Chapter Nineteen – Cracks in the Mirror
896 Words
Alessia hadn’t slept. Her thoughts spiraled in all directions, running between what Dante said, what Massimo did, and the pull in her heart that made everything harder than it should’ve been. She had barely finished brushing her hair when her burner phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She hesitated, then picked up.
> “This is Agent Lyle. Your backup has arrived. Meet me at the fountain in an hour. You’ve been compromised.”
Her blood ran cold.
Backup? Without clearance?
She grabbed her jacket, heart pounding. The agency never acted without briefing her. Something was off.
---
The man at the fountain was tall, in a grey hoodie and jeans, standing too casually for someone working black ops. He didn’t look like much, but Alessia knew the type. Silent. Efficient. Deadly.
“You’re Lyle?” she asked, stopping a few feet away.
He turned, smiled faintly. “And you’re the agent sleeping with the target. Impressive, really. Took long enough for HQ to figure out you’ve gone soft.”
Her jaw tightened. “I didn’t ask for backup.”
“And HQ didn’t ask for your opinion. Your cover is blown, Alessia. They’re pulling you out.”
“No,” she said quickly. “Give me a few more days. I’m close. Massimo is slipping—he’s opening up.”
Lyle stepped closer, lowering his voice. “This isn’t about Massimo. This is about you. You’re a liability now. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it from here.”
She saw it then—in his eyes. Disdain. Hunger for the mission. No emotional connection, no understanding of the tightrope she was walking. If Lyle took over, he’d destroy everything—including Massimo.
And maybe her.
---
Later that night, Alessia sat at her computer, eyes scanning through the files Lyle had brought as “evidence.” Her hands shook as she opened one labeled CONFIDENTIAL: MASSIMO FALCONE / OPERATION BLACK SANDS.
There—her parents' names. Connected to a hit. Her heart stilled.
"Massimo...?"
She couldn’t breathe. The file suggested he ordered the hit. Paid for the silence. There was even a blurry photo of her mother near one of Falcone’s old warehouses. It didn’t make sense. She remembered that day. Her mother wasn’t even in Italy.
The memories clashed with the cold, typed words.
Everything she had buried—the grief, the confusion, the desperate need for closure—came crashing back. And suddenly, Dante’s warnings didn’t seem like lies anymore.
She grabbed her phone.
“Dante,” she said when he answered.
“I’m here.”
“Do it. Take him down. Start whatever you need to.”
A small pause.
“I didn’t think you’d ever say those words, piccola arma mia.”
Her stomach turned at the nickname. Little weapon. He still saw her as his tool, his creation.
But right now, she needed him.
“I’ll feed you everything I can,” she said. “Just make sure it’s quick.”
---
The next day, she sat beside Massimo in his car. He was quiet, holding her hand, tracing lazy circles on her skin as they drove through the hills near his villa. He spoke about the new land deal, about wanting her to help him run some of the foundations he was setting up.
She smiled, nodded—while fighting back the tears.
How could he be so soft? So warm? And yet... behind that softness, had he killed her parents?
When he looked at her, she looked away.
He noticed.
“Alessia,” he said. “You’ve been somewhere else all day. What is it?”
She hesitated. “Nothing. Just... tired.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “I know you better than that now.”
Her stomach twisted again. He did know her. He made her feel known. Safe.
And yet.
---
That night, she watched Lyle from the shadows near the estate’s west gate. He was already making his move. Fast. Too fast. He had a device in hand—some kind of signal disruptor. Maybe trying to breach Massimo’s system.
“Damn it,” she whispered. If he got in, he’d ruin everything.
She stepped behind him silently. He didn’t even hear her coming. One hand to his shoulder, the other holding her small blade to his side.
“Stop,” she hissed. “Now.”
He froze. “What the hell—Alessia?”
“You were never meant to take the lead,” she said. “You’ll blow my cover.”
He turned his head slightly. “Or maybe you’re not on our side anymore.”
She shoved him back roughly. “Get out. Go back to HQ. Tell them I’m still in control.”
“And if I don’t?”
Her blade pressed a little harder. “I’m not asking.”
He stared at her, then slowly stepped away, raising his hands. “You’re making a mistake.”
“I’ve made plenty. I’ll live with one more.”
---
Back in her room, Alessia stared at the folder again. She scanned the metadata. Something was off. Too many gaps. Fake file extensions. It hit her then—this wasn’t real intel. It had been planted.
By Dante.
Rage boiled inside her. He’d used her pain, her past, to control her. To manipulate her. To push her against Massimo.
And it had worked.
For now.
- Writer
