Page 36 of Accidental Alliance

It is proof he knows both who I pretend to be and who I really am. Someone like Davide would not come knocking on the door of a single mother with no connection to his world. He wouldn’t waste his time if he weren’t sure of my real identity.

Even though I’ve been out of the crime world for close to a decade, I still know how it operates.

My fingers tighten around the edge of the door. “Sorry, do we know each other?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners just enough for me to notice. His gaze sweeps over me in one unhurried pass, taking in everything from the simple cream blouse and neutral slacks to my hair pulled back loosely at my nape, all of it so far from the woman I used to be.

He is assessing me in a way I am no longer accustomed to being looked at.

Around here, people see a tired single mother with good manners and a tendency to arrive five minutes early for school pickup. Davide sees none of that. Or, really, he sees through it all at once.

There is a faint, respectful tilt to his chin before he says, “May we come in?”

The politeness of it almost insults me. No one from that world has ever treated me as anything other than an ornament.

Well, except for…

Pushing the thought from my mind, I glance back at the armed men behind him, then back at his face. My pulse stays maddeningly steady despite the tension trying to straighten my frame.

“Whatever you want, the answer is no,” I say evenly.

For the first time, something in Davide’s expression shifts. Not in offense like I’m expecting, but closer to a kind of weary understanding, as if this is exactly what he expected from me and perhaps even exactly what he would have done in my place.

“Isabella, please. It is important.”

A frown tugs at my lips before I can stop it.

So.

We are done playing games, then.

No more Ms. Hayes or pretending he might be at the wrong house or I might still have some flimsy civilian deniability to hide behind. I’m no longer the woman who schedules dental cleanings and reminds Matteo to return his library books.

I’m back to being the daughter of Amos Russo and a ghost come back from the dead with too much to lose now.

I pull in a slow breath and shut the door.

For a second, I just stand there with my hand flat against the wood, my eyes closing briefly as I try to think around the surge of fear slowly coursing through my veins.

When I open them again, I spot the chain as it glints in the morning light. One small strip of metal between me and the men who dragged my past to my doorstep.

If I shut him out now, what are the chances he will actually leave me alone?

Slim to none, most likely.

Men like Davide do not track a woman down after eight years and however many dead ends it took to find my trail just to accept a no from behind a locked door.

If anything, refusal would only confirm that whatever brought him here matters enough to warrant persistence.

Every minute he remains on my porch is another one some neighbor might peek out through their blinds and see black-clad men standing at Marina Hayes’s door like the opening scene of a disaster movie no one in this town is equipped to understand.

Whatever he has come here for, it cannot be good. If this conversation is happening, it will happen where I can control it.

After another long moment, I find my hand moving almost against my will, sliding the latch away from the door with a soft metallic scrape that sounds far too much like surrender.

When I pull it open again, Davide is standing there patiently.

He has not shifted his posture or shown one ounce of irritation. He simply waits, composed and grave, as though he already knew exactly how this would go.