The morning after Alessandro falls asleep in my arms is objectively the most awkward thing I've experienced since walking in on Mrs. Bianchi doing yoga in nothing but a towel.
He wakes up first—I feel him go tense against my back before carefully extracting himself like I'm a particularly volatile explosive device. When I finally open my eyes, he's already gone, and the only evidence he was ever here is the indent on his pillow and my absolutely catastrophic emotional state.
We don't talk about it.
Not over breakfast, where he reads his phone with laser focus while I make his ridiculous coffee. Not during the car ride to campus, where the silence is so thick you could package it and sell it as insulation. Not during lectures, where he sits beside me and we both pretend last night didn't fundamentally shift something between us.
It's fine. Everything's fine. I'm definitely not spiraling about the fact that Alessandro De Luca—heir to the empire that murdered my parents—trusted me with his deepest trauma while I'm actively betraying him.
This is fine. Totally sustainable emotional situation.
By afternoon, my conscience is screaming so loud I'm surprised people can't hear it. Like a particularly judgmental smoke alarm that won't shut up about my life choices.
Then my phone buzzes with an encrypted message from Tommy: Urgent. Found something critical. Need to meet NOW.
My stomach drops approximately six floors.
Alessandro is in the library with me, supposedly studying but actually just existing in my peripheral vision like a very attractive security camera. He's been glued to my side all day—more than usual—like he can sense something's off.
Probably because something IS off, you absolute disaster.
I stare at Tommy's message, panic rising in my chest. I need to meet him. But Alessandro barely lets me breathe without supervision, let alone sneak off to clandestine meetings.
I take a breath. Commit to the lie.
"Alessandro?"
He looks up from whatever he's pretending to read. "Mm?"
"I need to go to the library. The main campus one." I inject just the right amount of stress into my voice. "I have this massive paper due for Corporate Finance—Professor Martinez—and I need access to the databases. The restricted ones only available on the fourth floor terminals."
Alessandro studies me for a long moment, and I force myself to maintain eye contact. Look sincere. Look slightly panicked about academic deadlines like a normal university student who definitely isn't planning treason.
"What's the paper on?" His voice is casual, but his eyes are sharp.
Shit. He's testing me.
"Market equilibrium theory and its application to modern corporate restructuring." I don't even know if that's a real topic, but it sounds sufficiently boring and academic. "Five thousand words. Due Friday."
Another beat of silence where I'm certain he can hear my pulse hammering.
"I'll drive you," he says finally.
My stomach sinks like the Titanic, but with less romantic music. "That's really not necessary—"
"I said I'll drive you." Not a suggestion.
Twenty minutes later, we're pulling into the main library parking lot, and I'm frantically trying to figure out how to salvage this disaster.
Alessandro parks, kills the engine, and starts to get out.
"Wait—" The word comes out too fast. "I need complete quiet. Like, monastery-level quiet. The fourth floor study rooms are perfect, but..." I pause, going for slightly embarrassed. "You're too distracting. If you're there, I won't be able to concentrate."
It's not even entirely a lie. Alessandro is catastrophically distracting under the best circumstances, let alone when I'm trying to commit academic fraud while betraying his entire family.
He turns to look at me fully, and I can see him weighing whether to believe me. His eyes search my face like he's trying to solve a particularly complicated equation where one variable is "probability Sofia is lying" and the other is "how much do I actually care."
The silence stretches. I maintain eye contact. Force myself not to fidget.
Please buy this. Please buy this. Please—
"Two hours," he says finally. "Then I'm coming in."
Relief floods through me so fast I feel lightheaded. "Thank you. I promise I'll be focused. No distractions."
"You better be." But something in his tone makes my skin prickle. Like he knows something's off but can't quite place what.
I grab my bag and practically sprint toward the library entrance before he can change his mind or develop sudden psychic abilities.
Don't look back. Don't look back. Just act natural—
I risk one glance over my shoulder. Alessandro is still in the car, watching me through the windshield with an expression I can't quite read.
Then I'm inside, and I immediately abandon all pretense of heading to the fourth floor. Instead, I weave through the stacks toward the back exit—the service entrance that leads to the loading dock where Tommy said he'd be waiting.
My heart hammers so hard it's basically providing its own percussion soundtrack to this terrible life choice.
The back door opens with a heavy click, and cool evening air hits my face. The loading dock is shadowed, lit only by a single flickering overhead light that's clearly given up on life.
Tommy is there, pacing like a caged animal. When he sees me, relief crosses his face.
"Finally. We don't have much time—"
"I know." I'm breathless, adrenaline making my hands shake. "Alessandro gave me two hours. What's so urgent?"
"The financial records you sent." Tommy pulls out his phone, starts scrolling frantically. "I've been digging into them, cross-referencing with other documents we have, and I found something strange. Really strange. There's a pattern in the payments that doesn't match De Luca's usual—"
Headlights.
Sudden and blinding, flooding the loading dock like we're about to be abducted by aliens.
Except it's not aliens. It's worse.
Alessandro's car.
Oh no. Oh no no no no—
Time does that thing where it simultaneously speeds up and slows down, like reality can't decide if it wants to be helpful or just fuck with me completely.
Tommy freezes mid-sentence, his face going pale in the harsh light.
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything except watch as the driver's door opens with terrible, deliberate slowness.
Alessandro gets out.
And his expression is absolutely, catastrophically murderous.
He doesn't rush. Doesn't yell. Just stands there beside his car, and the controlled fury radiating off him is somehow more terrifying than any explosion would be.
His eyes lock onto mine across the loading dock, and even from here, I can see the betrayal underneath the rage.
I trusted you, that look says. And you lied.
My heart stops completely. Or maybe it's beating so fast it just feels like stopping.
Tommy takes a step back, his hand twitching toward his pocket—toward a weapon, probably—but I shake my head frantically. Don't. Don't make this worse.
Alessandro starts walking toward us, every step measured and precise, like a predator who knows his prey has nowhere left to run.
The fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting everything in harsh, unforgiving shadows.
And I stand frozen, watching my entire mission, my entire cover, my entire fucking life collapse in real-time while the boy I—
No. Don't finish that thought. Don't you dare.
But it's too late.