Chapter Eighteen — Torn Lines
742 Words
Alessia’s POV
The moment Alessia stepped out of Dante’s penthouse, her body sagged with the weight she had been holding in. Her breath came out in short, sharp bursts as she made her way down the empty hallway. The city lights outside blurred behind her watery eyes. The cold air of the elevator did little to cool the heat building inside her. Shame. Anger. Fear.
He had called her a weapon. Cold. Controlled. His.
She hated that part of her—the one that had accepted this life. The part that had nodded and agreed when the agency trained her to manipulate, seduce, and lie in the name of justice. But this—this was different now.
Because Massimo wasn’t just a mark anymore.
As soon as she stepped into her car, her phone buzzed again. Same message. Her handler.
> “Alessia. Pull out. This is spiraling. We’ll reassign someone else. You’re compromised.”
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t just tangled in the mission. She was tangled in Massimo. His world. His touch. His secrets.
And even worse—he had touched something in her no one else ever had.
She swallowed the panic, pressed her forehead to the steering wheel, and whispered to herself, “You’re still in control.”
But she wasn’t. Not fully.
---
Back at Massimo’s estate, the lights were dim, casting golden shadows over the marble. It was past midnight, but he was awake, seated on the edge of the balcony outside his room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes lifted when she entered—searching her face for something. She tried to give nothing away, but he saw too much.
"You're late," he said softly, setting the glass down.
“I know,” she replied. “I needed air.”
“You were with him.”
It wasn’t a question.
Alessia froze mid-step. He had always known about Dante. Not everything, but enough. He had never pressed for details, perhaps out of respect, or maybe because he didn’t want to admit the truth to himself.
“I needed answers,” she said quietly.
Massimo rose, walking to her slowly. “And what did he give you in return? Threats? Reminders of who owns you?” He touched her chin, lifting her face to his. “You don’t belong to him anymore, Alessia. If you ever did.”
She swallowed hard. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.” His voice dropped. “But I’m not blind. You’re scared. Of him. Of what this all means.”
He moved closer. “But I need to know... am I just a target to you? Or something else?”
Alessia’s heart slammed against her ribs. She wished she could lie. It would be easier. But her silence answered him louder than words ever could.
Massimo’s expression shifted—darkened—but not with anger. With something raw. Pain. He leaned down, his mouth brushing her forehead, gentle. "If you’re in danger because of me, I’ll fix it. I’ll burn everything down to protect you.”
Alessia closed her eyes. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why? Because you’re afraid it’s real?”
---
Later that night, she lay in his bed, curled against him, both of them half-dressed, not speaking. Massimo’s hand rested over her hip, firm but calm. Like he was reminding himself she was still there.
Her mind ran wild. Dante knew. The agency was watching. Every kiss, every breath, every confession—every second of her with Massimo was a step deeper into betrayal. Yet she stayed.
She felt Massimo press a soft kiss against her shoulder, and she shifted slightly, meeting his gaze.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
The words hit her chest like a hammer. She blinked slowly, then gave the only honest answer she had left.
“I want to.”
Massimo nodded, as if he understood more than she said.
“I want you to show me everything,” she said. “Your world. Your truth. All of it.”
He gave a slow, dangerous smile. “Are you sure, cara mia? Once you cross into my world, there’s no safe way back.”
She touched his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I crossed a long time ago.”
- Writer
