Chapter Thirteen — His Secret War
882 Words
Massimo’s POV
The room was quiet. Too quiet. Alessia lay beside him, her breathing soft and even, her skin still warm from their time together.
But Massimo couldn’t sleep.
His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He barely blinked. One hand gently rested on her waist, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. She was still here. With him. Trusting him.
And that was the problem.
He wasn’t the kind of man a woman should trust. Especially not a woman like her.
She was fire—strong, quick-witted, and way too clever. That first day she walked into his office, pretending to be just another secretary, he already knew something was different. She didn't flinch at his tone. She didn’t giggle or flirt like the others. She looked him straight in the eye and challenged him without saying a word.
That intrigued him.
But now it terrified him.
Massimo slid carefully out of bed, not wanting to wake her. He walked across the room and picked up his phone from the nightstand. One message blinked at the top of the screen.
“He knows. We need to talk. — Dante.”
Dante Morelli. His oldest enemy. The rival who had made it clear that this war between them wasn’t over.
Massimo clenched his jaw. He looked back at Alessia, asleep and peaceful. She had no idea the kind of storm she was walking into. No idea who Dante was to him. What Dante had done.
His mind flashed back to that night two years ago—the night his brother Marco was killed. Dante’s men had cornered him in a parking garage. They said it was business. That it was just another move in the mafia game.
But Massimo knew the truth.
It was personal.
And now Dante had seen her. At the club. He had smiled too much, looked too long at her. Massimo knew that look. It was the same look Dante had given to anything he wanted to destroy.
He wouldn't let that happen again.
Massimo walked over to the window, staring out into the dark city. His heart ached in a way that surprised him. He wasn’t used to feelings. He knew rage. He knew power. He even knew grief.
But love?
That was dangerous.
Alessia had crawled into a part of him no one ever reached. She didn’t just challenge him—she softened him. And softness in his world was a death sentence.
He rubbed his face with both hands and exhaled deeply. This wasn’t just about her anymore. This was about his empire, his past, and the war that was about to rise again.
But damn it, he couldn’t let her go.
She stirred behind him. He turned just in time to see her eyes flutter open.
“You okay?” she whispered, her voice still sleepy.
He walked back slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Yeah,” he lied.
She sat up, pulling the sheets over herself. Her brows furrowed. “You’re thinking again.”
“I always think.”
“I know,” she said, reaching for his hand. “But this one feels... heavier.”
Massimo stared at her for a long time. How did she read him so easily? She saw through him like glass. It scared him more than a loaded gun.
“I need to tell you something,” he said quietly.
She nodded, eyes locked on his.
But he hesitated.
If he told her the truth, he risked losing her. If he didn’t, he’d be the reason she got hurt.
He made a decision.
“I have enemies,” he started.
She raised a brow. “That much is obvious.”
He gave a weak smile. “No. Real enemies. Men who would burn this whole city just to hurt me.”
Alessia’s expression turned serious. She didn’t speak. She waited.
“One of them saw you. At the club.”
“Dante,” she said softly.
Massimo froze. “You know his name?”
She nodded slowly. “I didn’t mention it before, but yes. He introduced himself when you stepped away.”
His chest tightened. “What did he say?”
“He asked if I trusted you,” she replied. “Said you had more secrets than most graveyards.”
Massimo swallowed hard. That sounded exactly like Dante. Poetic threats dressed in smiles.
“And do you?” he asked, suddenly afraid of her answer. “Do you trust me?”
Alessia looked at him. Really looked. Then she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his. “Yes. But I know I shouldn’t.”
His eyes closed. Her honesty hit him like a knife. She was in danger now, just by being close to him.
“I’ll protect you,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied. “But can you protect yourself?”
That question hung in the air.
Massimo kissed her slowly, like a promise he couldn’t put into words. And as he pulled her back into the bed, wrapping her in his arms, he knew one thing for certain.
He would burn the world before he let anything happen to her.
Even if it meant becoming the monster he had spent years trying to bury.
- Writer
