Vivid and Unhidden

Dangerous Waters (1)

The heavy oak doors of the villa slammed with enough force to rattle the antique vases in the foyer. Alessandra, now sixteen, stormed in with her school bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, her uniform skirt deliberately rolled higher at the waist than school regulations permitted.

"Bad day, I take it?" Sophia looked up from the book she was reading in the sunlit parlor, marking her place with an elegant finger.

"I hate that school. I hate everyone in it." Alessandra dropped her bag on the marble floor and collapsed dramatically onto the sofa opposite her tutor. "And I especially hate being Matteo Ricci's ward."

Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Something specific happened today, I presume?"

"Greta Visconti's birthday party. Everyone's invited except me." Alessandra pulled at a loose thread on her sweater. "Her father told her she's not allowed to associate with the 'Ricci girl.' Apparently, it's common knowledge what Matteo does for a living." She looked up at Sophia with fierce eyes. "Why didn't you tell me he's in the mafia? That he's some kind of... criminal?"

Sophia closed her book completely, choosing her words carefully. "It's not my place to define Signor Ricci's business to you."

"So it's true then." Alessandra's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "All those 'business meetings.' The men with guns I've seen around the property. The way people look at him—at us—when we go out." She stood suddenly, pacing the room. "No wonder no one wants to be my friend. I'm practically contagious."

"Not everyone feels that way," Sophia said with a knowing smile. "If I recall, a certain young man in your literature class seems quite... undeterred."

A blush crept up Alessandra's cheeks despite her attempt to remain angry. "Marco is an idiot."

"An i***t with excellent taste in jewelry," Sophia countered, her eyes twinkling. "That ruby rose pendant he gave you last week was quite remarkable. Actually, I was reading about those stones—apparently they were part of a rare collection auctioned at Sotheby's just last month. Someone paid a small fortune for them."

Alessandra's hand went unconsciously to her neck where the pendant usually rested, though she'd been careful not to wear it home. "How did you know about that?"

"Little happens in your life that I don't eventually learn about, cara." Sophia's tone was light, but Alessandra knew what went unsaid—that Sophia reported to Matteo, always had.

"Please don't tell him," Alessandra said quickly. "He'll just overreact."

"Tell whom what?"

The deep, accented voice from the doorway made both women start. Matteo stood there, earlier than expected from his "business" in Rome, his dark suit immaculate as always, his expression unreadable as he looked between them.

"Nothing," Alessandra said too quickly.

"Alessandra was just sharing some school troubles," Sophia interjected smoothly. "Nothing to concern yourself with."

Matteo's gaze lingered on Alessandra, taking in her defiant posture and the school uniform she'd modified to reveal more of her legs than he considered appropriate. Something flickered in his expression—disapproval certainly, but something else that made Alessandra's skin warm.

"Sophia, would you excuse us?" Matteo said, his eyes not leaving Alessandra.

The tutor nodded, gathering her book and casting a sympathetic glance at Alessandra before leaving the room. Once the door closed, Alessandra dropped back onto the sofa, deliberately sprawling in the unladylike manner she knew irritated him.

"How was Rome?" she asked with forced casualness.

"Productive." He moved further into the room, setting down his watch. "What school troubles?"

"Nothing. Just the usual. No one wants to be friends with the mafia princess." She watched his face for a reaction. "That is what they call me, you know. When they're being nice."

Matteo's jaw tightened. "Children can be cruel."

"Not children. Parents. Teachers. Everyone knows what you are, Matteo. Everyone except me, apparently." She sat up straighter. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Tell you what, exactly?" His voice remained calm, controlled.

"That you're some kind of... godfather. That people are afraid of you. That the reason I have bodyguards at school isn't just because you're overprotective—it's because you have enemies."

Matteo moved to the bar cart in the corner and poured himself a drink. He didn't offer her one, though they both knew she sometimes drank wine with dinner now. "My business is complicated, Alessandra. I've never hidden that from you."

"Import-export. Real estate development. Banking interests." She recited the cover stories she'd heard for years. "All lies."

"Not lies. Partial truths." He took a sip of his whiskey. "The world isn't as simple as your classmates' parents would have you believe."

"Is it true you have people killed?" The question burst from her, bold and reckless.

His eyes darkened, but he didn't look away. "Is that what this is about? Or is it about the boy who gave you the ruby necklace?"

Alessandra felt the blood drain from her face. "How—"

"Marco Alberti. Son of Judge Alberti—a man who has spent his career trying to build cases against families like mine." Matteo set down his glass with deliberate care. "A seventeen-year-old boy who has suddenly taken interest in my ward, giving her expensive gifts that a student couldn't possibly afford on his own."

"He likes me," Alessandra said, her voice smaller than she intended. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"What's hard to believe is his father allowing him to pursue the ward of Matteo Ricci unless there was something to be gained." His voice had taken on a dangerous edge. "The rubies in that necklace were purchased by the mother of Judge Alberti who has been investigating my operations in Palermo."

Alessandra stood, her hands trembling with anger and something else she couldn't name. "Not everything is about you and your precious 'business.' Maybe he just likes me for me."

"You will not see him again," Matteo said flatly. "And you will return the necklace."

"You don't get to decide who I see!" Her voice rose. "I'm sixteen, not a little girl anymore."

"As long as you live under my roof—"

"Then maybe I don't want to live under your roof!" she shouted. "Maybe I never asked to be taken in by a criminal!"

Something flashed in Matteo's eyes—hurt, quickly masked by anger. "You have no idea what I've sacrificed to keep you safe, to give you everything your mother would have wanted for you."

"My mother?" Alessandra laughed bitterly. "My mother killed herself in front of dozens of people. She obviously didn't care what happened to me. And neither do you—you just want to control me."

"That's enough," he warned, his voice dropping to that quiet register that usually made his associates pale.

But Alessandra was beyond caution now. "I'm going to Marco's date on Saturday. I'm going to wear the necklace he gave me. And there's nothing you can do about it."

"There is everything I can do about it," Matteo said, closing the distance between them in two swift strides. He towered over her, close enough that she could smell his cologne and the faint trace of whiskey on his breath. "You seem to have forgotten who I am."

"Your pet project? Your charity case?" She tilted her chin up defiantly, refusing to be intimidated by his proximity, even as her heart raced. "Or just a replacement for my mother since you couldn't have her?"

His hand shot out, gripping her wrist—not painfully, but firmly enough to make his point. "You know nothing about your mother and me."

"I know you were in love with her," Alessandra said, watching his expression carefully. "Sophia let that slip years ago. Is that why you took me in? As some twisted way to possess a piece of her?"

Matteo's grip tightened momentarily, his eyes darkening with an emotion Alessandra couldn't quite name. "Your mother was my mentor. My teacher. Nothing more."

"Liar." Alessandra twisted her wrist free, stepping back. "I've seen the way you look at her paintings. And sometimes—" She stopped, suddenly uncertain.

"Sometimes what?" His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper.

"Sometimes I catch you looking at me the same way." The words hung between them, dangerous and electric.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You're confused."

"I'm not a child!" She was nearly shouting again. "I know what I see. I know when a man—"