Chapter 20 The First True Kiss
Three days passed.
Three days of careful distance, of forced normalcy.
Liam spent most of his hours in the study, making calls, fixing what the warehouse attack had destroyed, rebuilding the fragile threads of control he needed. Alessia recovered slowly. The concussion symptoms were fading, but they left her restless, cooped up, itching to move, to act, to do something besides sit and wait.
They ate meals together. Exchanged only what was necessary. Maintained the appearance of unity.
But something had shifted.
The way Liam looked at her now—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t cautious. There was consideration there, curiosity, an edge of something unspoken.
The way she found herself watching him—too often, too long—was dangerous.
And neither of them addressed it.
The tension coiled, thick and taut, like air in a sealed container, waiting for the inevitable moment when it would explode.
On the third night.
Alessia couldn’t sleep. Not again.
The nightmares had returned—her mother’s face, the warehouse explosion, Cormac’s cold eyes, accusing her silently of being a viper.
He’s right, a voice whispered inside her head. You are a viper. You’re going to destroy them all.
She gave up trying to sleep around two a.m., pulling on a robe and padding quietly to the kitchen.
The penthouse was dark, save for the city lights filtering through the windows. She moved lightly, careful not to wake Liam.
But he was already there.
He stood at the counter, glass of whiskey in hand, sweatpants and a t-shirt, staring out at the city skyline.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice quiet but carrying across the room.
“How did you know it was me?”
“You walk differently. Lighter. Controlled. Military training shows in your posture.” He sipped his drink.
Alessia’s heart skipped. “I told you—”
“I know what you told me.” He finally turned to her. “And I believe some of it. Not all.”
She should have deflected. Lied. Maintained the cover.
But she was too tired for performances.
“What don’t you believe?” she asked softly.
“That you taught yourself to fight like that. Tactical medicine. Weapons handling. Hand-to-hand combat. All by yourself.” His eyes held hers, steady, searching. “That kind of skill takes years. Resources. Access. Things a mafia princess shouldn’t have.”
Alessia poured water for herself, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe I’m more resourceful than you think.”
“Or maybe you’re something else entirely.”
The words lingered.
“What do you think I am?” she asked, curiosity genuine.
Liam studied her, weighing her, the silence stretching. “I don’t know. But I’m starting to think that’s what makes you dangerous.”
“Because you can’t figure me out?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Because I’m starting not to care.” He set his glass down, slow, deliberate. “And that should terrify me. But it doesn’t.”
Alessia’s breath caught. “Liam—”
“You saved my life, Alessia. Multiple times. You could have left the warehouse. Could have saved yourself. Could have run. But you didn’t.” His voice was rough, honest.
“We’re married. It was logical—”
“It wasn’t logical. It was instinct.” He stepped closer. “You protected me. Fought beside me. And afterward, when you were sick, feverish, vulnerable—you didn’t manipulate me. You just… let me help.”
“Your point?”
“My point? Whoever you are, whatever you’re hiding, there’s something real beneath it all. And I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Alessia’s heart pounded so hard it hurt. “You shouldn’t.”
“I know.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“I know that too.”
They stared at each other, across the empty kitchen, tension thick, heavy, everything unspoken crackling between them.
“I don’t trust you,” Liam said quietly.
“I don’t trust you either.”
“But I can’t stop wanting to.”
The admission was raw. Vulnerable. Terrifying.
Alessia should have walked away. Should have returned to her room. Maintained distance.
Instead, she stepped closer.
“What are we doing?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.” His hand came up, cupping her jaw gently, careful. “But I’m tired of pretending we don’t feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“This.” His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “Whatever this is. Started as hate, turned suspicion, and now…”
“Now it’s complicated.”
“Very.”
Her hand went up, covering his, pressing against his palm. “We’re supposed to be enemies.”
“I know.”
“This will end badly.”
“Probably.”
“Then why—”
He kissed her.
It wasn’t like the study kiss. That one had been sharp, possessive, a battle for control.
This was different.
Slow. Searching. Asking a question with breath and lips, a tentative, careful exploration.
Her mind screamed stop, but her body answered first. She kissed him back, hands sliding up his shoulders, pulling him closer.
Liam lifted her slightly onto the counter, arms wrapping around her waist, pressing her impossibly close. He deepened the kiss, hands cradling her face.
This wasn’t lust. Not adrenaline. Not possession.
This was connection. Raw. Terrifying.
When they broke apart, gasping, Liam rested his forehead against hers.
“This is a mistake,” he said, ragged.
“I know,” she whispered.
But even saying it, she pulled him back, fingers tangling in his hair, lips finding his again.
The kiss deepened, desperate now. Weeks of pretending, fighting, circling each other, finally spilling out.
His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, always careful.
Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly close.
The tracker around her neck burned. A reminder. A warning. Liar. Spy. Traitor.
But she couldn’t stop.
For the first time since her mother died, she felt alive.
They broke apart again, trembling. Liam’s eyes dark, conflicted, storming.
“We can’t do this,” he said, but his hands didn’t release her.
“I know.”
“You’re hiding something. Something big.”
“I know.”
“And when I find out—”
“You’ll hate me,” her voice cracked. “I know that too.”
His jaw clenched. “Then why are we doing this?”
“Because we’re tired of being alone,” she admitted. Vulnerable. Honest. “For one moment, I want to feel like I’m not drowning.”
Something softened in his expression. Understanding. Recognition.
“I know that feeling,” he said quietly.
Foreheads pressed together, breathing shared, caught in a fragile, precious, doomed moment.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he said finally. “I still don’t know if I can trust you.”
“And I still don’t know if I can trust you,” she replied.
“But—”
“But for tonight, can we just… exist? Without masks? Without lies?”
He pulled back slightly, searching her face. “Existing without lies—is that possible for you?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I want to try.”
He studied her long moment, then nodded slowly. “One night,” he said. “One night of truth.”
“One night.”
He helped her down from the counter, hand still holding hers.
They stayed in the dark kitchen, city lights casting shadows, two people trapped in their own web.
“What now?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. Thumb tracing circles on her hand. “But I’m not letting you go back to your room. Not yet.”
“So what do we do?”
He looked at her, really looked at her, with an intensity that made her chest tighten.
“We talk,” he said. “Really talk. No performances. No strategies. Just… us.”
It was the most dangerous thing he could have asked.
Because talking meant revealing. Revealing meant risking everything.
But Alessia nodded anyway.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Just for tonight.”
They moved to the living room, sitting on the couch, careful space between them—close enough to feel connected, far enough to maintain control.
And as the city slept, they talked.
Really talked.
And with every word, every confession, every small honesty, the line between enemy and ally, hate and something else blurred.
Until Alessia couldn’t tell where the lies ended and truth began.
And that terrified her more than anything.