5. Alessio
5
Alessio
I grip the wheel tight as we pull away from the Bellini Lodge. Things are still tense between us, but at least for now, Isabella is safe. I’ve got my eyes on the road, my face straight, but my mind is somewhere else…back in that moment in Massimo’s office, watching her on her knees, her voice trembling, eyes wide and desperate.
She looked scared. Yeah, but not guilty. And maybe that’s why I’m breathing a little easier right now.
The way she spoke to Massimo… there was sincerity in her voice, a raw, unfiltered truth that couldn’t be faked, not even under pressure. I’ve seen plenty of liars in my time, plenty who thought they could dance their way around the truth.
But she didn’t play games; she was vulnerable, honest. Hell, she even offered security footage before the boss asked. I doubt she’d do that if she had something to hide.
I’m relieved she said there were other jewelers who might make a dupe, even more relieved that she offered to help find which one of them did this, because it gave her a way out, a thin thread of a lifeline.
And maybe it gave Massimo something too… a reason to keep her alive. The thought of what could have happened to her if she was involved with this sends a cold streak through me… and I don’t even know why… I don’t even know this woman.
I pull up outside her place. The jewelry shop and her house, all in one, a tight setup in this neighborhood that keeps her close to her work. Smart. I kill the engine and turn to her, watching as she glances at the storefront, her eyes darting.
She’s holding herself together, but there’s a tremor there, a hint of fear she’s trying to hide. It makes her look… fragile, almost. And for some reason, I don’t like it. It’s like seeing a rose bent under too much pressure. Something about it makes me want to… I don’t know…protect her?… even if I can’t say why.
“Let’s see that footage,” I say, keeping my voice neutral, professional. I can’t afford to soften up. Not now, anyway.
She nods, unlocking the door and stepping inside. I follow, my eyes scanning the space, and for the first time I allow myself to fully take it in. Her shop’s neat, almost a little too neat, like she’s had years to perfect it.
Glass cases glint under the dim lights, filled with pieces she’s probably worked on for hours, maybe days. I respect the skill; craftsmanship’s something not everyone has. I close the door behind us, making sure it’s locked before we head upstairs to her living space.
The place smells faintly of lavender, clean and warm. It’s cozy but modest…simple furniture, some pictures on the walls, a few worn rugs here and there.
It feels… lived in. Comfortable, even… Homey. I keep my expression hard, though, because I’m not here to appreciate the decor.
Isabella moves to her desk, booting up her laptop, her fingers flying over the keyboard. I stand a few feet back, my hands deep in my pockets, watching her as the screen lights up with the security footage she’d mentioned.
She doesn’t say a word, just pulls up the files and clicks on one from earlier in the day. The video fills the screen, and she glances over her shoulder at me, her face tense.
“I kept everything running,” she says, her voice low. “I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“Good,” I reply, my eyes fixed on the screen.
The footage shows her moving through the shop, her hands carefully working on a piece of jewelry. The ring itself, most likely. She’s meticulous, focused.
I can see the concentration on her face, the way she doesn’t rush, the way her fingers move like she knows every contour, every angle by heart. She’s good at what she does, no question about that.
She skips forward, pulling up a clip from last night, late. I watch as she checks the locks on the doors, her hands moving with a nervous energy, double checking, triple checking.
Then she heads upstairs, flicking off the lights as she goes. She’s not lying; I can see that clearly as day. There’s no sign of any funny business, no slipups, nothing.
She goes through clip after clip, fast forwarding through mundane moments…her working, her cleaning, her locking up for the night.
Then, suddenly, one clip stops me in my tracks. She’s moving around her room, tidying up or something, dressed in nothing but a thin camisole and underwear.
She blushes, her cheeks turning pink, but she doesn’t look away, keeping her face neutral, like she’s trying to pretend it’s no big deal.
But it is a big deal. To me, anyway. A jolt hits me the moment her image flickers on the screen. Just in that brief glimpse, certain details stand out.
The way her jet-black hair seems to flow behind her, trailing with her every step. The way her figure moves, revealing a fullness I’d somehow missed.
I hadn’t noticed before, not with all the heavy layers we’ve been wearing, huddled against the winter chill. But here, on this grainy security footage, I see it. Every luscious curve.
A pulse, sudden and unwelcome, tensed within me. It’s impossible to ignore, and I feel myself stiffen, bulging… but I shove it down, hard. I’m here to do a job, nothing more. But damn if the sight of her doesn’t make that job a little harder than it should be.
“Keep going,” I say, my voice coming out gruff. I keep my gaze steady, focused on the screen, even as my thoughts threaten to spiral.
She skips forward, to another clip from early this morning. We watch in silence, the minutes ticking by as she finishes preparing the ring, placing it carefully in a box, her hands gentle, reverent.
It’s like she’s holding something sacred, something she respects. That’s what convinces me, more than anything. The way she looked at that ring… she respects what it stands for, even if she’s not part of the family.
