3. Alessio
3
Alessio
T he reports spread across my desk are a blur. I’ve been trying to focus on the numbers, the names, the messages sent by our scouts, but it’s like the words don’t even want to make sense.
I sit back in my leather chair, swirling the whisky in my glass, watching it catch the light. But even the amber liquid, usually so calming, doesn’t do much to settle the tension building up in me.
No matter how hard I try to focus on something else, she is all that I can see in my mind: Isabella Marino.
She struck something in me yesterday, something I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. She’s got this look, those green eyes that cut through you like they’re seeing every inch, every part you think you’re hiding.
I’ve had people look at me, sure, but it’s never like this. The memory of it clings, more stubborn than I’d like to admit.
I take a sip of whisky, letting the burn coat my throat, trying to chase away the restless urge thrumming through me. I try to brush it off as some passing fancy, a moment of weakness, but there’s something too powerful about it to ignore.
I can still picture her standing there, the way she tilted her head, so focused on the ring, like she was seeing the whole world in it. Like it held some secret she was determined to uncover.
And then, when she looked up, and those green eyes locked onto me, I swear for a second I forgot who I was, where I was. Everything else just went still.
And her hair, thick, dark as midnight. I can still feel that insane urge to reach across the counter, run my fingers through it. To see if it’s as soft as it looks, if it’d curl around my fingers and keep me there, just as she’s already kept me in my mind.
This is… ridiculous. I don’t get caught up in people like this, not to mention this fast. I’m supposed to be better than this, supposed to have control. That’s how I was raised. That’s what’s kept me alive in this life.
Romance is a luxury, a fantasy I can’t afford to entertain. Not in this life. It doesn’t fit in the puzzle pieces of a world that’s all about survival, loyalty, and power.
I’ve had my share of flings, sure, enough to keep things simple, unattached. But nothing like… this.
Nothing that sinks its teeth in so deep I’m losing sleep over it, that makes me feel like I’m walking a razor’s edge just by thinking of her.
She’s innocent, that much I know. Isabella is just a civilian. Someone who never asked for the kind of life I’ve chosen. Someone who’d never understand the darkness that comes with it.
It’d be reckless to pull her into my world, dangerous for her in ways she wouldn’t see coming.
With everything happening in the family, especially with The Vitale rats circling around like vultures, the last thing I need is a weak spot for them to exploit..
I lean back. I’ll keep this thing locked down. She’ll be just another passing memory, something I can close the book on before it even starts.
But I don’t get to dwell on it long before my phone jolts me back to reality. It’s one of the scouts, stationed just outside Winter Haven. The urgency in his voice is immediate, no chance of small talk.
“Alessio! We got a situation,” he says, almost breathless.
“What’s going on?” I snap, my grip tightening around the phone.
“There’s been a hit on one of our supply trucks. Happened just outside town.”
“Damn it!” I mutter. So much for keeping things quiet. I’d been hoping to avoid open confrontations, at least through the holidays, to keep things under wraps. But if someone’s already gunning for our shipments, that means they know we’re here in Winter Haven.
It’s got to be The Vitale…they’re getting bolder, and I’m not about to let that slide. If it’s a fight they’re after, they’ll get one.
I get the exact location from him and hang up, wasting no time. I call in a couple of our men, Aturo and Mario, giving them clear, direct orders.
When they arrive, there’s no preamble. “Aturo, you’re coming with me. We’ve got business to take care of,” I say, already moving toward the door. I don’t have time to let them process this. Every minute counts.
“Mario,” I turn to him. “I need you to go to the Marino jewelry shop. There’s a package there for us. Get it and bring it back to my office.” He nods, and as he heads out, I follow with Aturo right behind me.
The air is cold, biting as we step outside, but I barely even feel it. My mind’s racing, too focused on what’s coming, on the fact that we’ve been forced to act now, to go on the offensive before I was ready.
I slide behind the wheel, and we’re off, the car cutting through the snow-covered streets like a blade.
We hit the road hard, fast enough that I feel the tires slip on the ice a few times. But there’s no alternative. We need to know what we’re dealing with.
Snow spits against the windshield as we make our way through the winding, deserted roads. And when we finally reach the scene, I’m expecting trouble, guns drawn, maybe even a fight.
