I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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"Good morning."
Alessandro didn't look up. He just stood there, leaning against the railing, cigarette burning between his fingers, watching the smoke curl up into the cold morning air like it held the answer to whatever was eating him.
"Morning," he finally grunted.
I wrinkled my nose as the wind blew a fresh cloud of smoke directly into my face. "I need to run to the store. The landlord's been complaining about the basement door sticking again."
He took another slow drag, letting the silence stretch. Then he flicked the stub over the railing and straightened. "I'll take you."
"Should I throw on a bulletproof vest too, or are we just running errands?"
His eyes cut to me. "You done?"
I winked at him. "For now."
I went back inside and got dressed fast. Gray wide-leg wool pants. Black sweater. Ankle boots. I twisted my curls into a loose bun and grabbed my coat, not bothering with the mirror. Alessandro had seen me look worse.
He was waiting by the front door when I got downstairs, neat and composed like he'd been standing there for hours instead of minutes. Patience personified.
The Rover slid into a space outside the bookshop and I reached for the door handle before the engine even died. Alessandro beat me to it. He snatched the keys from my hand and pushed past me into the shop.
"Wait here," he said over his shoulder.
I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it. Something in his posture stopped me. This wasn't his usual need for control. This was something else.
I watched through the window as he moved through the aisles, checking every corner, every shadow, every space big enough for a person to hide. When he finally nodded, I stepped inside.
I made my way down to the basement, my eyes going straight to the door. The lock was mangled and twisted, the wood around it splintered.
"Alessandro!"
He was at my side in seconds, his gaze landing on the damage. "Someone forced it." He said it under his breath. Then he was moving again, checking the back room, the storage closet, the bathroom upstairs.
I followed, my pulse hammering. That's when I saw it. A faint red blink above the entrance. Tiny. Almost invisible.
"Alessandro." I pointed at the clock mounted on the wall. "There's something up there."
He climbed onto the armchair, tore the clock down, and pried the casing apart. A small camera dropped into his palm. Wires and plastic and that little blinking light, still recording.
He crushed it in his fist.
"That sick son of a bitch." His hand closed around my arm, steering me toward the door.
