Page 123 of Accidental Alliance

“I see what Father was talking about,” Alessio says. “He mentioned you went to Italy to find Amos’s ledger.”

My heart gives one hard, bitter thud.

So Father told him.

That shouldn’t surprise me. In a way, it doesn’t. Whatever delusion I had left of being his son before his pawn dies instantly.

There is no coming back from this, even if a small part of me hoped we could lay down our weapons and figure things out a different way. Family has always meant hierarchy and in the eyes of my father and brother, I am no longer a part of it.

Alessio lifts both hands, his gun waving loosely in the air with the motion, a grotesque parody of surrender.

His smile returns, tighter now. “You of all people should understand simple economics, Elio. Profit over sentiment.”

The words settle between us with a cold finality.

Profit over sentiment, as if Amos was a bad investment our family wasted time cultivating.

Alessio continues. “The Russos were never true allies. They were competition wearing a friendly face. Amos was too stubborn and Old-World to understand where the city was going. He never wanted to change.” His eyes gleam through the smoke at me. “I did what needed to be done for our family to survive.”

There is no remorse in his eyes, only pride for toppling a decades-long alliance for personal gain and murdering a man who once sat at our table, shook our hands, and trusted the promise of old agreements enough not to see the knife coming for him.

My grip tightens around the gun until my knuckles ache. “You’ve destroyed everything, Alessio.”

His mouth curves. “I removed an obstacle.”

“You killed a patriarch and destroyed an entire family.”

Alessio laughs softly. “Look at you… Still panting after her after all these years. I wondered if that was the weakness Father heard in your voice when you left for Italy.”

“Do not speak about her.”

His smile widens. “I have to admit, it surprised me to find she’d survived after all this time. I thought poverty would have swallowed her long before now. A privileged little dove like her could barely function in the real world.”

My gun rises just enough to train right at his chest

His eyes glitter in amusement. “Then again, she was always clever, wasn’t she? Amos made sure of that. Dragged her around places she had no business in, teaching her how to read situations she had no business sticking her nose into. I used to think it was her father showing off his pretty little heir.” He tilts his head. “Now I wonder if he knew…”

“If he knew what?” I ask, my hand flexing around the grip.

“That someone would have to inherit his sad little syndicate once he was gone. Too bad she ran off before that could happen.” Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “With your baby.”

I flinch at that.

We were raised under the same hand, the same cold father. We learned from the same empire what it meant to be a Conti, knelt before the same expectations until they were carved into our bones.

We were taught that love is a liability, mercy a disease, softness a door enemies will kick in regardless of their previous loyalties, and yet somewhere, somehow, we came to vastly different ends.

I wish I knew where it happened. Where my sentiments and his began to drift in opposing directions.

Was it Isabella?

Was it before her?

Was there always something in Alessio that saw opportunity while I, even at my worst, still saw the body, the person, the truth beneath it? Or is that a lie I am telling myself now because I need to believe I was never as close to becoming him as I fear?

Alessio studies me, amusement rapidly thinning into impatience. “Is this your final answer, Elio? Choosing their side over ours?”

My finger hovers over the trigger. “Yes.”