Page 26 of Silent Night With Alessio

Massimo’s gaze settles on me, assessing, calculating. He leans back in his chair, taking a slow drag of his cigar, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re perfect for it,” he says, his voice low, deliberate.

“You’re not a Luciana, but you’re close enough to the family that you can be trusted. And since no one outside this family knows about your association with us, you can attend the auction without raising suspicion.”

An icy trickle of fear slides down my spine. Me, at the Ice Box, surrounded by strangers…rival families, all hungry for a piece of Luciana pride, all eager to tear the family down? I’ve never even been to the Ice Box before. It’s a shady club in the basement of a warehouse. Civilians like me have no business there. What if something goes wrong? What if they realize I’m a phony?

But there’s something else in Massimo’s gaze, something that tells me he won’t accept refusal… That I dare not object.

I nod, swallowing my fear. “Alright,” I say, my voice a whisper, but my resolve firm. “I’ll go.”

Massimo nods, his approval like a heavyweight settling on my shoulders. “Good..” There is a pause. We all stand looking at him, and his voice echoes again. “And, Isabella?”

I meet his gaze, my heart pounding.

“Be careful. You may not bear our name, but tonight, you carry our honor.”

11

Alessio

The drive to thehotel is a blur of flickering streetlights and the roar of the engine beneath me. My fingers tighten on the wheel, the leather creaking as my grip hardens with each mile that brings us closer to Tomasso.

Every muscle in my body is prepared for violence, every nerve anticipating the opportunity to unleash what has been simmering since I saw the footage of that poor jeweler.

But this isn’t just about what I’m going to do to Tomasso. No, Sal’s here, too, his hulking form a silent promise of what’s coming.

I glance over at him…Sal, the family’s most ruthless enforcer, the man who lives and breathes for moments like this. He’s leaned back, calm as a viper in the shade, arms crossed over his broad chest.

The sleeve tattoos wind up from his wrists, vanishing beneath the cuff of his shirt, but I know they stretch up to his shoulders. A tapestry of scars and ink that tells the story of every fight, every hit he’s ever carried out.

There’s that jagged scar across his cheek from a knife fight years back, and his nose, twisted slightly out of line from a dozen breaks.

If I’m a blade, sharp and precise, Sal’s a hammer…a brutal, unrelenting force. I can’t help but chuckle, the sound coming out low and dark. Tomasso will not know what hit him.

Sal raises an eyebrow at my laugh but says nothing, just nods his head, a grim smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He knows what I’m thinking. I don’t have to say a word for him to know what I’m planning for that rat.

Tomasso thought he could toy with the Lucianas, slip a fake ring into our hands, and walk away unscathed. He thought wrong.

When we pull up to the hotel, the valet looks at us like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Smart kid, he knows who we are. We don’t check in or explain ourselves. We don’t have to.

Sal and I stride through the lobby, the clack of my shoes and the heavy thud of his boots echoing like a death march. The attendants watch us, wide eyed, stiff as boards.

We approach the front desk, and the receptionist stammers, stumbling over her own words. “C-Can I help you?”

I smile, all teeth. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. Tomasso Ricci. Which room?”

Her eyes dart to Sal, who’s looming behind me like a dark shadow, his gaze fixed and unyielding. She doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second. “Room 419.”

“Grazie.” I give her a mock salute, and we head to the elevators.

By the time we reach his floor, my blood is singing. This is the part I live for…the anticipation, the power crackling in the air.

I kick open the door to Room 419, and there he is, barely dressed, dripping from a fresh shower, and looking at us like he’s been expecting company but not the kind that comes with brass knuckles and bad intentions.

“What the…,” Tomasso says, that arrogance returning to his face. “What the fuck do you…”

I don’t give him a chance to finish. “Shut up.” One word, flat and final. His arrogance still clings to him like a second skin.

That changes the moment Sal steps forward. Tomasso’s eyes widen, and for the first time, he looks like he’s realizing just how deep he’s sunk himself.

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