Page 15 of Beautiful Evidence

Ecstasy washes over me, and I'm powerless against it. Her name is on my lips as I empty everything I have into her, collapsing atop her sweat-slicked form. My heartbeat races in my ears, and hers too, crashing against mine in an erratic rhythm that slowly starts to even out.

"Holy shit," she pants, and I can only manage a nod in agreement as I catch my breath. Slowly, I realize my weight is on top of her and roll to the side, pulling her with me so we rest on our sides. My hand idly strokes her hip as my heart rate returnsto normal, but the rush of adrenaline is long gone. All that remains are a sated exhaustion and lingering lust in my veins.

Alessia curls into me softly, and I hold her, pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder. She says nothing, which says more than she thinks it does, and when I start to pull away, she grips my wrist and brings it back over her body. So I shift, pulling the covers up over us, and lie next to her, staring at the ceiling as she starts to fall asleep.

Lots of things have happened when I was put on a mark before, but fucking them isn’t one of them. I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross, but I can’t say I'm apologetic about it.

Gordo will be pissed.

Emilio won’t understand.

But what’s done is done.

Now I have to convince her to let me keep her safe or whoever tried to break in here today might just get what they want.

9

ALESSIA

Iwake to cold sheets and the sound of the radiator knocking through the apartment. Enzo's side of the bed is empty. No note, no message. Just the faintest dent in the pillow where his head had been and the lingering scent of his cologne.

I force myself to get out of bed when I really want to lie here and stew over what happened and what it means. The heat of the shower helps me shake it off a little, but what really does it is the brisk walk across town.

By the time I get to the lab, the day’s already off to a bad start. The cappuccino machine is broken. The receptionist glares like I’d personally offended her. Then I open the door to my office and find Luca Bernardi leaning against my desk like he owns this whole department, though he's really just the supervisor in charge of things. Higher-ups don't rein him in, though.

He lifts a brow. "You’re late." I drop my keys in the tray by the microscope, letting the clang echo through the room, and I don't bother with an apology. If he's waiting for one, he'll be disappointed.

"You’re in my seat," I say flatly, tossing my bag onto the counter. I move toward him without breaking eye contact, forcing him to acknowledge my presence. He's not a bad boss, but this stiff we've been working on seems to have brought out some dark streak in him that butts heads with what my father expects of me.

He stays where he is, deliberately, so I have to physically walk around him to get a different chair. His button-down shirt is loose at the collar, and his lab coat is nowhere in sight, giving him the air of someone who thinks the rules only apply to his subordinates, not him. The smile on his face is slow and practiced, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. Creepy.

"Heard you’ve been putting in long nights," Luca says, idly thumbing through the stack of case files I left on my desk. "Stressful week?" He lifts a file and flips it open like he’s reading for sport, not substance. His fingers leave faint smudges on the corner of the folder, and it makes my skin itch.

I fold my arms. "Do you need something from me, sir?" My tone cuts sharper than intended, and I see the way his jaw tightens. The muscles in his neck flex like he’s holding something back.

He looks up at me from the file, eyes sharp now. "The task force has questions.Poliziaare waiting. They’re impatient for answers, and they think you’re holding out." He sets the file down slowly, watching my reaction like he’s measuring my pulse and breath.

I stare at him as the tension starts to swirl in my chest. I can't really read him right now, which I'm normally good at, but fucking Enzo last night got in my head. I don't know which way is up. "Are you threatening me?" I don’t flinch, not even whenhe shifts his weight like he might move closer. My spine locks straight.

He clicks his tongue. "Friendly warning. You look tired. You should rest more." He gestures lazily toward my chair, like he’s doing me a favor by keeping it warm. The arrogance in that movement makes my stomach turn.

"I need space to do my work," I say, looking down at my desk so I don't have to look him in the eye anymore. The air between us snaps taut, and I catch the flicker in his eyes before he schools his expression. It’s confirmation enough that he has a burr up his ass about me for some reason. He takes a step forward, suddenly all business.

"Enough excuses. We need results," he says, voice clipped. "Get the rest of those samples tested today and finalize your report. The task force wants movement before this case goes cold, and I won’t have them thinking my lab’s dragging its feet." He waits a beat to let it sink in, then he stands and turns toward the door like the matter's settled.

I hold his gaze a second longer, then sit down before I do something crazy like smack him. "Please leave my office." I point to the hallway like I’m dismissing a technician, not my boss. My hand trembles slightly, but I keep it steady.

He goes, but not before flashing that same thin smile that says he knows more than he’s telling me. The door swings shut behind him, and I heave out a sigh of frustration, driving my elbows into my desk and covering my face. I'm being squeezed from both sides—Enzo who wants me to bury evidence, no doubt, and Bernardi who just wants me to do my job, get the truth.

Neither of them is giving me room to breathe. One man wants loyalty. The other demands results, and I’m trapped trying to serve both without losing myself in the process. I feel like a live wire strung between two power lines—ready to snap. There’s no middle ground. No one to trust. And every time I think I’ve found my footing, someone moves the line again. I hate the feeling that no matter which way I lean, I’m betraying someone.

The rest of the day grinds by and nothing lines up. These case files feel heavier the longer I stare at them. I keep thinking back to what Dr. Bernardi didn’t say—what he hinted at. When the word "task force" slipped out, I knew what he meant. They're not just looking for a killer. They're trying to build a larger case—Article 416-bis: Criminal Association with Mafia Ties. If I get it wrong, the whole investigation could collapse.

But if I do what Bernardi wants, I personally sentence my father to a life in prison and probably men associated with him too—like Vincenzo. Like Uncle Emilio…

I leave work feeling so heavy I want to collapse. By the time I get home, my feet ache and there’s a tight pulse blooming behind my eyes. I kick off my shoes and rub at my temples, but the pressure doesn’t let up. The apartment feels too quiet tonight. Like he was never here.

Maybe I should be relieved, because I did, after all, run away from my legacy and my father's name. Until Enzo stormed into my life and that stiff landed on my table, I was Alessia Leone, star medical examiner. Not Alessia Costa, daughter of a Mafia hit man. I left that world behind when I changed my name, and Enzo sleeping in my bed threatens to suck me back into that black hole I escaped.

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