Chapter 16 Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
“Alessandro, my friend.” Dominic’s voice carries false warmth. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
My hand tightens on the receiver.
Dominic never calls me directly.
Any communication between our organizations goes through intermediaries or formal channels. This personal contact means trouble.
“What do you want, Dominic?” No pleasantries, no professional courtesy. Just cold directness that makes it clear I’m not in the mood for fucking games.
“I’m calling regarding Miss DeLuca’s third trial. There’s been a slight change in protocol.” The asshole sounds smug. Too smug.
Every alarm bell in my head starts ringing. “What kind of change?” I bite out, gripping the phone even tighter.
“The Families have decided that this particular test requires…individual assessment. Miss DeLuca will be handling the interrogation without a partner,” Dominic says smoothly.
There are explosions going off in my head. Without a partner means without me, without backup, without anyone watching her when things go sideways. Which they always do.
“That wasn’t the original agreement,” I say, my voice still controlled despite the rage building in my chest.
Dominic hums. “Agreements evolve based on circumstances, Alessandro. Leadership, by definition, is often a solitary responsibility. We need to assess Bianca’s individual capabilities.”
Individual capabilities.
Translation: they want to see if she’ll break under pressure when she doesn’t have me there to steady her.
This is Dominic’s play—isolate her, overwhelm her, prove she’s unfit for the position she’s claiming.
Fuck.
“When and where?” I ask as I stand up, getting ready to get the fuck out of here. If I can get there in time, I can still help her.
“The assessment is already underway,” the fucker sounds way too delighted. “Bianca is performing…let’s say, interestingly.”
Already underway.
The bastard deliberately waited until after it started to inform me, ensuring I couldn’t intervene or provide support.
My free hand clenches into a fist.
“I see.” Two words, but they carry the weight of a death threat. Dominic hears it too—there’s a slight chuckle before he continues.
“Oh, don’t sound so concerned, Alessandro. I’m sure your little—well, whatever she is to you—will figure it out eventually. Though I must say, watching her struggle without daddy’s guidance has been quite…educational.” He pauses. “Although which daddy is the real question, right?”
“Understood.” My voice could freeze hell. If Dominic were in front of me, his brains would be splattered across the walls.
“Wonderful. I do hope Bianca rises to the occasion. It would be such a shame if she…disappointed expectations.”
The condescension drips from every word, and I can practically hear his smug smile through the phone.
He’s savoring this—the power play, the isolation, the opportunity to watch both Bianca struggle and me seethe with helpless fury.
The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone for exactly three seconds before the facade of control shatters completely.
I slam the receiver down with enough force to crack the plastic then sweep everything off my desk in one violent motion.
Papers scatter, coffee spills across expensive wood, and my laptop crashes to the floor.
“That fucking piece of shit,” I snarl to the empty office.
Dominic wants me to lose control.
He wants me to storm over there, make demands, show weakness through emotional reaction.
That’s why he called me.
The smart play is to wait, to let Bianca handle whatever test they’ve designed, to trust in her capabilities.
But the thought of her alone in a room with Dominic’s people, facing unknown challenges without backup, drives me fucking insane.
It fucking pisses me off.
I grab my secure phone and start dialing.
“Tony, it’s Alessandro. I need you to drop everything and locate Bianca DeLuca. Right now.”
Tony pauses. “Boss, what’s the situation?” His lightly accented voice sounds confused.
I grip my hair with one hand as I stare out the window to the New York skyline, my heart racing a million miles a minute. “The Calabreses are playing games. Find her but don’t engage. I just need to know where she is and that she’s safe.”
“On it. Give me fifteen minutes.”
I pace the office while Tony mobilizes our resources.
Fifteen minutes feels like hours when someone you care about is in potential danger.
The rational part of my mind knows Bianca is capable.
She’s proven herself in previous trials.
The warehouse trial did end successfully, even if it didn’t go according to plan.
But the part that’s falling in love with her doesn’t give a damn about rational assessment.
My phone buzzes with updates as my people move through the city.
Warehouse district. Queens. Multiple vehicles with Calabrese plates. No visual confirmation yet.
Then, just as I’m about to grab my coat and head out myself, my phone rings.
