Page 30 of Of Lies and Shadows

I don’t know if he believed me. I don’t know if he’ll kill me or if my father will get to me first. But I know one thing, with a clarity that settles like ice in my bones.

Whatever life I used to know, the one I lived, the one I dreamed about when I was younger, full of hope and soft things, is gone.

Gone for good.

Chapter Eight

Dante

She lied.

Of course she did. I’m not a fool.

But the reason behind it? That’s what I can’t figure out.

She’s not just doing her job. Anyone with half a brain can see she loves my kids. Not performatively. Not for show. It’s in the way she brushes Lucia’s hair behind her ear like it’s instinct. The way she crouches beside Alessio when he’s fuming and speaks to him like he’s someone worthlistening to.

She’s not faking that, which makes it harder to swallow the lie.

I told Vito to run another check on her. Deep this time, different channels. And everything came back clean. Too clean, if you ask me. Not even a library fine. No digital footprint before a year ago. It's either a miracle… or a fabrication.

I’m trying to convince myself it’s the latter.

Trying even harder as I adjust the cuffs of my tuxedo in the mirror, fixing the collar with precise irritation.

Because instead of sending Vito in my place tonight like I’d planned, I’m going.

“I need to keep an eye on her,” I told myself. Told Vito. Toldanyonewho might ask.

But deep down, I know the truth. Iwantto go.

I want to make the kind of memories she keeps talking about, the kind that sound like fairy tales and feel like lies. Maybe if I’m there, if I’m part of it, it won’t feel like a fucking dream someone else built for my children.

And maybe… maybe I want to see her. Not in jeans. Not barefoot in the kitchen. Not with flour on her cheek and a child in her lap.

I want to see her dressed to the nines. I want to see what Alice Winters looks like when the gloves come off, and she’s not just the nanny.

And I don’t know what that says about me.

At six sharp, I am downstairs in the hall, and as minutes pass, my nerves increase. I'm checking the time on my watch again when I hear footsteps on the stairs.

I turn, and then I forget how to breathe.

She’s descending slowly, a child on each side. Alessio is in a tiny tux, beaming with unearned swagger, and Lucia is wearing a pale-green dress that billows around her like mist. But it’s not them I can’t tear my eyes from.

It’s her.Alice.

She’s wearing emerald green, deep and rich, like forest shadows at dusk. The fabric clings to her in all the right places, hugging her waist before spilling down in a flow of satin that moves like water with each step. A high slit reveals one long, toned leg as she walks—elegant, effortless, devastating.

The neckline is soft and off the shoulder, revealing just a hint of collarbone and the graceful curve of her neck. Her hair is pinned loosely, with a few strands curling down, framing her face like art. And those lips, dark rose, full, and lush, curve into a soft smile as she speaks quietly to Lucia, who’s whispering something only a five-year-old would find urgent before a formal event.

But her eyes, those too-big, too-honest eyes, are what undo me.

She looks up. And when she sees me, she pauses. Just for a second. A blink of hesitation. I was not supposed to be here, but suddenly, I’m happy I am.

I didn’t expect to feel this.

Not the rush. Not the heat that travels low and fast down my spine. Not the way my chest tightens when Lucia tugs gently at her hand, and Alice tears her gaze from mine like it burned her.

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