The next morning came with a heavy silence.
I woke up before him.
Alessandro was still asleep his face half-buried in the pillow, one arm flung across the sheets where I'd been. His breathing was slow, steady, almost peaceful.
But I wasn't.
I sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to my chest, watching him.
The man who called me wife.
The man who defended me with a gun.
The man who couldn't say three simple words.
I told him I didn't love him.
I told him I never would.
And yet here I was still in his bed, still wearing the dress he zipped up, still feeling the ghost of his lips on my forehead.
I hated how much I wanted to crawl back under the covers and press myself against him.
I hated how much I wanted him to wake up and look at me like I mattered.
I hated that I didn't hate him at all.
A soft knock at the door.
I flinched.
Alessandro stirred groaned low in his throat, hand reaching blindly across the mattress.
"Elena...?"
His voice was rough with sleep and last night's whiskey.
I stood quickly.
"I'm here," I said, quieter than I meant to.
He opened his tired bloodshot eyes, but the moment they found me, something softened.
He sat up slowly, wincing.
"Headache?" I asked.
He gave a small, crooked smile.
"Worth it."
Silence.
Then—
"I remember... bits and pieces."
My stomach twisted.
"You were drunk."
"I said your name. A lot."
Heat crept up my neck.
"You were... calling for me."
He rubbed a hand over his face.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper. "For getting drunk? Or for saying my name instead of hers?"
His eyes snapped to mine "sharp, unguarded".
"For making you doubt."
The air shifted.
I looked away.
"Jessica said—"
"Jessica lies," he cut in, voice low and firm. "She twists truth until it bleeds."
I met his gaze again.
"Then tell me the truth."
He exhaled slowly.
"I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Feel... whatever this is."
My heart stuttered.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed for a moment.
"When I pulled the trigger in that warehouse," he said quietly, "I expected to feel nothing. I always do. But then you screamed. And for the first time in years... I hesitated."
I swallowed hard.
"I could've ended it. One bullet. Clean. Done."
He looked up at me
"But I didn't want to lose the sound of your voice."
Tears burned behind my eyes.
"I told you I don't love you," I whispered.
"I heard."
"And you still kept me."
He stood slowly revealing his tall and dangerous figure
"Because I'm selfish," he said. "Because I want to keep hearing it. Even if it's just to tell me how much you hate me."
I let out a wet and broken laugh.
"I don't hate you."
His breath caught.
"Then what do you feel?"
I stepped closer.
Close enough to smell last night's whiskey mixed with his cologne.
Close enough to see the faint scar on his jaw.
Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But it hurts. And I'm scared. And I hate that I want you to hold me right now."
He didn't move.
Just watched me.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
I took one more step.
My hand lifted—trembling—and rested against his chest.
His heartbeat thundered under my palm.
Fast and Unsteady.
Not the calm, controlled Alessandro I knew.
This one was unraveling.
"Elena..." His voice cracked—just barely.
I looked up.
Our faces inches apart.
"I lied," I whispered. "When I said I'd never love a monster."
His eyes darkened—pain, hope, hunger all at once.
"Then what are you saying?"
I swallowed.
"I'm saying... I might already be falling."
Silence.
Then—
His hand cupped the back of my neck.
Gentle.
Reverent.
He pulled me in.
Forehead against forehead.
Breath mingling.
No kiss.
Not yet.
Just this.
Two broken people holding onto each other like lifelines.
"I don't know how to love you right," he murmured against my skin. "But I'm not letting you go."
A tear slipped down my cheek.
"I'm scared you'll break me."
He pressed his lips to my temple—soft, lingering.
"Then break me first."
Down the hall...
Jessica stood outside her door.
Listening.
Smiling.
She turned to Aunt Sarah.
"He's cracking," she whispered.
Aunt Sarah's eyes gleamed.
"Good."
Jessica's smile turned vicious.
"And when he's weak... we take everything."
And this together
The room was quiet except for our breathing.
Alessandro sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
The hangover still clung to him—dark circles under his eyes, hair slightly disheveled—but he looked more awake now. More present.
More dangerous.
I stood a few feet away, arms crossed, heart hammering.
He hadn't answered my question last night.
He still hadn't said the words.
But he hadn't left either.
"Elena," he said finally, voice low and rough. "Sit."
I hesitated.
Then I sat—on the armchair across from him, not on the bed.
Not too close.
He exhaled slowly.
"You want the truth?" he asked. "Fine. I'll give it to you."
I waited.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, staring at the floor.
"I was twenty-three when I took over the family. My father was killed in front of me.; bullet between the eyes, same way I almost did it to that man in the warehouse. I watched him bleed out on the marble floor. Same marble that's downstairs now."
My breath caught.
"My mother cried once. Then she never cried again. She told me love makes you weak. Makes you hesitate. Makes you die."
He looked up at me with those raw eyes.
"She was right."
Silence.
"I built everything after that. No attachments. No weaknesses. Women came and went—Jessica included. They understood the rules. They never asked for more than I was willing to give."
His voice dropped lower.
"Then you walked in."
I swallowed.
"You screamed. And I froze. I've pulled triggers a hundred times. Never hesitated once. Until you."
He stood slowly.
Walked toward me.
I didn't move.
He crouched in front of the armchair—eye level.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "I don't know how to love someone without destroying them. Or myself."
His hand lifted and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I'm afraid," he said quietly. "I'm afraid if I let myself feel it... I'll lose you the way I lost everyone else."
Tears burned behind my eyes.
"Alessandro..."
"I don't want to lose you," he whispered.
The air between us crackled.
I reached out slowly and cupped his face.
His stubble scratched my palm.
His eyes fluttered closed for a second.
Then opened again this time they were stormy, vulnerable, hungry.
I leaned in.
He leaned in.
Our lips met—soft at first.
Tentative yet Questioning.
Then he deepened it.
His hand slid to the back of my neck—firm, possessive.
I melted into him.
The kiss turned desperate—hungry, aching, years of restraint breaking all at once.
I tasted whiskey and salt and something sweeter—something that felt like hope.
His other hand gripped my waist—pulling me closer until I was half out of the chair, half in his arms.
I gasped against his mouth.
He pulled back—just enough to breathe.
"Elena..."
"Don't stop," I whispered.
He kissed me again—harder this time.
My fingers tangled in his hair.
His hands slid under my shirt—warm palms against bare skin.
I arched into him.
Then—
A sharp knock at the door.
We froze.
Another knock—louder.
"Alessandro!"
Damien's voice.
"Urgent".
Alessandro pulled back—eyes dark, chest heaving.
He cursed under his breath.
"Don't move," he told me.
He stood.
Adjusted his shirt.
Walked to the door.
Opened it just enough.
"What?"
Damien's voice was tight.
"Jessica's gone. Took one of the cars. And she left this."
He handed Alessandro a folded note.
Alessandro read it.
His face hardened instantly.
He crumpled the paper.
"She's not running," he said quietly.
He looked back at me—eyes blazing.
"She's coming for you."
**To Be Continued...**