Page 13 of Silent Night With Alessio

Her face pales, her eyes widening. “But… I did not know. I didn’t see anyone…”

“Whoever it was, they’re careful,” I say, my tone sounding grim even to me. “They knew enough to stay out of sight. Could be they realize they couldn’t get in and change their plans?”

She bites her lip, the fear in her eyes unmistakable. I feel a strange urge to reach out, to tell her it’s going to be okay, but I push it down.

“Don’t worry,” I say instead, keeping my voice steady, authoritative. “We’ll figure out who it was. Just tell me about those other jewelers you mentioned.”

She nods, composing herself as she lists off the names. Three people who might have the skill to pull off a fake like the one theyswitched the real ring for. I commit them to memory, already planning our next move.

“We’ll pay them all a visit tomorrow, first thing in the morning,” I tell her.

Reaching for my phone, I dial Massimo, filling him in on what we found. He listens, his voice calm as he processes the details. When I mention the masked figure on the security footage, there’s a pause.

“Stay there,” he says finally. “Keep an eye on her. If she’s involved, I want you to see it firsthand. And if she’s got people sniffing around, you’ll be there if anything goes south.”

He hangs up, and I turn back to find Isabella watching me, her face expectant, nervous. “Looks like I’m staying here tonight,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.

Her cheeks flush again, but she nods, gesturing toward the living room. “You can sleep on the couch… I’ll bring out some blankets.”

I follow her to the living room, glancing around. It’s modest, a little worn, but it has a kind of charm to it, a warmth that feels… comfortable.

She disappears into the hallway, returning a moment later with a stack of blankets and an old pillow. I take them from her, muttering a quick thanks as I spread them out on the couch.

“Look, uh… you can use the shower if you want,” she says, her voice hesitant. “It’s… cold out, and you’ve been out all day.”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the offer. “And leave you alone? Not happening.”

She hesitates, her cheeks flushing deeper. “No, I mean… I could sit in the bathroom, on the toilet lid. Facing away. So you know I’m here.”

I stare at her, taken aback. It’s a strange offer, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. And, to be honest, the idea of a hot shower sounds damn good. “Fine,” I say, gruffly. “Let’s do it.”

I grab a fresh towel from her, following her into the small, cozy bathroom. She sits on the toilet lid with her back to me, and I step under the hot stream of the shower, letting the water loosen the day’s knots, rinse off the weariness.

But as the tension fades, it’s replaced by another…the kind that tugs at me, draws my attention to her. She’s right there, close enough to reach.

I glance through the shower curtain. Her back’s still turned, her black hair falling smoothly down her shoulders, a damp contrast against her skin.

The sight sets my thoughts spinning, my pulse quickening. My grip shifts as I lather up, a new intensity settling in, taking over. Images flash through my mind…my hand in her hair, my voicelow against her ear, the sound of her breath catching. It’s a slow, simmering pull.

No.I shove it all down, forcing myself to stay focused. This isn’t the time for distractions.

When I finish, she hands me an old set of pajama pants and a shirt, saying they were her grandfather’s. They’re too small, the pant legs riding up to my calves, the shirt tight across my chest, but it’ll have to do. I catch her staring as I step out; her cheeks red, her eyes flickering with something I can’t quite read.

She’s probably embarrassed, but she’s trying to hide it, her gaze darting away as she mumbles something about getting her mattress for the living room. A part of me wants to tease her, to push her buttons just to see her blush, but I hold back.

She drags her mattress into the living room, setting it down across from the couch, and I watch as she settles in, pulling a blanket over herself.

I lay back on the couch, closing my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easy. The tension in the room is thick, palpable, the silence filled with unspoken words, unacknowledged feelings coursing through me.

Time passes, and soon she’s asleep, at peace.

It’s an adorable sight, one that tugs at me in ways that go beyond raw attraction, beyond the impulse to pull her close. There’s something deeper there, something I can’t quite define.

But I push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the missing ring, on the fake, on the masked figure that was lurking outside her shop. Why steal the ring and leave a fake?

I get that it’s an insult and a slap in the face, but were they hoping we wouldn’t notice until the ceremony?

I guess swapping it was easier than outright stealing it. And this way, they send a message—implying that the Luciana is chickens, cowards, rather than invincible Phoenixes reborn from their own ashes….

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