CHAPTER 14
Alessandro's POV
The pain hit first — a stabbing, waking ache like someone had smashed my skull overnight.
I rolled under the sheets, rubbed my face until the world stopped spinning into a pale rectangle.
The ceiling was the same dull slab it always was and I hated it with the kind of boredom that tasted like teeth.
Something warm shifted against me. I turned and my stomach dropped.
A blonde was curled up on my side, half-buried in the sheets. She blinked, stretched, and smiled at me like last night had been a bedtime fairytale. My nostrils flared. Danger in the shape of a grin.
“Good morning, handsome.” Her voice was croaky and lazy, like she’d just woken from someone else’s dream.
Last night. The boys. Drinks. Blackouts. Pieces surfaced — too many to trust, not enough to mean anything. I’d been careful for years; one night I’d let my guard down and now there was a stranger in my bed. Perfect.
I pushed up too fast and the room tilted. “Fuck,” I groaned.
She tightened an arm around me; I flinched and shoved her away. The booze still rode my blood like a bad passenger. A cold suspicion crawled up my spine — had she slipped me something? I hated that I even thought it.
“How good was last night?” I asked, flat and hard.
“Pretty good.” She smirked, batting her lashes like I was supposed to be impressed. Then she said it, like it was a fucking trophy: “You dragged me to your room so you could fuck me as hard as you can.”
My jaw tightened until it hurt. “Get out.” Short. Hard.
She shrugged out from under the sheets, unbothered. “Not a single fucking thing?” she mocked. The audacity. My hands curled before I could stop them.
“What’s your name, puttana?” I said, each word a razor.
“Lucy,” she answered, sliding off the bed like it was hers.
Lucy. The name stuck like a splinter. I’d never met her, never seen her, and yet she lounged in my place like she’d paid rent. My teeth ground together; the anger in me swelled hot and animal.
I nearly fell standing up, dizziness nipping at my balance.
I dressed fast — practiced movements, the kind of motions a man who runs an empire does without thinking — then stormed to the bathroom and slammed the door.
I scrubbed my face raw, threw the dirty clothes in the basket, brushed my teeth with a viciousness that felt good, and tried to stitch myself back together.
Through the mirror I watched my reflection harden into something I recognized: control. Discipline. No excuses.
I opened the door and there she was — still wrapped in the sheet like an insult to my housekeepers. I stopped in the doorway and looked at her the way you look at a loose thread on a suit you paid for.
Stavo seriamente per uccidere questa cagna.
“You can go,” I said, flat as a blade. “Leave. Now.”
She raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed, but she got up — slow, like she had time to waste. I watched her go, the room reclaiming its silence as she left.
What the fuck had I gotten myself into?
I didn’t want that bitch thinking she’d rattled me, so I walked over to the closet like I give a damn and started pulling clothes out for the day.
“Are you dense?” I asked without looking at her. “I’ve told you a dozen times—fuck off.”
She rolled on the bed and laughed, all lazy and smug. “You’re such a gentleman. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here soon. But I need closure.” Her voice was a tiny provocation and my fists curled before I could stop them.
She flashed a grin up at me. “Me and you. Alessandro?” She smirked, slow as if the name itself was some kind of weapon. “Alessandro, right?”
I ignored her. I didn’t answer. I focused on my clothes, picking the tie I’d wear the men to respect and the people to fear.
“Well, Alessandro...” she crooned, pushing the name like it would do something to me. It didn’t. If anything it pissed me off more — this puttana was sprawled on my bed like she’d paid rent. If I’d known she was clingy, I wouldn’t have fucked her at all.
“I want to make a deal with you,” she said, leaning forward, suddenly serious. “I want to work for you. Let me work for you.”
I scoffed. I grabbed the shirt I’d picked and shut the closet door, laid it on the chair, then crouched down until my face was level with hers.
“You don’t want to work for me,” I said. “You want to get back in my bed. Don’t take me for a fool — puttane like you are all the same.”
She straightened up like she believed it. “I’m serious, Alessandro. I want to work for you.”
“As my whore?” I said, turning away. “I’m not having that.”
“Show some respect, will you?” she shot back, hopping off the bed. “I’d work for you, but I’m not that low.” She said it like a dare.
My hands wanted to clamp around her throat. She pushed and pushed, playing me for someone she didn’t know. Doesn’t she know who I am? Who she fucked?
“Not gonna happen,” I said cold. “Get out or I’ll throw you out myself.”
“Look. Just take me. I want to kill, too.” She shifted, eyes suddenly pleading.
“What?” I blinked.
She dressed fast, slipping into a conservative dress that covered everything — the opposite of the outfit she probably wore last night. She handed me a scrap of paper before she left.
“Let’s just say we share the same passion, Alessandro,” she smiled, fingers warm at my neck as she kissed my cheek. “Here. Take my number for when you change your mind.” She pulled away and walked out like she belonged to me.
