Page 10 of Bound By Honor

“Luciano.” Aurora’s voice startles me from my dark thoughts. She’s somehow materialized beside me in the hallway, her perfume making my head spin. “What aren’t you telling me about Alessandro?”

I force myself to meet her gaze, fighting the pull of her presence. “Some questions are better left unasked,Principessa.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” She steps closer, defiant. “I’m not a child to be protected.”

“No,” I agree, my voice rougher than intended. “You’re definitely not a child.”

The nearness of her awakens everything I’ve tried to bury since Maria’s death. The need to touch her wars clashes against my duty to protect her, leaving me raw and aching.

She’s close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, count each breath that parts her lips. I take a deliberate step back.

“Just... be careful around him. Please.”

She studies me for a long moment, frustration and something else dancing across her features. Without another word, she turns and walks away, leaving me alone with the weight of everything I can’t say.

When I return to the lounge, my worst fears materialize. Alessandro has claimed the seat beside Aurora on the sofa, his body angled toward her with practiced intimacy. He’s speaking softly, and whatever he’s saying has drawn a genuine laugh from her lips.

Alessandro catches my eye across the room and smirks, the gesture so subtle only I would recognize it. In that moment, I see the truth behind his perfect mask—This isn’t just about coming home.

This is about taking everything I care about and burning it to ash.

I drain my whiskey, the burn in my throat nothing compared to the fury building in my chest. Whatever game Alessandro is playing, I won’t let him use Aurora or Luca as pawns. Even if it means confronting the ghosts of our past—and the truth about Maria’s death—head-on.

Alessandro raises his glass in a mock toast, his eyes gleaming with challenge. The message is clear: the game has begun, and he’s already several moves ahead.

But he’s forgotten one crucial detail—I learned to play chess from our father, and I always think three moves ahead.

Game on, little brother.

5

AURORA POV

The lock clicks beneath my trembling fingers, and my heart stutters. For a moment, I freeze, certain the sound echoed through the silent mansion like a gunshot. But the hallway remains still, wrapped in shadows and secrets.

The mansion crawls with extra security tonight—Dominic’s response to the Rossi family’s latest threat. Their boldness in targeting our shipments has everyone on edge, which makes my midnight expedition even more dangerous. But with the archives finally unguarded, thanks to the guards’ focus on the perimeter, I can’t waste this chance.

I ease the archive door open, wincing at the whisper of its hinges. The scent hits me first—leather and dust, old paper, and forgotten things. Moonlight streams through high windows, painting silver paths between towering shelves.

“You shouldn’t be here,piccola.”

I whirl around, nearly dropping my phone. Alessandro leans against a shelf, casual as a cat watching its prey. How long has he been here?

My body reacts before my mind can process—heart racing, skin prickling with warning. Alessandro radiates the same lethalgrace as Luciano, but where Luciano’s presence makes me feel protected, Alessandro’s sets off every internal alarm. Yet there’s something magnetic about his danger, a pull I hate myself for noticing.

“I could say the same to you.” My voice stays steady despite my racing pulse. The archives suddenly feel like a trap, and I’m the prey caught between predators. But I refuse to show fear—that’s what he wants.

He pushes off the shelf, moving closer. “Couldn’t sleep? Or perhaps... looking for something specific?”

“Just exploring family history.”

“Ah.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “And what fascinating histories have you uncovered?”

I take a step back, my hip brushing against a filing cabinet. “Nothing yet. I only just arrived.”

“No?” He produces a photograph from his jacket. “Then what’s this doing on the floor by your feet?”

My stomach drops. The photograph—Maria and Alessandro, their faces close, sharing some private joke. The date stamp mocks me: three days before her death.

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