CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
The morning was thick with silence, the kind that clung to the corners of the villa and pressed against the ribs. Alessia sat at her vanity, her brush moving absently through her hair. The drawer at her side did not belong to her. It belonged to memory, to fragments she had hidden from Matteo. Yet when she slid it open, her breath caught. There, resting on folded linen, was a single photograph. Her hand trembled as she lifted it. The paper was worn at the edges, softened by time. A woman filled the frame. Serafina. Her mother. Her dark hair swept back, her gaze caught somewhere beyond the camera. In her arms, a child.
Alessia’s stomach twisted.
The baby’s eyes were wrong.
Not hers. Not the mirror-gray she saw every morning in her own reflection. These were lighter, almost green, sharp with an inheritance that had nothing to do with her. Her throat closed. She turned the photo over, already knowing there would be words. Marco’s hand was not one she often saw, but she recognized the slight slope in the letters, the way the ink pressed too hard at the start of each line.
You were never meant to inherit this.
Her pulse surged, wild in her chest. She gripped the photo so tightly the edges bit into her skin. Someone had placed it there for her to find. Not Matteo. He would never risk her seeing this. Which left only one possibility. Her legs carried her across the room before her mind caught up. She flung the door open, storming down the corridor. Each step struck hard against marble, the sound sharp enough to echo back at her like an accusation.
She found him in the library.
Mr. Callen. Cai.
He was bent over a file at the desk, his pen moving in neat strokes, every line precise. He did not look up until she threw the photo onto the table. It skidded across the polished wood and stopped by his hand.
Her voice broke out sharper than she intended. “Where did you get this?”
Cai’s eyes flicked to the image, then to her. Calm. Controlled. The kind of composure that made her want to scream.
“Answer me,” she pressed, her breath catching. “Why did you put it in my drawer?”
He did not move the photo. He only studied her with that same quiet intensity that had unsettled her from the start. His voice, when it came, was low. Steady. “It was meant for you to see.”
“By you?”
He shook his head. “By the man who asked me to watch over you.”
The air between them crackled. Alessia’s chest rose and fell too quickly, heat crawling across her skin. She wanted to look away, but the weight of his gaze anchored her.
“Marco,” she said, her throat tightening around the name.
He did not deny it.
Her knees weakened. She gripped the back of the nearest chair, holding herself upright. The room spun for a moment, her vision narrowing to the photo still resting between them. The baby’s eyes stared back at her, mocking.
“Why are you showing me this?” she whispered.
Cai leaned forward, his tone almost reluctant. “Because you are being kept from the truth. And every day you do not see it, you sink further into a cage you cannot escape.”
Her breath hitched. “Do you know what Matteo would do if he knew you brought this to me?”
“I do.” His expression did not change. “But you needed to see it.”
The words struck deeper than she wanted them to. Needed.
Alessia’s hands curled into fists. “And what am I supposed to do with it? Tear apart what little safety I have left? Question the only person who… who has been here through everything?”
The flicker in Cai’s eyes then was not pity. It was something else. Recognition.
“I cannot tell you what to do,” he said. “But I can tell you this. Your mother left a trail because she knew you would need it. And Marco is trying to help you follow it.”
Her heart pounded. The walls felt too close. The fire crackled in the hearth, but all she felt was cold.
She stepped back, clutching her arms around herself. “You should not have brought this here.”
“And yet,” Cai replied, quiet but unyielding, “you are still holding it.”
Alessia’s fingers tightened against the fabric of her sleeve. The truth of it stung. She could not let go of the photo even if she wanted to. Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she snatched the photograph back from the desk, her pulse rushing in her ears. The silence pressed down heavier than his words. She turned sharply, her coat brushing against the chair as she strode toward the door. Her voice, brittle but cutting, echoed over her shoulder.
“This never happened.”
Cai did not stop her. He did not call out. Only watched as she vanished into the corridor, the photograph clutched so tightly in her grip it might as well have been burning.
Alessia walked until her steps faltered, until the shadows of the villa swallowed her whole. She pressed her back against the wall and let her body shake, though she made no sound. The words on the back of the photo repeated in her mind like a curse.
You were never meant to inherit this.
She made it back to her room and shoved the photograph beneath a stack of scarves in her wardrobe. Her hands shook so badly she dropped the hanger she was holding. The sound of it clattering to the floor echoed far louder than it should have.
She could still hear Cai’s voice in her head. You are still holding it.
Her stomach twisted as if the words had lodged there, pressing against the pit of her ribs. She sank onto the edge of the bed, trying to still her breathing, but the door opened without warning.
Matteo.
He did not ask permission. He rarely did anymore. His gaze swept over the room once before landing on her. She did not miss the slight tilt of his head, the way his eyes darted briefly toward the wardrobe, then back to her face.
“You look pale,” he said evenly, though something darker stirred beneath the calm tone. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Alessia murmured too quickly. “I was sorting things.”
He moved closer, slow and deliberate. She felt cornered without him even raising a hand. He touched her chin lightly, tilting her face up so she had to meet his eyes. His thumb lingered just under her jaw, firm enough that she could not look away.
“You have been restless all day. More than usual.” His voice dropped lower. “Did someone upset you?”
Her pulse thundered. She thought of Cai, of the photograph, of the words carved into the back of it like a blade. But she could not tell Matteo. She could not risk it.
“No,” she said, softer now. “I am just tired.”
Matteo studied her face for a long moment, long enough that she felt stripped bare. Finally, he released her and straightened. His eyes swept the room once more, his voice cool but commanding.
“From now on, you do not leave this villa without me. No errands, no walks through the grounds, nothing. Your meals will be brought to you. Consider it protection.”
Alessia’s chest tightened. “That is not protection. That is prison.”
He leaned closer, his mouth near her ear. “You will thank me when you understand how many enemies would like to see you destroyed. Do not mistake freedom for safety, piccola.”
The word burned against her skin.
Before she could respond, he stepped back, collected, already certain she would obey. “Rest. I will have the staff adjust your schedule. No more unexpected meetings. No more late nights in the gallery.”
Her throat ached with the scream she wanted to let out. Instead she only nodded, the smallest dip of her head. Anything else would have drawn out his suspicion, and she could not afford that. He left without another word, though she felt the weight of his eyes on her long after the door clicked shut.
Alessia sat frozen. Then she rose abruptly, pulling the photograph back from its hiding place, staring at it until her eyes blurred. Her mother’s face, the child’s foreign gaze, the words on the back.
You were never meant to inherit this.
She pressed her palm against her mouth, holding back a sob. The villa was closing in on her. Matteo was closing in on her. And now Marco, through Cai, was tearing cracks in whatever fragile certainty she had left.
The night settled heavy. Rain pattered against the glass, a rhythm too soft to soothe her. Her body ached with exhaustion, yet her mind would not stop racing. Every corner of the room felt watched, every shadow suspicious. Hours later, Alessia jolted awake, her stomach churning. She barely made it to the bathroom before she collapsed to her knees, retching until her throat burned. Cold sweat clung to her skin, her hands shaking as she reached for the sink.
Her eyes caught on something in the drawer, half open.
A white box.
She blinked, swallowing hard. Slowly, she reached out, dragging it into the light. A pregnancy test kit.
Her breath froze.
She stared at it, her vision tunneling, the sound of her pulse louder than the rain outside.
Her lips parted, but no words came. She had never bought this.
It was already there, waiting.