The door closed. I watched it. My brain tried to make sense of what the fuck Lucy wanted, but I shoved it away. She wasn’t a priority. I had a dozen fires to put out.
My phone screamed to life — Vicenzo calling.
Just seeing his name tightened something in my chest. He was never a good father, but he was my blood. He’d built this empire, and he’d thrown me at the center of it. He didn’t trust me. He never had.
“Figlio, where are you?” he barked the second I answered. I put him on speaker and tossed the phone onto the chair while I started on my tie.
“At home,” I said.
“That’s useless, isn’t it. Have you sorted Roderick out?” His voice cut through the air like a blade.
I stopped. Roderick. How the fuck did he know?
After what I did to Roderick a few days ago, I wanted Vicenzo to see I could handle my own shit. I wanted to be trusted — not babysat.
“Yes,” I said through my teeth.
“Good.” He was satisfied for two seconds before the old man started in again. “Did it ever cross your mind to inform me?”
“I don’t think something insignificant like that needed telling. I handled it. Stop thinking I’m incapable of doing the little things.” My voice warmed.
“Alessandro! Calm down!” Vicenzo snapped. I could feel the anger spike — the kind that makes you want to crush something.
“Your mother wants to see you, and so do I. Arrange a day to visit.”
I clenched my jaw and breathed myself back under control. “I will.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then—” he cut off. The line went dead. I threw the phone onto the bed and pinched the bridge of my nose until stars burst behind my eyes. I pulled at my hair till it hurt.
Vicenzo still didn’t trust me. Why the fuck did he even name me next don? If it was up to me, I’d walk away and let it all burn. But if I left, everything would collapse. I stayed because one person always asked me to: keep my head steady.
Rosalina Ferrazzo.
My mother.
She’s everything to me. Always has been..
***
I PULLED THE PIECE of paper out of my pocket and handed it to Salvatore.
He stood next to Bruno, both of them leaning on the table, arms crossed like they were judging me.
Bruno watched me with that permanent frown he wore when he knew shit was about to get complicated, while Salvatore took the paper, eyes flicking down at it before he looked back at me.
“I need you to keep tabs on someone,” I said flatly. “Someone who might be a problem.”
“Who?” Salvatore asked.
“Her name’s Lucy. I need to know where she is by tonight.”
He blinked, disbelief spreading across his face.
He chewed on his lip, then shook his head with a snort.
“Lucy what? You can’t just give me a first name and expect me to find her by tonight.
New York’s not a fucking house, Alessandro—it’s a goddamn city full of Lucys. How the fuck am I meant to find her?”
He wasn’t wrong. I knew it the moment I handed him the paper. But logic wasn’t winning this one—something about that woman screamed trouble, and I wasn’t the kind of man who waited around to get fucked over. I needed to know who she was working for, and what the fuck she was doing in my bed.
“Vicenzo called,” I said, dismissing the topic. “Who the fuck told him about Roderick?”
Bruno shifted, scratching the back of his neck. “He came by the estate the other day.”
I snapped my gaze to him. “He what?”
“When he came, he noticed Roderick wasn’t around and started asking questions.”
I stared at him, trying to process that. Vicenzo showing up unannounced wasn’t just odd—it was unheard of. The old man didn’t visit. He summoned. And now, suddenly, he was making rounds like he cared?
No. Something was off.
I turned to Salvatore. He hadn’t said a word since. His silence was louder than Bruno’s excuses. My patience was running thin. “What the fuck’s going on?” I asked, but neither of them had the balls to answer.
No matter how much the old bastard pissed me off, I still visited. Mostly for her.
Rosalina Ferrazzo. My mother. My calm in the middle of every storm.
I was getting ready to head to their place, buttoning my shirt, fixing my tie. I hadn’t seen Mom in a week. She’d been calling every damn day, asking when I was coming. If it weren’t for her, I’d cut ties with that house completely.
“Signore,” Nora’s voice came from the doorway. One of the housekeepers. “Your suit’s pressed and ready.”
I nodded once, and she left, quiet as always.
I took the jacket, slid it on, was about to head out when noise erupted outside my room. Shouting. A scuffle. I frowned, but ignored it — the boys could handle whatever shitstorm that was.
I went into the restroom to wash my hands. A few seconds later, the door to my room slammed. Loud. Not Nora. Too heavy-handed.
When I stepped out, I froze.
A woman stood by the door, her back pressed against it like she’d run from something. Our eyes met, and I felt the air in the room shift.
I didn’t recognize her. Not at first. Her dress was torn and filthy, her brown hair tangled like she’d been dragged through hell. Her legs were shaking, covered in blood and bruises. She looked half-dead.
Then her lips trembled, her eyes rolled back — and she dropped like a sack of bricks.
“Che cazzo...” I muttered, moving toward her.
When I crouched down, everything inside me stopped. My pulse, my breath—everything.
Because lying there, beaten and broken, was the one person I never thought I’d see again.
Ariana Vallezi.
The ghost I’d buried three years ago.