Alessandro keeps running his hand through my hair, waiting.
“I should probably be more freaked out about that, right? Normal people would be.” I pause. “But I’m not. I don’t regret it at all. Is that bad?”
“We’ll figure it out,” he says simply.
That’s what I needed to hear.
Not some big philosophical speech about the nature of love and violence, just the promise that I won’t have to navigate this alone.
“I want this,” I tell him. “Whatever I’m becoming, whatever we are—I want it. Even if it’s dangerous.”
Alessandro pulls me closer, and I settle against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow back to normal.
The office grows quiet except for the distant sounds of the city below.
But as I lie there in the growing darkness, a thought creeps in that I can’t shake.
Loving Alessandro and having him love me back exactly as I am—it’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever felt.
It makes me invincible, fearless, like I can become anything and still have someone who sees me as worth everything.
But that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?
Because when someone loves you unconditionally, when they find your worst impulses beautiful instead of terrifying, when they encourage you to embrace the darkness instead of fighting it—that’s when you stop questioning yourself.
That’s when you stop pulling back from the edge because there’s no reason to anymore.
Alessandro loves me for me, even if that means I’m Giuseppe’s daughter.
But what happens when I become so much like Giuseppe that there’s nothing left of who I used to be?
18
ALESSANDRO
“You’ve been picking at your food for the last ten minutes.”
Bianca looks up from her barely-touched breakfast, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she didn’t sleep well.
It’s been nearly a week since her successful interrogation trial, and while she’s been riding the high of her newfound abilities, I can see something else eating at her.
“I’m fine,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction as she shoves some scrambled eggs toward the edge of her plate.
I nearly snort. Does she really think she can lie to me of all people?
“You’ve been staring at your phone for the past hour like you want to call someone but can’t bring yourself to do it.” I set down my coffee and study her face. “Want to talk about it?”
She fiddles with her toast, tearing the bread into bite-sized pieces, avoiding eye contact. “I keep,” she hesitates, biting her lower lip. “I keep thinking about that dinner. About how I treated Bella and the twins.”
Ah, there it is. Our good old friend guilt rearing its ugly head.
“Arianna asked me to play,” she continues quietly. “She’s eighteen months old, Alessandro. She doesn’t understand family politics or lies or any of this bullshit. She just wanted her big sister to play with her, and I-I was so fucking cold to her.” She drops her fork, clutching the edge of the table.
“You were angry at Matteo,” I point out.
“I was cruel to innocent children because I was angry at their father.” She finally looks up at me, and the pain in her eyes is raw. “What kind of person does that make me?”
Shit. I can see where this line of thinking is taking her. “The kind who’s human enough to feel guilty about it afterward,” I remark as I pick up my coffee mug and take a sip.
