Page 11 of Silent Night With Alessio

A chill ripples through me. My mind races. I have to find the words, something to explain this, and I have to do it now.

My voice shakes, but I press on, the desperation thick in my throat.

“Last night… I felt strange. Like something was wrong. But I told myself it was just nerves handling something so important. I even double checked the locks. My security… everything.”

I glance up, my voice trembling. “I have footage from my cameras if you need it. I’m telling you, Massimo, I don’t know how this happened.”

Massimo’s eyes narrow. His gaze locked on me as he considers my words. He’s quiet, too quiet, and the longer he stares, the tighter the tension coils in the room.

He finally takes a long, deliberate drag from his cigar, exhaling a cloud of smoke that lingers between us, blurring his expression.

“This ring is everything, Isabella,” he says slowly, his voice low and simmering with restrained anger. “It’s not just a fucking piece of jewelry. It’s a symbol, an heirloom. Do you have any idea what’s riding on this?”

The enormity of his words presses down on me, but I force myself to nod. “I know. I understand. Please, Massimo… I can tell this ring is a good fake. Whoever made it knew what they were doing. But I only know a few jewelers who could pull off something this precise, this close to the real thing. If you’ll let me, I can find out who made it. And if we find them, we’ll know who’s behind this.”

He regards me for a long moment, his expression hard. The silence stretches, and I can feel my pulse racing, each beat echoing in my ears.

Finally, he nods, a slight, almost imperceptible gesture, and turns to Alessio, his eyes sharpening.

“Watch her every move,” he says, his voice as cold as steel. “You’re on this case with her, and you don’t let her out of your sight.”

My relief is overwhelming, almost dizzying, but it’s tinged with dread. I know what this means. If I don’t find answers, if I don’t deliver what Massimo wants, there will be consequences. Deadly ones.

Alessio gives a slight nod, his expression unreadable as he steps forward. He’s silent, a statue of composed authority.

Massimo dismisses us with a flick of his wrist, and Alessio gestures for me to follow. I get up slowly, my legs still shaky, and walk toward the door, the reality of the situation sinking in with every step.

My mind races, filled with images of the ring, the engravings, the gleam of polished metal. I keep turning it over in my mind, searching for anything, any detail that might explain how it could have been swapped without me knowing.

The air outside is cool, crisp against my skin as I step back onto the street. Alessio’s already standing by the car, waiting, his silhouette sharp and unyielding in the shadows.

He doesn’t speak as I approach, doesn’t offer any comfort or reassurance. But I don’t expect him to.

As I approach the car, he opens the door, and again, it does not feel like some chivalrous gesture.

No, it feels almost like an order wrapped in silence, his gaze commanding me to get in. There’s a thickness in the air that I can’t ignore, an unspoken urgency that makes my skin prickle.

I sink into the seat, but I don’t feel relief. Instead, a hollow ache rises within me, and all I can think of is Nonno. Oh, how I wish he were here, his warm, steady presence by my side, his hand reaching over to reassure me.

He would have known exactly what to say, some gentle wisdom or perhaps a reminder that everything would turn out as it should. Nonno always had that gift…the way he could quiet the storms within me, make the impossible feel within reach.

But he’s not here. It’s just me. Surrounded by a mess, I was utterly alone. The faint echoes of his voice were the only solace in the quiet car.

My chest tightens, and I feel my pulse throb with a desperation I can barely contain. I have to face this, to find answers, to make sense of it all.

“Dio mio,”I breathe, a whispered prayer to a God I hope still listens.

5

Alessio

Igrip the wheeltight as we pull away from the Bellini Lodge. Things are still tense between us, but at least for now, Isabella is safe. I’ve got my eyes on the road, my face straight, but my mind is somewhere else…back in that moment in Massimo’s office, watching her on her knees, her voice trembling, eyes wide and desperate.

She looked scared. Yeah, but not guilty. And maybe that’s why I’m breathing a little easier right now.

The way she spoke to Massimo… there was sincerity in her voice, a raw, unfiltered truth that couldn’t be faked, not even under pressure. I’ve seen plenty of liars in my time, plenty who thought they could dance their way around the truth.

But she didn’t play games; she was vulnerable, honest. Hell, she even offered security footage before the boss asked. I doubt she’d do that if she had something to hide.

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