FORBIDDEN DESIRES (The La Legge di Sangue Law)

The golden trophy gleamed under the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windshield. I couldn’t stop staring at it, placed carefully on the passenger seat of my mother’s old Ford like it was the most precious thing in the world. Because right now, it was. International Young Chef of the Year. My name was engraved on the base in elegant fonts, Alessia Alexandro. I’d done it. After years of culinary school, after countless sleepless nights perfecting techniques, after burning myself more times than I could count, I’d actually won. The competition had been fierce, chefs from twenty different countries, most of them from five star hotels and some where more experienced that I am in both career and in age, But I’d won. The first, youngest to win the international culinary award competition in history My hands trembled slightly as I gripped the steering wheel, a smile so wide it hurt spreading across my face. I needed to tell someone. Needed to share this moment with the people who mattered most. I fumbled for my phone, nearly dropping it in my excitement as I pulled up Mom’s contact. The phone rang twice before her weak voice answered. “Alessia? Sweetheart, is everything alright?” Even through the phone, I could hear how tired she sounded. The heart tumor had been stealing pieces of her strength for two years now, each day seeming to take a little more. But I pushed that worry aside, just for this moment. She deserved some good news. “Mom, I won!” The words burst out of me like champagne from a shaken bottle. “I actually won the competition! I’m the International Young Chef of the Year!” Silence on the other end, then I heard it. A sob, small and choked with emotion. “Mom? Are you crying?” “Happy tears, baby. Happy tears.” Her voice cracked, “I’m so proud of you. Your father would be so proud.” My throat tightened at the mention of Dad. He’d been gone for three years, a heart attack that took him too suddenly, too young. He never got to see me graduate from culinary school, never got to taste the dishes I’d created, never got to see this trophy. “I wish he was here,” I whispered. “He is, sweetheart. He’s watching. I know he is.” She paused, and I heard her take a shaky breath. “When will you be home? I want to see that award in person.” I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Three-thirty. “I’m going to visit a friend first, tell them the news. Then I’ll be home. Should be there by dinner time.” “A friend?” There was a knowing lilt in her voice. “Would this friend happen to be Marco?” Heat crept up my neck. “Maybe.” “Tell him I said hello. And Alessia?” Her voice softened. “I love you. So, so much.” “I love you too, Mom. I’ll see you soon.” I ended the call and set the phone on the car seat, my smile returning full force. Marco. God, I couldn’t wait to see his face when I told him. We’d been dating for a year and a half, and even though things weren’t always perfect, he’d been supportive of my culinary dreams. Mostly. The drive to his apartment took twenty minutes through city traffic. Marco lived in one of the nicer parts of town, an area I could never afford on my own. His father was wealthy, really wealthy. If you ranked the most powerful men in the city, Marco’s father would easily be in the top five. Real estate, investments, connections that ran deep through the city’s infrastructure. Marco worked at his father’s company, he was the heir and only son, so apparently he had to show his father how hardworking he is, and how he would handle things in his father’s absence. I tried calling him three more times on the drive over, but each call had gone straight to voicemail. That wasn’t unusual. He often got caught up in meetings, or claimed his phone died, or simply forgot to check it. I’d learned not to take it personally. The sun was lower in the sky when I pulled up to his building, a modern complex with glass balconies and a doorman who always looked at my mother’s old Ford like it might contaminate the parking lot. Marco’s sleek black Mercedes was in his usual spot, which struck me as odd. He should be at work. It was Thursday, barely four pm, His father’s company didn’t let out until six at the earliest. I frowned, cutting the engine. Maybe he’d come home sick? Or taken the afternoon off? I grabbed the trophy, cradling it carefully as I climbed out of the car. The doorman nodded at me mockingly, dislike plastered all over his face. I’d been here enough times that he recognized me, but he never quite managed to hide his disapproval of my secondhand clothes and lack of designer accessories. The elevator ride to the eighth floor felt longer than usual, my excitement mixing with a strange flutter of anxiety in my stomach. Something felt off, though I couldn’t put my finger on what. The hallway was quiet, and soon I was in front of his door, I reached out for the door handle but paused when I noticed that the door was ajar. Not wide open, but definitely not closed. My hand froze mid-air. Marco was obsessive about security. He had three locks on this door, a deadbolt, a chain, and the regular lock. He always made sure his doors were well locked. He’d never leave his door open like this. A cold feeling settled in my chest, replacing the warmth of my earlier excitement. I pushed the door open slowly, wincing when it creaked. “Marco? Are you home?” No answer. I stepped inside, and that’s when I saw it. A scrap of red fabric on the floor near the stairs leading to his bedroom. I bent down, my hand trembling as I picked it up. Lace. Red lace. Women’s underwear. But not mine. I didn’t own anything like this. The only red underwear I had was cotton, comfortable, nothing like this delicate, expensive-looking piece. My heart started to pound, each beat echoing in my ears like a drum. No. No no maybe I’m just overthinking things. Maybe it was left over from before we started dating. Maybe it had been there for months and he just never noticed it. Maybe I just wanted this to be a lie so bad but A sound cut through my desperate rationalizations. A moan, high-pitched and unmistakably female, coming from upstairs. “Oh my God, Marco!” I knew that voice. I’d know it anywhere. We’ve been friends since high school. Best of friends and everyone knew. Thats My best friend, Lia. “Right there, don’t stop!” Her voice was breathy, desperate, filled with pleasure. Marco’s voice responded, muffled like his mouth was occupied with something other than speaking. “I’m gonna make you forget your name, Lia.” The trophy almost slipped from my numb fingers, but I caught it before it hit the ground. “You are the woman I would spend my life with.” Marco’s voice again, clearer now. “Don’t leave me.” “I’m not going anywhere,” Lia responded, her voice trembling with emotion. Though I was shaking with all emotions , anger, pain, betrayal and disappointment, my legs moved on their own, carrying me toward the stairs. Each step felt like I was walking on broke bottles, Part of me screamed to turn around, to leave, to preserve whatever dignity I had left. But I had to see. Had to know for sure. The bedroom door was open. Of course it was. Why would they bother closing it when they thought they were alone? The sight that greeted me would be burned into my memory forever. Lia was on the bed, her legs bent at the knees, feet planted on the mattress, thighs spread wide. Marco was between them, his face buried in her, his hands gripping her hips as he ate her out with an enthusiasm I’d never seen him show for anything involving me. I’d asked him, once, if he would do that for me. He’d looked disgusted, told me it was gross, that no self-respecting man put his mouth on a woman like that. Too messy, he’d said. Too intimate. But here he was, devouring my best friend like she was his last meal. Lia’s head was thrown back, her dark hair spread across the pillow I’d slept on countless times. Her hands were in his hair, holding him against her, and the sounds coming from her throat were primal, desperate. I watched, frozen, as her body started to shake. “I’m coming, I’m coming, oh God, Marco…” Her back arched off the bed, and I saw liquid gush from her, coating Marco’s face as he moaned against her, his tongue still working as she squirted into his mouth. He licked her up eagerly, his hands holding her thighs open as she convulsed through her orgasm. The golden trophy I’d been so proud of moments ago crashed to the floor. They both jumped, scrambling apart like teenagers caught by parents. Lia grabbed a sheet, trying to cover herself. Marco’s face was wet, glistening with her, his eyes wide with shock. But not guilt. I couldn’t believe the first words that came out of my mouth “I thought you said eating a woman out was gross, Marco.”