Page 126 of Accidental Alliance

“I keep expecting him to walk in,” I admit.

Elio’s gaze softens.

My throat tightens.

For years my father’s memory was a locked room inside me and kept dark because pulling it into the light only made the blood-soaked grief show.

Now I stand in the room where he built and defended an empire, and I do not know whether I want to weep, scream, or apologize to every ghost watching from the other side.

The portraits remain where they always were lining the room.

Russo men in dark suits, Russo women in pearls and black silk, all of them painted with the same watchful eyes as if death has not relieved them of their judgment.

My father’s portrait has not yet been returned.

It was taken down after the estate was seized, stored somewhere by men who thought removing his face meant removing his claim before abandoning the property altogether.

Tomorrow, it will be rehung.

Perhaps mine will eventually join it.

Elio follows my gaze to the empty space above the fireplace before focusing back on me. “Once we get this place cleaned up, you will have to introduce Matteo to all of his relatives.”

The words settle inside me strangely.

Relatives… such an ordinary word for a family like mine. Relatives are supposed to bring casseroles for Sunday dinners and send birthday cards with money tucked inside the flap.

Argue over recipes and inherit ugly furniture and show children embarrassing photographs from before they were born.

In our world, relatives come with armed drivers, sealed alliances, old grudges, and names whispered carefully behind closed doors because the wrong alliance can still carry a death sentence.

And yet for Matteo, I’m determined to not allow his life to be anything like that.

Eventually, there will be stories from people who knew my mother’s laugh and my father’s better moments.

Distant cousins and great-aunts who will fuss over his cheeks and pretend not to count the Conti angles in his face.

Old Russo loyalists who will look at him and now see him as leverage, inheritance, or a claim as the next heir.

Every single piece of what we build next will be proof that we were not entirely erased as the Contis once thought we were.

A small smile tugs at my lips. “Yes, I’m sure he will ask me about them until I do.”

For so many years, I gave my son a life made of careful omissions because I wanted to protect him.

Now he will finally be able to understand the truth without repercussions.

There will be no old allies turned enemies knocking at our doorstep, none who demand loyalty without first earning it.

Elio’s hand finds my back.

The touch is gentle, almost tentative at first.

He only rests his palm there, warm through the fabric of my dress, waiting for me to decide whether closeness is something I can bear.

My breath catches for the smallest second, then I let myself lean.

With a gentle hand, he guides me closer until I am pressed to his side. My arms come up around his waist before I can think too much about it. My cheek moves to rest against his chest, and the steady beat of his heart finds my ear.