Alessia
Antonio sent me home with two guards and strict orders to wait for him. I thought he’d show up sooner, but it’s nearly two in the morning and I’ve heard nothing. The house feels stifling, as if the air itself is holding its breath. When I finally hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, I jump up from the steps in the foyer, my nerves on edge. Rushing to the door, I pull it open before they have a chance to knock.
The two guards step aside, and I spot Antonio walking across the driveway toward me. His shirt is rumpled, the top few buttons undone, and his tie hangs loose around his neck. His hair is disheveled like he’s spent the night running his hands through it. He looks tired, but there’s something about the way he holds himself—a lingering innocence beneath the ruthless exterior.
“I didn’t think you’d still be up,” he says, his voice low as he reaches the porch.
“My husband was found dead,” I reply, the words sharper than I intend. “Do you think I’d be able to sleep without knowing what happened?”
He ignores my question, turning to the men flanking me. “Thank you for staying with her. You can go now.”
They nod and disappear into the night, leaving us alone on the porch. The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. Antonio sighs, his shoulders slumping as he finally meets my gaze. There’s something in his eyes—something more than exhaustion. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of the world, and for the first time, he’s allowing me to see it.
“Come inside,” I murmur, stepping back to let him pass. He hesitates for a moment before walking into the house. I close the door quietly and follow him to the living room. He collapses onto the couch, rubbing his temples, looking more worn than I’ve ever seen him.
“How did Valentino die?” I ask, standing in the doorway, my voice quieter now.
There’s something in his eyes that I can’t quite place—guilt, maybe—but he hides it. “It was quick,” he says, but the hollowness in his tone betrays him.
Quick. Of course. After everything Valentino put me through, all the pain, the terror, I can’t help but feel cheated. Part of me wishes he’d suffered, even for a moment. That he felt a fraction of the helplessness I endured at his hands. Knowing he was spared that feels like a cruel twist of fate.
"And Lena?" I press, needing to know how she fits into this.
He hesitates, grabbing the back of his neck—an old habit of his when he’s uneasy. "I’m looking into it," he says carefully, his voice steady but guarded.
I bite the inside of my cheek, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Antonio, you can’t keep me in the dark. I know she was there. Did she kill him?"
His jaw clenches, and for a brief second, I think he might tell me the truth. But then he shakes his head, barely noticeable. “It’s complicated, . Just trust me that I’m handling it.”
The words sting more than they should. Handling it. They’re a reminder of how little control I have in any of this. But I don’t have the energy to fight him. "Am I in danger?"
Antonio’s expression softens just a fraction before he shakes his head. “No, you’re not in danger.”
“How can you be so sure?” I push, hoping he’ll give me more than vague assurances.
He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, the exhaustion on his face more pronounced now. “, please. Just go to bed,” he says, his voice almost pleading. “We’ll talk more in the morning. I’m staying here tonight.”
“Why? You just said I’m not in danger.”
"It’s not about that, ," he snaps, the sharpness in his voice making me take a step back. "I just need to be here, alright?"
I cross my arms, frustrated, but I can tell he’s barely holding himself together. “If I’m not in danger, why do you need to stay?”
He closes his eyes for a long moment, his fists clenching at his sides as if trying to keep his temper in check. When he opens them, there’s a flicker of something—anger, frustration, guilt but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “Because I’m not leaving you alone tonight. End of discussion.”
There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument. I want to push him for answers, to demand the truth, but he looks so drained, so utterly spent, that I let it go—for now.
"Okay," I whisper, my voice barely audible. But as I walk to my room, a knot of suspicion tightens in my chest. There’s more to this than he’s telling me.
* * *
“,” Antonio says, shaking my shoulder gently. “It’s time to get up.”
I don’t remember when I fell asleep, but it feels like it’s far too soon to wake up. "Go away," I mumble, trying to burrow deeper into the warmth of my blankets.
“Nice try, princess,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone. Before I can stop him, he pulls the blankets off me, leaving me exposed to the morning chill.
“Antonio,” I yell, scrambling to grab the blankets. My bare legs and mid-drift are exposed in the tank top and shorts I slept in. I catch him glancing at them—a brief shadow passes over his face, but it’s gone so fast I almost miss it. I yank the blankets back up, glaring at him.
“Get up,” he repeats, his voice more serious now. “You need to pack some things. You’re going to stay with my mom and sister for a while.”
I blink at him, stunned. “What? No, I’m staying here.”
"," he starts, his voice calm but firm, "this isn’t up for debate."
I shake my head, anger rising. “You said I wasn’t in danger.”
“You’ll always be a target just for who you are,” he clarifies, his patience thinning. “After last night, things with the Famiglia are unstable. I need to keep my family in one place to make sure everyone’s safe.”
“I’m not your family,” I snap, my words harsh.
He doesn’t back down. “This is what’s necessary right now. You’ll be safer with my mom and sister, and I’ll be able to focus on what needs to be done.”
I open my mouth to protest again, but he cuts me off. “Please, . Don’t fight me on this,” he says, his voice softer now.
It hits me that he’s not acting solely out of duty. There’s something more—a genuine concern that goes beyond his role. He’s trying to protect me because he wants to. But why?
“Fine,” I mutter, sliding out of bed and heading for the closet. “But I’m not happy about it.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to be,” Antonio replies, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Just pack what you need, and I’ll have someone handle the rest.”
That’s what they always say. They always promise to handle things, to take care of everything. But no one ever does. Not really.
As I gather my belongings, I sense his eyes on me, watching, but I don’t turn around. There’s too much I don’t understand—too many emotions I’m not ready to confront.
For now, I’ll play along, keeping my head down and my intentions hidden. But the moment I see an opening, I’m gone. Away from this life, from all of it.
And once I leave, I’ll never look back.