But instead, I find… nothing. The trucks are upright, ready to move, the men standing around looking tense but unharmed.
“What happened here?” I bark, barely getting out of the car before firing off questions. One of my guys steps forward, hands shoved deep in his pockets, glancing back at the truck like he’s trying to reassure himself it’s all intact.
“Some car hit one of the trucks, rammed right into it,” he says. “But it wasn’t what we thought, boss. The driver was just some drunk, must’ve lost control. Took a hit to the head, but he’s fine. We patched up the truck…it’s good to go.”
I narrow my eyes, scanning the snow covered ground, the twisted tire marks cutting across it. All this fuss, and it’s just some poor, wasted civilian? The guy probably didn’t even know where he was.
But something about it feels wrong, and I can’t shake it. It’s like there’s a shadow looming over us, just waiting for the right moment.
Still, I’ve got to admit…I’m relieved. The supplies are here; But the trucks are ready to roll, and there’s no blood spilled today. I’ve got no appetite for a shootout right before the holidays, not if I can help it.
I spend the next few hours riding with the convoy, keeping close as we snake through the roads and bring the supplies into town. I talk to the guys, double check that all the goods are where they should be.
It’s a clean run, smooth once we’re past that mess, and when we finally hit Winter Haven, I breathe a little easier.
After we unload, I head back to the Bellini Lodge, cutting through the snow slick streets.
I stride into my office, and there it is…the ring case, resting on my desk just as I’d instructed Mario. I flip it open, glancing at the contents just to confirm everything where it should be. Satisfied, I snap it shut and make my way to Massimo’s office.
I’m there in a few brisk steps. “Come in,” his voice calls at the first knock, and I enter that spacious room, thick with the familiar scent of Cuban cigars.
“Back with the ring, Alessio?” he says as I approach.
“Yes, boss.” I place the case on his desk, and his gaze drifts to it, lazily cutting through a haze of smoke. I’m about to turn and leave when he speaks again.
“Look at it. Make sure they polished it right,” he says, picking up a sheet of paper on his desk.
I pick up the case, open it, and take the ring out. The cool weight settles in my hand. The diamonds gleam, polished to perfection, just as they should be. It looks flawless, ready for the big day in a few short weeks.
I’m about to say so when something catches my eye.
And suddenly, my blood runs cold.
This isn’t the ring.
It looks like it. Feels like it. But the engraving is wrong. My mind snaps back to the first time I saw it…a phoenix, clearly etched into the band. But this... this has some kind of chicken?
A cold lump forms in my throat. What the hell happened?
The silence hangs thick in the air. Massimo’s gaze lifts to me.
“Everything check out okay?” he asks, his tone sending a chill through me.
I swallow. “Boss... something’s wrong. This ain’t the ring.”
Massimo blinks, his eyes narrowing. Without a word, he extends his hand, and I place the ring in his palm.
He studies it for a long moment, as though willing it to make sense. Then his voice cuts through the air, dark and sharp. “A fucking chicken?”
His eyes harden as they fix on me. “What the fuck is this, Alessio?”
“Someone must’ve switched it on the way here,” I say, barely keeping the defensiveness out of my tone.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Did you hand it off to someone?”
“Actually... I didn’t pick it up myself,” I admit, hating the words as I say them.
Massimo stands slowly, but the anger in his eyes is anything but slow. “You didn’t pick it up... I told you to handle this, and you’re telling me you had it picked up?”
I know I need to explain, and fast. “Boss, something came up. I got a call about a hit on our supply trucks. I went straight there the second I heard. I would’ve picked up the ring myself if it hadn’t been for that.”
Massimo’s gaze sharpens. “What hit?”
“Scouts said the supply trucks got hit, but when I got there... it was just some drunk driver.” The words come out, but even as I say them, a suspicion begins to form.
The driver… maybe he was in on it. A decoy to pull me away from the ring and buy someone time to switch it.
And suddenly, everything snaps into place.
Massimo nods, and I can see it on his face. He’s thinking exactly what I am. A staged hit on the trucks, a fake ring in its place… something’s up, and whoever pulled this off knew what they were doing.
He rubs a hand over his forehead; the cigar tucked between his fingers, smoldering as he massages his temples.
