Page 17 of Silent Night With Alessio

There’s a part of me that wants to keep watching her, just to drink in this stillness. It’s strange…she has this way of pulling me in, making me forget, if only for a second, the world that waits outside. The world I come from.

I catch myself, though, snapping back to reality, feeling that pull of attraction I haven’t felt in… hell, I don’t know how long.

Not like this. Not something that simmers, slow and dangerous.

I’ve been awake for a while, too damn aware of her lying just a few inches away. The bed is small, closer than I’d have liked.

And it got to a point where I had to move, had to put some distance between us. The feel of her close, the soft heat of her body in that tiny bed…it was too much, too real.

So I ended up sleeping on the floor, though I’m not sure I’d call what I did “sleeping.”

My thoughts kept circling back to her, to the glimpse of her bare skin when that towel slipped.

She looked at me then with equal parts horror and something else, something unspoken but loud enough to rattle my composure.

I wrestle that memory down, force myself to think of the mission, the ring that’s gotten us tangled in this mess in the first place.

But before I can shove my thoughts back into line, she stirs, her lashes fluttering as she shifts and stretches like a cat, blinking at the morning light with a sleepy, almost dazed expression.

And there’s something achingly beautiful about the way she looks at me, like she’s forgotten who I am and what I represent.

Like I’m just a man, not a Luciana gangster. I stand, clearing my throat, a barrier against whatever softness has seeped into my voice.

“Get ready,” I say, pulling on the cold edge that usually comes so naturally. “We’ve got a long day.”

She nods, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and slips off to the bathroom. I catch her glancing back at me before she closes the door, and I don’t miss the hint of color rising in her cheeks.

I look away, shoving my hands into my pockets, willing myself to stay focused, to keep my head in the game.

When she’s dressed, we head out, the hotel room’s warmth giving way to the chill of the snowy morning. The drive to the third jeweler’s shop is quiet, both of us wrapped in our own thoughts.

I can feel the tension winding through her, see it in the way her fingers fidget with the hem of her coat. I say nothing, keeping my eyes on the road, but I’m more aware of her than I would like to admit.

The third jeweler’s shop is a modest place tucked between a bakery and a bookstore, the kind of establishment you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it.

We park, but as we approach, I notice that the shop’s lights are off, the door firmly locked. There’s no sign of the owner, no hint of movement inside.

It’s strange. The bookstore and bakery are both open, yet the jewelry shop sits behind its shuttered door, its absence a quiet oddity on the block.

"We should check with the other stores," Isabella suggests, her voice low. "Maybe they know why Bruce isn’t open."

We head for the bakery first. The warm scent of pastries fills the air, nearly tugging at my appetite. I approach the counter, and the shopkeeper greets me with a friendly smile.

"Hey…" I start, glancing over my shoulder at the closed jewelry store. "I was wondering if you knew anything about the jeweler next door. He’s not open today… Any idea why?"

The smile drops from the shopkeeper’s face in an instant. A flicker of fear crosses his expression, unmistakable.

He shakes his head. "No… I haven’t seen him. Not today, at least," he mutters.

I glance at Isabella, and from the look she gives me, it’s clear she caught that hint of dread as well.

"Let’s try the bookstore," she whispers.

Inside the bookstore, we’re met with another smile, this one bright and cheerful. This time, Isabella steps forward to ask the questions.

"Hi. I was hoping you could help me," she says, her voice polite but firm. "I was looking to speak with the jeweler next door? Bruce. His shop’s closed. Do you know how I might get in touch with him?"

The shopkeeper stiffens, his gaze darting to me before lingering there, as if sizing me up. He swallows hard.

---