“There are so many people,” he mutters, his hand finding the small of my back as we navigate through the crowd.
“It’s a popular event. Come on, let’s get hot chocolate.”
We wait in line at a booth decorated with twinkling lights and artificial snow. Alessandro keeps scanning the crowd, his body tense, and I realize he’s not overwhelmed by the people, he’s assessing threats.
“Hey.” I touch his arm. “We’re safe here. It’s a public place with families and security and about a thousand witnesses.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“Alessandro. Look at me.” When he does, I see the concern in his dark eyes. “I need you to try to relax. Just for tonight. Can you do that?”
He takes a deep breath, then nods. “I can try.”
We order hot chocolate, extra whipped cream for me, dark chocolate for him, and wander through the market. The stalls are filled with handmade ornaments, knitted scarves, artisan soaps, wooden toys. Everything is decorated with pine boughs and red ribbons and fairy lights that make the whole scene feel magical.
“This is nice,” Alessandro admits after we’ve been walking for a while. He’s relaxed incrementally, his shoulders no longer rigid. “I haven’t done something like this in years.”
“When was the last time?”
“I was maybe ten. My father took me to a Christmas market in Naples.” There’s fondness in his voice, but also sadness. “He bought me roasted chestnuts and let me stay up past my bedtime looking at the lights.”
“That’s a good memory.”
“One of the last good ones, before...” He trails off.
“Before he died?”
“Before everything changed.” He stops at a booth selling wooden ornaments, picking up a hand-carved angel. “He wasn’t always in the life. He tried to go legitimate when I was young. But the family pulled him back in.”
“The family. You mean—”
“The mafia, yes. It’s... it’s hard to leave. Once you’re in, you’re in for life.” He sets the angel down carefully. “I didn’t have a choice. When he died, the business became mine. The responsibilities, the territory, the blood, all of it.”
My heart aches for him. For the boy who lost his father and inherited a nightmare. “Alessandro—”
“You should know what you’re getting into,” he continues, still not looking at me. “I can’t just walk away. This is my life. Violence, danger, difficult choices. I can try to keep you separate from it, but eventually, the two worlds will collide. They always do.”
“Then we’ll deal with it when it happens.”
“Elena—”
“No.” I step in front of him, forcing him to meet my eyes. “I heard you. I understand the risks. And I’m still here. Can we please enjoy tonight? Can we pretend, even for a few hours, we’re normal people on a normal date at a Christmas market?”
He studies my face for a long moment, then something in him softens. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. Normal date. Normal people.” He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Where to next?”
We spend the next hour exploring. Alessandro wins me a stuffed penguin at the ring toss, it takes him six tries, and the competitive gleam in his eyes makes me laugh. We sample fudge from a chocolate booth, and I discover he has a secret sweet tooth. We look at hand-blown glass ornaments, and he buys me a delicate snowflake before I can protest.
“For your tree,” he says simply.
“You’re going to spoil me.”
“That’s the plan.”
The way he says it, very casual but completely sincere, makes my stomach flutter.
