Chapter 42- The Bright Idea

Chapter 42- The Bright Idea
ARIA’S POV

The idea burned in my mind, bright and dangerous, like a fuse sparking toward an explosion.

I stood in my room, chest heaving, my bare feet sinking into the carpet. My plan was crazy, but it was perfect. Alessandro was a wall, always there, always watching, but I could get him out of my way. I had to. Nikolai Volkov was slipping through my fingers, and I wasn’t going to let him walk away.

I rushed to my closet, heart slamming against my ribs. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of what I was about to do. My hands trembled as I shoved aside a pile of clothes, revealing the small wooden box I kept hidden in the back. Inside was a bottle of whiskey—half-empty—and a single wine glass. I grabbed them both, my fingers clumsy, my pulse racing so fast I could hear it in my ears.

Next, I reached for the pill bottle tucked in the corner of the box. My emergency stash. Sleeping pills. The kind that could knock out a horse. I popped the cap, the faint chemical smell hitting me as I tipped two small white tablets into my palm. They looked harmless, innocent even, but they were my ticket to freedom. I dropped them into the wine glass, the tiny plink echoing in the quiet closet. My hands shook as I poured whiskey over them, watching the liquid swirl and cloud as the pills began to dissolve. The amber mix looked deadly, but subtle. Perfect.

I clutched the bottle in one hand, the glass in the other, and stepped back into my room. My chest tightened, like a vice squeezing my lungs. This had to work.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, to focus. I needed to sell this. Alessandro was too smart, too sharp. One wrong move, and he’d see right through me. I pictured Camilla’s face—her smile, her laugh, the way she’d been snuffed out like she was nothing. My throat burned, and I let the grief bubble up, let it spill over until my eyes stung with real tears.

I took a deep breath, then screamed.

The sound ripped through the room, raw and jagged, bouncing off the walls. I screamed again, louder, my voice cracking as I sank to the floor, curling my knees to my chest for extra drama. The bottle clinked against the hardwood, the glass wobbling in my hand as I let the tears fall, hot and messy, streaking down my cheeks. I was a wreck, a broken thing, and I needed Alessandro to believe it.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall with a crash. Alessandro stormed in, his broad frame filling the doorway, his dark eyes scanning the room like he expected to find it on fire. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, ready to fight. “Miss Moretti!” he barked, his voice sharp but steady. “What’s wrong?”

I looked up at him, my face crumpled, tears streaming. “Nobody loves me!” I sobbed, my voice breaking. “Nobody understands me!” I clutched the whiskey bottle tighter, letting my hands shake for effect. I was playing a part, but the pain in my chest felt real, too real. Camilla’s face flashed in my mind again, and the tears came harder.

Alessandro’s face stayed cold, unreadable, but I caught it—a flicker of concern in his eyes, gone as fast as it came. He stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor. “Miss Moretti, that’s not true,” he said, his voice low, almost gentle, but still guarded.

“Shut up!” I snapped, my voice jagged as I swiped at my tears. I tipped the bottle to my lips, the whiskey burning my throat as I took a long, messy swig. I held the glass out, pretending to sip from it, careful not to let the liquid touch my lips. “Just leave me alone!”

He didn’t move. His eyes narrowed, watching me like a hawk, like he could see every lie I was weaving. My heart pounded harder, fear creeping up my spine. He was too close, too sharp. I had to keep him off balance. “Leave me alone!” I shouted again, my voice cracking as I rocked back and forth on the floor.

To my surprise, he didn’t leave. He shook his head, slow and deliberate, and then—unbelievably—he lowered himself to the floor beside me. His long legs stretched out, his broad frame dwarfing mine, but he sat there, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the steady weight of his presence. My breath caught, my plan teetering on the edge of collapse. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he dragging me to my feet, calling for backup, doing his job?

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I held out the glass. “Drink with me,” I said, my voice soft, broken. “I feel so sad.” I pushed the glass toward him, my heart slamming against my chest. This was it. The moment. If he took it, I was free. If he didn’t…

He stared at the glass, his eyes unreadable, then flicked his gaze to me. For a second, I thought he’d refuse, that he’d see through the whole damn thing. But then he reached out, his fingers brushing mine as he took the glass. My pulse spiked, a mix of triumph and terror.

I poured more whiskey from the bottle into my mouth, letting it spill down my chin, laughing bitterly as I wiped my face. “My life was perfect,” I said, my voice cracking, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “I thought I could live this… this mafia nightmare and not care. I had Camilla. She was my everything. And now she’s gone.”

The tears came again, and this time, they weren’t fake. They burned, raw and heavy, tearing through me like a blade. I wiped my eyes, my hands shaking, and glanced at Alessandro. He didn’t respond, didn’t move, just sat there, his face a mask. But his eyes—they softened, just for a second, and I knew I had him.

He lifted the glass to his lips and drank, one long gulp, the liquid disappearing down his throat. My heart stopped. I watched, frozen, as he swallowed, his throat bobbing.

The room went quiet, the air so thick I could barely breathe. I waited, counting the seconds, expecting his eyes to droop, his body to slump. Any moment now, the sleeping pills would kick in, and he’d be out. I’d be free.

But he didn’t fall. He set the glass down, slow and deliberate, and leaned back against the wall. His eyes stayed sharp, locked on mine, and I noticed something—sweat beading on his forehead, his jaw tight, his breathing just a little too fast. My stomach twisted. Something was wrong. Why wasn’t he asleep? Did I mess up the dose? Did I grab the wrong bottle?

Panic clawed at me. “I… I need a second,” I mumbled, stumbling to my feet. My legs felt like jelly as I staggered to the closet, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. I yanked open the drawer, my fingers fumbling for the pill bottle. I held it up, squinting at the label in the dim light, and my blood ran cold.

It wasn’t sleeping pills.

It was aphrodisiacs.

My heart sank, the bottle slipping from my fingers and hitting the floor with a soft thud. My mind screamed, a chaotic mess of fear and disbelief.

Aphrodisiacs. Not sleeping pills. How could I have been so stupid? I’d grabbed the wrong bottle, and now Alessandro—cold, calculating Alessandro—was sitting out there, his body reacting to something I never meant to give him.

I pressed my hands to my face, my breath ragged, my thoughts spiraling. What now? What the hell was I supposed to do?