“Who the hell could’ve pulled this?” he mutters, his voice low and edged with menace.
There are too many enemies crawling out of the woodwork these days. With the Vitales bearing down on us so viciously, even our petty rivals have started to get emboldened and so we can’t even tell for sure who is doing what.
Massimo takes a slow drag from his cigar, the smoke curling around his face as he considers my words. “Who’d you tell to pick up the ring?” he asks, his eyes piercing.
“Mario,” I say, and as soon as his name leaves my lips, I feel a pang of doubt. Could he be part of this?
Before I can dwell on it, Massimo presses a red button on his desk, his hand calm and deliberate. Moments later, Gennaro steps in, looming in the doorway, his usual grim expression etched on his face. Gennaro’s the guy you don’t want to piss off, strong as an ox, and twice as mean.
“Gennaro,” Massimo says, his voice cold, “find Mario and bring him here.”
Gennaro gives a single nod and slips back out, his movements smooth, efficient. He’s a bloodhound on the trail, and Mario’s got no idea he’s the scent.
Then Massimo turns to me, and his next words send an uncomfortable chill down my spine. “You…go get the jeweler.”
I swallow, the words sinking in like stones. I don’t think she had anything to do with this; call it a hunch, call it whatever you want, but I just don’t.
She was respectful, careful with the ring… no way she’s involved in a switch up like this. And now she’s about to get dragged into our mess.
I almost say something, but then I close my mouth again.
Can I really say she’s not involved? On what authority can I say that? Meeting her for a short while a day ago? Our enemies are coming at us from every direction. I can’t say they didn’t get to us through her too.
I give Massimo a curt nod and turn to leave. An uncomfortable feeling lodges itself in my chest. I really hope she’s innocent, because if, by some twist, she is involved… then God help her.
Once Gennaro’s done with Mario, Massimo will make sure she’s next in line. And no one’s getting out of this unscathed until he finds whoever thought they were smart enough to play us.
The drive to Marino Jewelry feels longer than it did last time, weighed down by a tangle of thoughts. Part of me almost wishes I’d just stumble across the real ring, find it lying somewhere, end this whole mess before it starts. But I know better. It’s never that easy, not in this life.
When I step into the shop, the doorbell chimes, announcing me. Isabella’s at her workbench, focused, until she hears the sound and glances up.
I catch a flicker of something in her eyes…recognition, maybe even a hint of excitement. Her hand brushes back over her dark hair, pushing it away from her face, and for a second, those green eyes pull me in, hold me still.
“Mr. Alessio…” she says, her voice gentle, as though she’s about to say something more. But I cut her off, my tone sharp.
“Miss Marino, I need you to come with me. Now.” I avert my gaze, not sure I could keep my expression hostile if I were to look directly at her as I say the words.
There’s a brief pause and I chance a glance at her. The warm welcome in her face flickers, fading into something tense, uncertain.
“Is… is everything okay?” she asks, and I can hear it, the tremor in her voice. Fear. Part of me wants to tell her she’s fine, that everything’s under control, but I can’t do that. Not now.
“Please step out of the shop,” I say, forcing my voice to be stern. “We’re going to the Bellini Lodge. Now.”
She watches me for a moment, like she’s trying to read me, but then she nods. “Can I just lock up?” she murmurs, her tone polite, almost painfully so.
I nod, and watch as she packs up her tools carefully, putting everything back in place. She moves with quiet precision. When she’s done, she follows me to the door, locking up as we step outside.
I lead her to the car, open the passenger door. She slips inside without a word of protest, and for that, I’m grateful. I don’t want to force her; I don’t even know if I could bring myself to.
The drive back to the lounge is tense with a pregnant silence hanging in the air. I keep hoping there’s an answer here, a reason that doesn’t end in her getting hurt.
She finally speaks as I approach the family property, her voice tentative. “Was there something wrong with the ring?”
I keep my eyes fixed on the road, refusing to answer.
Her voice drops, softer now, almost pleading. “Did… did I do something wrong?”
Still, I stay silent, clenching the wheel a little tighter. Because if there’s even the slightest chance she’s involved, this could get ugly fast.
And somehow, I don’t think I want to see her get hurt.