“Understanding theory and executing under pressure are completely different things.” Alessandro moves closer, but there’s still distance between us. “Every operator learns that lesson eventually. The smart ones learn it during training. The dead ones learn it during real operations.”
I peer up at him, debating whether I should ask my next question. I probably won’t like the answer but fuck it. “Which category do I fall into?”
Alessandro raises an eyebrow. “That depends on whether you can swallow your pride long enough to actually learn from tonight instead of just sulking about being wrong.”
I wince.
Ouch, but I probably deserved that.
There’s still anger in his expression, but there’s something else too—concern, maybe, or assessment.
Like he’s trying to figure out whether I’m worth the risk of continued partnership for these trials.
“You want to know how I learned to handle situations like this?” He gestures to the blood on his clothes, the evidence of violencethat surrounds us. “You want to understand why I’m not rattled by operations going sideways?”
No. “Yes.”
“Because I’ve been where you were tonight. I’ve made the same mistakes, felt the same panic, watched plans fall apart around me.” His voice is calmer now, but there’s an edge to it that suggests he’s remembering something specific. “The difference is, I learned from it instead of making excuses.”
“And what did you learn?” I whisper.
Alessandro sits in the chair next to me and grasps my hand, stroking my knuckles with the pad of his thumb. I suppress a shiver. “That violence without discipline is just chaos. That confidence without experience gets people killed. That sometimes the smartest thing you can do is admit you’re not ready and ask for help.”
The words sting because they’re aimed directly at my weaknesses, but they’re also oddly comforting. He’s not just criticizing me—he’s offering to teach me, to help me become better.
“You know a lot about what Giuseppe was like,” I observe, deflecting from my own failures but also genuinely curious. “About his methods, his approach to operations like this. More than you should know from business relationships or casual observation.”
Alessandro goes still, and I realize I’ve touched on something he doesn’t discuss freely.
“What do you mean?” His voice is sharp.
Suddenly I’m aware of how close he’s sitting to me, how his shirt clings to his chest, how the adrenaline from our earlier violence is transmuting into something else entirely.
“I mean you understand the dynamics of my family’s history better than most people who were actually there.” I stand up and he does too, closing some of the distance between us. “You know details about Giuseppe’s methods, about my mother, about why Matteo made the decisions he did.”
His breathing changes slightly as I move closer, and I can see his pupils dilate despite his attempt to maintain professional composure.
“That kind of knowledge doesn’t come from keeping your distance,” I continue, letting my voice drop to a whisper.
The tension that was anger moments ago is transforming into something electric, dangerous.
The way he’s looking at me—like he wants to shake me and kiss me simultaneously—sends heat spiraling through my chest.
“Alessandro,” I say softly, and his name comes out like a caress.
“Bianca.” His voice is rough, warning, but he doesn’t step back when I reach out to trace the line of blood still streaked across his jaw.
“If we’re going to be partners then I need to understand who you really are.” My fingers trail down to his throat, feeling his pulse racing beneath my touch. “What experiences shaped you into someone who can step in and fix my failures without missing a beat.”
He catches my wrist but doesn’t pull my hand away.
Instead, his thumb brushes across my knuckles, and the simple contact makes my breath catch.
“You want to know how I learned to handle violence?” His voice is barely above a whisper now. “You want to understand why watching you work—even when you’re fucking up—affects me the way it does?”
Instead of answering, I rise up on my toes and kiss him.
The response is immediate, electric.
