Page 15 of Of Lies and Shadows

"Of course, sweetheart." I set the mug on the counter and pat the stool in front of me.

She climbs up, legs swinging, and I run the brush gently through her hair. It's soft, the way expensive things always are, but it still tangles like a child’s should. There’s something grounding in the way she leans into me, trusting, warm.

“She used to do this,” Lucia says, almost a whisper. “Mama. Before she joined the fairies.”

I pause, my fingers tight around a lock of hair. “I’m sure she did it beautifully.”

“She did.” Lucia nods. “But you don’t pull. You’re more careful.”

My throat tightens. I focus on parting the strands evenly. This isn't why I’m here. This isn’t why I took this job. But the longer I stay, the more it feels like this is what I’m protecting, not some distant vendetta.

A floorboard creaks behind us.

I turn my head and find Dante watching from the doorway, his tie undone and shirt sleeves rolled up. Shadowed. Quiet.

He doesn’t speak. Just watches me finish the braid andtie it off with a soft pink elastic.

Lucia hops down. “Grazie. Goodnight, Alice.”

“Goodnight, my brave girl.”

She vanishes down the hall.

I stand slowly, aware of how close he still is. “She gets nightmares often,” I say, reaching for the tea mug.

“She’s always been sensitive.”

“And Alessio?”

“He pretends not to be. But yes.” He pauses. “You’re good with them.”

I shrug, uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. “They’re easy to love.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

I look at him then. Really look. There’s no cruelty in his expression tonight. Just exhaustion. Something else, too, something I don’t dare name.

I try to deflect. “I’m just doing my job.”

“No.” His voice is quiet. “You’re doing more.” He moves toward me, slow and measured. I don’t back away, but I don’t breathe either.

“I haven’t heard Lucia laugh like that in months,” he says. “Whatever you're doing—keep doing it.”

I want to ask, why me? Why trust me? Why let a stranger into this gilded, grieving cage?

But I don’t because part of me doesn’t want the answer.

Instead, I nod, and when I finally walk past him, I feel the air change. His presence still clings to me long after I’m gone.

I don’t go to bed.

Instead, I curl up on the sofa in the den, the tea coolingin my hands, untouched. The house is too quiet, but not the peaceful kind. It’s the kind of silence that hums with what’s unsaid. With what’s changing.

The door creaks open sometime later. I glance up, expecting Lucia. It’s him again.

“Are you following me, Mr. Forzi?” I ask as a joke, but he doesn’t speak. Just walks over and sits across from me on the other couch. There’s a looseness to him I’ve never seen before.

“I thought you’d gone to bed,” he says.

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