Diving in, I swipe the razor from Alessia’s hands, tapping her gently on the nose. “Trouble. I called it the second I saw you,cuoricino.”
I get a dazzling, gappy grin in response to the gentle chastisement, before Alessia throws herself back into my bag, dragging out my clothes and tossing them everywhere. A loud peal of laughter rings out as I grab her, tossing her up in the air to distract her as she cackles at me.
“Now then,” I say seriously. I settle her into the crook of my arm as I turn to the door. “Remember what we talked about. No cheek grabbing. No nose biting. And definitely noaccidents.”
I wince, glancing over my shoulder at the rapidly depleting supplies. “Please, no accidents. This is your last clean outfit until tomorrow.”
The last twenty-four hours have been an… adjustment, to say the least. We arrived home to an empty house, the staff sent on a paid break and my mother booked into the finest spa Sicily has to offer for the next two days.
Space for us to breathe. To recover.
I glance down at the little girl in my arms. She buries her head into the crook of my neck, her breathing tickling my skin as I carry her down the steps. Ahead of us, engines rumble before cutting out, leaving silence in their wake.
My stomach swoops, heavy and tugging as I grip Alessia that little bit tighter. Run my hand over her curls, reassuring myself. “Everything is going to be fine.”
I don’t know who I’m talking to. I step out onto the flagstones, my feet eating up the space as Alessia starts to wriggle, indignant noises coming from her mouth as she throws herself to the side.
“Steady, mini crow.” I let her slide down to the ground where she promptly begins to tug at the pretty threads in the rug, crouching to balance her as footsteps ring out.
Swallowing, I stand to face the man who walks in first. “Gio.”
“Luc.” Gio looks battered, a nasty cut on his forehead as he strides toward us. He scans Alessia, his eyebrows raising as he takes her in, the stern slant of his mouth softening. “She’s Caterina’s double.”
I only nod, my attention moving back to the front door. Alessia looks Gio up and down before ignoring him completely in favor of the carpet, and he huffs in amusement before turning back to me. “I wouldn’t mind washing up. There a shower in this place?”
I wave a hand toward the stairs. “Hell of a lot of bedrooms here,fratello. Take your pick. Most of them have spare clothes in that should fit you.”
“Grazie.” Gio hesitates, then. His blue eyes scan my face. “How are you doing?”
I’m not sure the sardonic smile I offer him fools either of us, but it slips effortlessly into place. “I’m not the one who walked off a battlefield and came straight here. First aid kit’s in the kitchen. Don’t want to scar that handsome face of yours.”
I nearly miss Gio’s quiet response as he moves past, gripping my shoulder before he heads up. “Didn’t you?”
Stefano is next, escorting a quiet, pale woman with the same dark eyes. He nods at me when I murmur directions to a suite down the hall, my eyes scanning the familiarity of her features. Despite her relative youth, she shuffles as if her entire body is on the verge of giving up, her eyes not meeting mine as she stares at the floor and grips her son’s arm.
“Benvenuta, signora,” I say carefully, but she still shrinks away. Stefano meets my gaze with an apology in his eyes, but I shake my head in dismissal. I’m well aware that I’m not the problem, and my body tightens in anger again before I force my muscles to unclench.
“There’s a room next door to the suite.” I keep my voice quiet, addressing Stefano. “Does she need anything in particular?”
He shakes his head even as his dark gaze drops, taking in the little girl playing on the rug. “Just a quiet space and some rest. Thanks, Morelli.”
I watch them go with a slight frown. Tiny fingers grip my cream chinos, and I glance down as Alessia pulls herself up with a slight wobble. She lets out a victorious noise, waving her fist around, and I have to smile.
She takes a few wobbling steps and lands firmly back on her backside with a bump. My half-step, half-jump in her direction goes unnoticed as she laughs, her fingers digging back into the rug.
I blow out a breath, turning toward the front door before I stop.
Domenico Rossi.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I cross my arms. “You managed to get away, then. Glad you could make it.”
Slowly, he nods. His eyes fall to Alessia, and something like devastation flickers across his face before he returns his attention to me, his voice low and abrupt.
“How much of it was real?”
I pause. “Not in the mood for chit-chat, then?”
But I know what he’s asking. How much of my soul did I rip away in those months laughing beside Matteo? Exchanging little pieces of my self-respect for just thepossibilityof the little girl in front of me? How much of me is left?
