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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Snow drifted outside in slow, heavy flakes, layering the world in silence so complete that it almost felt unreal.
I stood at the window, watching it settle across the grounds, untouched and cold, while my thoughts carried me back across oceans and years.
I remembered the glow of pine trees lit in gold, the smell of my mother's turrón, the sound of my father's booming laughter that filled every room of our house. A family steeped in blood and power, but still, somehow, wrapped in warmth.
Miguel and I had once darted around the Christmas tree, setting clever little traps for Santino and Pietro, chasing each other with wild laughter echoing through the hallways. Those rare moments of joy had held us together, illusions of innocence that allowed us to survive the uglier truths that lay all around us. I had clung to those memories more than once, as if they alone kept me from drowning in shadows.
I wondered what Alessandro's childhood had been like, whether Christmas meant anything to him at all or if it had been reduced to another ordinary day, swallowed by years that blurred together in darkness. It was difficult to picture him surrounded by the kind of warmth I had known, harder still to imagine him ever feeling it.
The house felt too quiet, an eerie quiet, but I hadn't forgotten what day it was. It was my first Christmas with Alessandro, and no matter how much the world tried to strip joy away from us, I wanted this one to mean something, something worth holding on to when darker nights came again.
That was why I pulled Melinda and Anna into helping with decorations, why Giada and Fico had searched endlessly for the perfect tree.
Fico had muttered curses every time the trunk leaned even slightly, straightening it with all the determination of a man who refused defeat. By the time he finished, it stood proud and glowing.
"How's it looking?" I asked, stepping back to admire the way the lights flickered.
"Almost finished," Melinda and Anna answered together, hands busy with the last ornaments.
From the kitchen, Giada's voice called, carrying warmth with it. "I made mint tea. Let's take a break."
The scent drifted through the air, soft and comforting. She pressed a warm cup into my hands, but before I could drink, she enclosed my fingers between hers. Her gaze held weight that went far beyond the words she spoke.
"I didn't believe we would celebrate Christmas this year, not after all that's happened. But here we are, and it's because of you, because of what you have done for us, especially for my son."
Her words struck deeper than she knew, and I had to swallow hard before I could answer her with the small squeeze of my hands against hers.