Finally, she pulls up the footage from the outside cameras. I watch, my body tense, as the street outside flickers to life on the screen. It’s empty at first, quiet, just the occasional car driving by.
But then, in the very early hours of the morning, there’s movement…a figure lurking in the shadows, close to the door, watching. My jaw tightens. A masked figure. They’re scoping the place out, staying just out of reach of the camera, like they know exactly where its range ends.
“Look at that,” I mutter, my voice low. “Someone was watching you.”
Her face pales, her eyes widening. “But… I did not know. I didn’t see anyone…”
“Whoever it was, they’re careful,” I say, my tone sounding grim even to me. “They knew enough to stay out of sight. Could be they realize they couldn’t get in and change their plans?”
She bites her lip, the fear in her eyes unmistakable. I feel a strange urge to reach out, to tell her it’s going to be okay, but I push it down.
“Don’t worry,” I say instead, keeping my voice steady, authoritative. “We’ll figure out who it was. Just tell me about those other jewelers you mentioned.”
She nods, composing herself as she lists off the names. Three people who might have the skill to pull off a fake like the one they switched the real ring for. I commit them to memory, already planning our next move.
“We’ll pay them all a visit tomorrow, first thing in the morning,” I tell her.
Reaching for my phone, I dial Massimo, filling him in on what we found. He listens, his voice calm as he processes the details. When I mention the masked figure on the security footage, there’s a pause.
“Stay there,” he says finally. “Keep an eye on her. If she’s involved, I want you to see it firsthand. And if she’s got people sniffing around, you’ll be there if anything goes south.”
He hangs up, and I turn back to find Isabella watching me, her face expectant, nervous. “Looks like I’m staying here tonight,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
Her cheeks flush again, but she nods, gesturing toward the living room. “You can sleep on the couch… I’ll bring out some blankets.”
I follow her to the living room, glancing around. It’s modest, a little worn, but it has a kind of charm to it, a warmth that feels… comfortable.
She disappears into the hallway, returning a moment later with a stack of blankets and an old pillow. I take them from her, muttering a quick thanks as I spread them out on the couch.
“Look, uh… you can use the shower if you want,” she says, her voice hesitant. “It’s… cold out, and you’ve been out all day.”
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the offer. “And leave you alone? Not happening.”
She hesitates, her cheeks flushing deeper. “No, I mean… I could sit in the bathroom, on the toilet lid. Facing away. So you know I’m here.”
I stare at her, taken aback. It’s a strange offer, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. And, to be honest, the idea of a hot shower sounds damn good. “Fine,” I say, gruffly. “Let’s do it.”
I grab a fresh towel from her, following her into the small, cozy bathroom. She sits on the toilet lid with her back to me, and I step under the hot stream of the shower, letting the water loosen the day’s knots, rinse off the weariness.
But as the tension fades, it’s replaced by another…the kind that tugs at me, draws my attention to her. She’s right there, close enough to reach.
I glance through the shower curtain. Her back’s still turned, her black hair falling smoothly down her shoulders, a damp contrast against her skin.
The sight sets my thoughts spinning, my pulse quickening. My grip shifts as I lather up, a new intensity settling in, taking over. Images flash through my mind…my hand in her hair, my voice low against her ear, the sound of her breath catching. It’s a slow, simmering pull.
No. I shove it all down, forcing myself to stay focused. This isn’t the time for distractions.
When I finish, she hands me an old set of pajama pants and a shirt, saying they were her grandfather’s. They’re too small, the pant legs riding up to my calves, the shirt tight across my chest, but it’ll have to do. I catch her staring as I step out; her cheeks red, her eyes flickering with something I can’t quite read.
She’s probably embarrassed, but she’s trying to hide it, her gaze darting away as she mumbles something about getting her mattress for the living room. A part of me wants to tease her, to push her buttons just to see her blush, but I hold back.
She drags her mattress into the living room, setting it down across from the couch, and I watch as she settles in, pulling a blanket over herself.
I lay back on the couch, closing my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easy. The tension in the room is thick, palpable, the silence filled with unspoken words, unacknowledged feelings coursing through me.
Time passes, and soon she’s asleep, at peace.
It’s an adorable sight, one that tugs at me in ways that go beyond raw attraction, beyond the impulse to pull her close. There’s something deeper there, something I can’t quite define.
But I push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the missing ring, on the fake, on the masked figure that was lurking outside her shop. Why steal the ring and leave a fake?
I get that it’s an insult and a slap in the face, but were they hoping we wouldn’t notice until the ceremony?
I guess swapping it was easier than outright stealing it. And this way, they send a message—implying that the Luciana is chickens, cowards, rather than invincible Phoenixes reborn from their own ashes….
There’s a storm brewing, something dangerous, and we have to get to the bottom of it. Everything starts tomorrow morning.