“Alessandro?”
The sound of Bianca’s voice makes my knees weak with relief. I sink into my chair, pressing the phone against my ear like I can draw her through the connection.
“Jesus Christ, are you okay?’ The words tumble out before I can control them. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” But there’s something strange in her voice—not fear or trauma, but something else. Something I can’t quite identify. “Better than fine, actually.”
Better than fine. What the hell does that mean?
“What happened?” I ask urgently, my mouth dry. I lick my lips, desperate for any moisture. “What kind of test did they put you through?”
“Interrogation,” she says, and I can hear something like satisfaction in her tone. “They had this military guy, former intelligence. Needed information extracted.”
My blood chills.
They made her torture someone for information.
A nineteen-year-old girl, alone, with no backup or guidance.
The sick fucks probably enjoyed watching her struggle.
“Did you get what they needed?” My heart is pounding. She must have, right? She wouldn’t sound so…casual if she failed. Right?
“I got everything.” The pride in her voice is unmistakable and I want to collapse into my fucking chair. “Everything they wanted and more. Alessandro, I…I was good at it. Really good.”
Something in her tone makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Not distress or moral conflict, but genuine satisfaction.
Almost pleasure.
“Where are you now?” I’ll think about her tone later.
Right now, I just need her in front of me.
“Heading back to the city. Can I meet you at your office? I want to tell you about it.”
“Of course,” I say automatically as I sit back down to text Tony. “My men will pick you up.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary—”
“It is necessary. I don’t fucking trust Dominic Calabrese. My men will pick you up and bring you here to me.” I finish my text to Tony. Not even a few seconds later, he lets me know that a car is on its way to get Bianca.
Bianca sighs but—thankfully—agrees.
The line then goes dead, and I lean back in my chair, trying to process what I just heard.
Bianca sounds exhilarated rather than traumatized.
Like she discovered something about herself that pleased her rather than disturbed her.
My email notification chimes, and I glance at the screen. New message from an encrypted address I recognize—the Families use it for official communications.
The subject line reads: Third Trial Documentation—B. DeLuca.
I click the attachment, and a video player opens.
Security camera footage from multiple angles, timestamp showing today’s date.
The file is labeled “Interrogation Assessment - Subject: Marcus Torres.”
My mouth dries again as I look at the still video. Is this something I want to see?
I hit play.
The first angle shows Bianca entering the interrogation room, and my chest tightens at how young she looks.
Nervous and uncertain.
She tries to establish psychological rapport with the subject, but he’s having none of it.
He’s mocking her, dismissing her as a child playing at being dangerous.
I want to kill him.
Well, first I want to kill Dominic. But Marcus Torres is next.
For several minutes, I watch her lose control.
Her hands shake, her breathing becomes erratic, and she looks on the verge of a complete breakdown.
The bastards set her up to fail.
They gave her a professional who could exploit her insecurities and psychological vulnerabilities.
I want to break something again.
But then something changes, and I have to pause the video and rewind to fully understand it.
The transformation is remarkable.
It’s like watching someone step into their true nature for the first time.
The nervous girl disappears, replaced by someone cold, calculating, absolutely in control.
When she explains her methodology to Torres, she sounds assured and confident.
What follows makes my jaw drop.
She doesn’t just break Torres—she dismantles him piece by piece.
The combination of physical pressure and psychological reward is devastatingly effective, turning his own mind against him until cooperation becomes the only escape from carefully orchestrated torment.
But it’s not just her effectiveness that captures my attention.
It’s the look in her eyes as she works, the slight smile that plays at her lips when Torres finally breaks, the satisfied way she moves around his chair like a predator who’s found the perfect prey.
She’s not just good at this—she enjoys it.
Heat floods through me as I watch her work, and I have to shift in my chair as my body responds to the display of power and competence.
The way she controls every aspect of the interrogation, the precision of her psychological warfare, the absolute confidence in her own abilities—it’s fucking sexy.
By the time the video ends, I’m rock hard and struggling to breathe normally.
Watching Bianca embrace her darkness, seeing her transform from uncertain girl to lethal woman, witnessing the birth of something truly formidable—it’s the most arousing thing I’ve ever experienced.