𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗧𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵

33 - Fenice Ardente.

I approached the conference room door, already knowing Alessandro was likely inside. I knew he'd been holed up in there for days, obsessing over the hunt for Diego, his monstrous father. But when I knocked, there was nothing. I hesitated, then slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dark, thick with the lingering smell of cigarette smoke, as if he'd spent countless sleepless nights here. The stench of cigarette smoke hit me immediately, suffocating. Empty whiskey bottles, half-filled glasses, and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts littered the conference table. No one had been allowed in to clean up, that much was obvious.

My eyes landed on the desk, where files and pictures of places were scattered in a messy heap. None of them looked familiar, but I could guess what they were—locations, possible hiding spots for Diego in Italy. My gaze zeroed in on one photo pinned to the desk with a dagger: Diego's face staring up, sharp steel driven right through it. Alessandro's message couldn't have been clearer. Just looking at it made an uneasy chill settle over me.

I wanted to dive into those files, to see if Alessandro was any closer to catching up to Diego, but I held back. Instead, I turned my attention to the disaster zone around me. The place reeked of whiskey, cigarettes, and stale air; it needed airing out and a good scrub. I gathered up the empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays into a bag and headed downstairs to dispose of it.

Halfway down, I ran into Helena. She looked at the bag in my hand and gave me a warm smile. "Posso aiutarla? (can I help you?)" she offered.

"Grazie, Helena, (thank you, Helena)" I said, smiling back. "Sto proprio smaltindo questi, (just disposing of these)"

She took the bag from me with a knowing nod. "Me ne prenderò cura, (I'll take care of it)" she said. "Non lasciava entrare nessuno, nemmeno per fare le pulizie. (he wouldn't let anyone in there, not even for cleaning)"

I nodded gratefully and headed back up to the conference room, where I got to work. I opened the windows, let in some fresh air, and scrubbed down the table, setting the files in neat stacks on the desk. Just as I was about to finish, the door swung open, and Alessandro stood there, angry as ever.

He hadn't been around much these days, entirely wrapped up in his mission to find Diego. He'd been keeping to himself, practically living in this room, making calls to his men in Italy and coordinating a manhunt from afar. Now, his gaze flicked over the clean table and the organized files, the fresh air drifting through the open windows. His gaze swung back to me, hard and unreadable. He was still angry about me hiding that photo I'd found, still blaming me for Diego's escape.

He crossed the room in a few strides, his gaze burning into mine as he reached out, his hands cupping my face. I felt his anger like electricity. I was done with this silence, done with feeling like I had to justify myself constantly. I could feel him itching to kiss me, his eyes lingering on my lips.

"You still blame me for Diego's escape, don't you?" I murmured, leaning in, his hands still on my face.

"You kept things from me," he said, voice low and sharp. "I trusted you, and you broke that trust."