Page 7 of Silent Night With Alessio

It’d be reckless to pull her into my world, dangerous for her in ways she wouldn’t see coming.

With everything happening in the family, especially with The Vitale rats circling around like vultures, the last thing I need is a weak spot for them to exploit..

I lean back. I’ll keep this thing locked down. She’ll be just another passing memory, something I can close the book on before it even starts.

But I don’t get to dwell on it long before my phone jolts me back to reality. It’s one of the scouts, stationed just outside Winter Haven. The urgency in his voice is immediate, no chance of small talk.

“Alessio! We got a situation,” he says, almost breathless.

“What’s going on?” I snap, my grip tightening around the phone.

“There’s been a hit on one of our supply trucks. Happened just outside town.”

“Damn it!” I mutter. So much for keeping things quiet. I’d been hoping to avoid open confrontations, at least through the holidays, to keep things under wraps. But if someone’s already gunning for our shipments, that means they know we’re here in Winter Haven.

It’s got to be The Vitale…they’re getting bolder, and I’m not about to let that slide. If it’s a fight they’re after, they’ll get one.

I get the exact location from him and hang up, wasting no time. I call in a couple of our men, Aturo and Mario, giving them clear, direct orders.

When they arrive, there’s no preamble. “Aturo, you’re coming with me. We’ve got business to take care of,” I say, already moving toward the door. I don’t have time to let them process this. Every minute counts.

“Mario,” I turn to him. “I need you to go to the Marino jewelry shop. There’s a package there for us. Get it and bring it back to my office.” He nods, and as he heads out, I follow with Aturo right behind me.

The air is cold, biting as we step outside, but I barely even feel it. My mind’s racing, too focused on what’s coming, on the fact thatwe’ve been forced to act now, to go on the offensive before I was ready.

I slide behind the wheel, and we’re off, the car cutting through the snow-covered streets like a blade.

We hit the road hard, fast enough that I feel the tires slip on the ice a few times. But there’s no alternative. We need to know what we’re dealing with.

Snow spits against the windshield as we make our way through the winding, deserted roads. And when we finally reach the scene, I’m expecting trouble, guns drawn, maybe even a fight.

But instead, I find… nothing. The trucks are upright, ready to move, the men standing around looking tense but unharmed.

“What happened here?” I bark, barely getting out of the car before firing off questions. One of my guys steps forward, hands shoved deep in his pockets, glancing back at the truck like he’s trying to reassure himself it’s all intact.

“Some car hit one of the trucks, rammed right into it,” he says. “But it wasn’t what we thought, boss. The driver was just some drunk, must’ve lost control. Took a hit to the head, but he’s fine. We patched up the truck…it’s good to go.”

I narrow my eyes, scanning the snow covered ground, the twisted tire marks cutting across it. All this fuss, and it’s just some poor, wasted civilian? The guy probably didn’t even know where he was.

But something about it feels wrong, and I can’t shake it. It’s like there’s a shadow looming over us, just waiting for the right moment.

Still, I’ve got to admit…I’m relieved. The supplies are here; But the trucks are ready to roll, and there’s no blood spilled today. I’ve got no appetite for a shootout right before the holidays, not if I can help it.

I spend the next few hours riding with the convoy, keeping close as we snake through the roads and bring the supplies into town. I talk to the guys, double check that all the goods are where they should be.

It’s a clean run, smooth once we’re past that mess, and when we finally hit Winter Haven, I breathe a little easier.

After we unload, I head back to the Bellini Lodge, cutting through the snow slick streets.

I stride into my office, and there it is…the ring case, resting on my desk just as I’d instructed Mario. I flip it open, glancing at the contents just to confirm everything where it should be. Satisfied, I snap it shut and make my way to Massimo’s office.

I’m there in a few brisk steps. “Come in,” his voice calls at the first knock, and I enter that spacious room, thick with the familiar scent of Cuban cigars.

“Back with the ring, Alessio?” he says as I approach.

“Yes, boss.” I place the case on his desk, and his gaze drifts to it, lazily cutting through a haze of smoke. I’m about to turn and leave when he speaks again.

“Look at it. Make sure they polished it right,” he says, picking up a sheet of paper on his desk.

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