.
I sit up straighter. "Where are you?" I stand without realizing it, pacing now with short, sharp steps. The walls feel like they're leaning inward at me, trying to collapse the life I've built for myself, and all he had to do was call to make it happen.
"It doesn’t matter, Lessi. The more you know, the worse this gets. I tried to keep you out of this." There’s frustration behind his words and a tiredness that feels like he's weighing how much to tell me. Like maybe he's depending on me in ways he knows I can't offer him.
Leaning on the bar, I rub my forehead and sigh. "Then why send Vincenzo? Why pretend you're protecting me?" My voice cracks at the edges and I wish I hadn't drunk all of that scotch.
"I didn’t send him. That was Emilio, figlia mia . You weren’t supposed to get this close. I swear I told him to stay out of it." He exhales heavily, like the admission costs him something, and each word drips with resignation.
"Close to what? To the truth? To what you did to Vescari?" I straighten and stare at the dark window, seeing nothing. The city’s lights blur behind my reflection, but I know he's out there somewhere, hiding away in some hole he dug to avoid being responsible and doing the right thing.
He digs his heels in with an attitude I know well.
"Not everything is what it seems. Let it go.
" His words slap me the way they used to when I was younger.
He never had to lay a hand on me because I knew not to anger him.
He's already decided that I'm going to play along with him and this is some sort of warning shot.
I pause, listening. There’s noise in the background—horns, traffic, someone yelling in a dialect that isn’t Roman. Footsteps echo off stone.
"You’re not in Rome. Where are you?" I press the phone tighter to my ear, straining for any detail. My heart kicks once, hard.
He doesn’t answer.
" Papà —" I barely get the word out before the click ends the call. It slices the air—and my heart—like a blade.
The line goes dead. My hand stays frozen at my ear, phone pressed tight like I can will the connection back into existence. But he's long gone like a ghost in darkness, and I have more questions than answers now. He knows I'll find things, and he's scared I will use them.
I stand there for a long time with the phone still in my hand.
The air in my apartment feels thicker and harder to breathe in, but it's all in my head.
I know Vincenzo is sitting outside in his van watching—him or one of his men—and no one is getting at me without his seeing it.
And I know my father won't hurt me, but that doesn't mean others won't try.
When I finally breathe, it comes out shallow. I dig through my cupboards in hopes to find any bottle of wine or whiskey and come up empty, so I resign myself to the fact that sleep will come hard tonight.
Then I lock every door, double-check the windows, and sit on the edge of the bed with the lights still on. My spine doesn’t relax, even when I try.
It’s not my father's warning that scares me. It’s that he called at all. And that he’s running too.