19. Alessio #2
I lean in and kiss her, a hard, desperate pressure that tastes of salt and finality. I want to consume her, to pull her inside my own ribcage where the world can’t touch her. I want to burn everything else to the ground and just stand in the ashes with her.
“I’m going to finish this,” I promise, my forehead resting against hers. “Tomorrow morning, the war ends. Lorenzo answers. Vane is already gone. And Turi… Turi will face the brothers he betrayed.”
“And then?” she asks.
“And then I’m asking Dominic to take us to the mountains,” I say, the realization hitting me like a lightning strike. “To Lucia. We find a place where the air doesn’t smell like blood. I’m done being the keeper of secrets, Amara. I want to be the man you see.”
She nods, her eyes shining. “I’d like that.”
I lead her out of the library, the guards locking Turi’s holding-room door behind us.
The investigation is over. The eleven years of hunting in the dark, the paranoia, the isolation—it’s all led to this moment of absolute, devastating clarity.
The traitor was the man who sat close enough to the head of the table that no one questioned his place. The enemy is in the warehouse.
The walk through the compound feels different now. The walls are the same, the security teams are still in place, but the soul of the house is gone. It’s just a building. A fortress with a cracked foundation.
As we pass the kitchen, I see the lights are on. Some of the women are there—Sienna, Natalia, Clara—huddled together, their faces pale and drawn. They know. The word has spread through the house like a virus. There are no secrets left in the Costa family.
I don’t stop to talk. I can’t. I need to get Amara back to my room. I need to get her behind a door we both choose to close and hold her until the sun comes up. I need to prepare my mind for the slaughter that’s coming at dawn.
When we reach my suite, I double-lock the door and engage the security bolts.
I strip off my tactical gear, my movements mechanical and heavy.
My hands are still shaking. Every time I close my eyes, I see Turi’s face—the man who taught me how to ride a bike, the man who sat by my bed when I had a fever, the man who sold my mother’s life for a gambling debt.
The trauma of it is a living thing, a jagged blade twisting in my gut. I remember the silence of the house after Riza was gone too. I spent eleven years following the money behind the war, and the man hiding the first door had been standing beside us the whole time.
Amara comes up behind me, her hands sliding over my bare chest, her warmth seeping into my skin. She doesn’t say anything. She just holds me. She knows that words are useless right now. She knows that the only thing that matters is the weight of her body against mine.
“I need you to stay here tomorrow,” I say, my voice rough. “When we go to the warehouse. Stay with the wives. Stay in the safe room.”
“No,” she says, her voice firm. “I’m the one who can drop their digital defenses, Alessio. I’m the one who can make sure Lorenzo doesn’t have a back door. I’m going. I’m seeing this through to the end.”
“It’s too dangerous,” I growl, turning in her arms to face her. “I can’t lose you. Not now. Not after everything.”
“You won’t lose me,” she says, her eyes burning with that same fierce light. “I’m a part of this now. My brother’s money trail ends there too. I need to finish the job. You don’t get to protect me from my own life, Alessio. You get to stand beside me while I live it.”
I look at her, really look at her, and I see the strength that kept her hunting for ten years alone. She isn’t a victim. She isn’t a guest. She is my partner. My equal. My woman.
“Fine,” I say, the word a surrender. “But you stay on comms until the breach is clear. If I call you in, you move with me and no one else. If anything changes, you tell me before you move. We both come out.”
“Deal,” she says, her hand reaching up to cup my jaw.
We lie down on the bed, fully clothed, tangled together in the dark.
The clock on the bedside table ticks away the seconds, counting down to the dawn.
It’s the longest night of my life. Outside, I can hear the sounds of the compound preparing for war—the clatter of weapons, the low murmur of voices, the engines of the SUVs being checked in the driveway.
I think about Turi sitting in that courtyard. I think about the look on Matteo’s face. I think about Dominic’s cold, unwavering focus. The family is broken, but they still move as one. And tomorrow, the pack goes to hunt the man who tried to destroy them.
“Alessio?” Amara whispers in the dark.
“Yeah?”
“Tell me about the mountains. Tell me about the place we’re going.”
I close my eyes and try to imagine it. I’ve never been there, but Lucia has told me stories. “It’s quiet,” I say, the words a balm for my own shredded nerves.
“The air is cold and clean. There are trees that go on forever. No sirens. No gunfire. Just the sound of the wind in the pines. We’ll have a house with a porch. We’ll watch the sun come up over the peaks. And maybe, for once, we won’t have to look over our shoulders every minute.”
“I like the sound of that,” she says, her voice fading as sleep finally starts to claim her.
“I’ll get you there,” I vow, my eyes fixed on the door. “I’ll get us both there. Whatever it takes.”
I stay awake, watching the shadows shift on the ceiling. The rage is still there, a low, simmering heat in my marrow, but it’s tempered now by something else. A purpose. A reason to survive. I spent eleven years living for the dead. Tomorrow, I start living for her.
Below our windows, Father Antonio, the old family priest, begins preparing the courtyard for dawn—chairs set out on the old stone, an altar cloth over a plain table, twenty years of Sundays coming due at last.
Dominic’s voice carries down the hall, giving the order I never believed I’d live to hear.
“Wake the family. All of them. At first light, we move. When we come back, we judge the man who raised us.”
I don’t sleep. I hold her, and I watch the window, and I wait for the gray.