13

13
Alaric’s POV.
The night was thick, heavy with an intensity that clung to the air like smoke. Our meeting with the Salvatore syndicate had been tense from the moment I walked in. It should have been a quick discussion, a negotiation to remind them where their limits were. But it looked and felt like they had other plans. As I looked around, my senses alert, I could feel their eyes on me-calculating, waiting. I knew what that meant. A fight was coming, and I welcomed it.
It happened fast. A flash of movement, a clinking of a gun being drawn. I dropped to the floor just as a bullet whizzed past my head, embedding itself in the wall behind me. That was it. My men and I sprang into action, returning fire in a hail of bullets that filled the air with the deafening sound of gunshots.
I moved through the chaos, focused and precise, my gun an extension of my arm. I knew how this would end. These men-loyal to a family with no loyalty to themselves-were just a hindrance, and I did not like hindrances of any sort at all. They didn’t have the skill, the experience, or the nerve to keep up. The sharp tang of gunpowder filled my nose as I took down another man, my focus narrowing to the single task of ending this conflict.
“Alaric, cover your right!” Allesio’s voice came through the din of gunfire, his tone clipped yet calm. He was in the thick of it, as always, watching my back while taking down anyone foolish enough to challenge him.
I nodded, pivoting to my right just as another attacker lunged at me. A quick shot, and he was down. But it didn’t stop there. For what felt like hours, but could have been only minutes, I fought, anger taking over me at the thought that these bastards had it in mind to betryay me.
Eventually, it was over. The floor was littered with bodies, the scent of blood sharp in the air. My men and I had ended them. The Salvatore family had been taught a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget, and I made sure that those who remained standing knew this was only the beginning if they dared to step out of line again.
When it was finally silent, I took a breath, my chest heaving. I was bloodied and bruised, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t win. And now it was time to go home.
The drive back was quiet. Allesio, sitting in the passenger seat, occasionally shot me a look, his eyes lingering on the cuts and blood staining my shirt. I ignored him, focusing on the road, my mind already drifting to the comforts of home. Or, at least, the relief of not having to be constantly on guard.
When we pulled up to the house, I stepped out of the car, the adrenaline from the fight fading and leaving a dull ache in its place. My shoulder throbbed. The knife had come too close. I was lucky it didn’t hit anything vital. I’d bandage it up later. Right now, all I wanted was a stiff drink and a moment to catch my breath.
As I made my way inside, it felt like I was finally having a breath of fresh air. I barely took two steps before I saw Emilia coming down the hallway, Francesca in her arms. She was leaving the kitchen, her face relaxed until her eyes landed on me.
She froze, her expression shifting to one of shock and then concern. Quickly, she turned, her hand coming up to shield Francesca’s face as she hurried her back down the hall, away from the sight of me-blood-streaked and bruised.
“Let’s go to your room, Francesca,” she murmured softly, her voice calm despite the stiffness in her steps. “We’ll play with your toys there.”
I watched them go, a strange feeling settling in my chest. Emilia’s instinct to protect Francesca from seeing me like this, the way she shielded her without a second thought-it struck me in a way I hadn’t expected. Shaking off the thought, I continued down the hall, heading for my office.
Once inside, I poured myself a glass of whiskey, the burn of it washing through me as I sank into the chair. I allowed myself a moment to close my eyes, the exhaustion from the night catching up with me.
A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up, expecting Allesio or one of the men. Instead, it was Emilia.
She stepped inside, hesitating just a fraction before speaking. “I thought… I could help with your wounds,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “If you’d let me.”
I was tempted to refuse, to tell her that I didn’t need help. But something in her expression stopped me. She looked tense, looking worried and I couldn’t bring myself to refuse her. Reluctantly, I nodded, gesturing for her to come closer.
“Fine,” I said, my tone gruff. “Do what you need to.”
She nodded, closing the door behind her before walking over to where I sat. She placed a small kit on the desk, opening it and pulling out gauze, antiseptic, and bandages. Her movements were careful, practiced, as though she’d done this a hundred times before.
As she dabbed at the cut on my shoulder with a piece of gauze, I winced, the sting sharper than I’d expected. She glanced at me, her eyes meeting mine briefly before she looked away.
“Hold still,” she murmured, her tone gentle but firm. “This will only take a minute.”
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stay still as she cleaned the wound. I wanted her to say something, anything, because I didn’t like this silence between us at all. I could feel her focus, the light touch of her fingers as she worked, the scent of her subtle perfume mingling with the antiseptic. It was… distracting.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “I could have managed on my own.”
She looked up at me, her expression unreadable. “I know,” she replied simply. “But it looked like you needed the help.”
I didn’t respond, unsure of what to say. Emilia went back to her work, wrapping the bandage around my shoulder with a level of care that surprised me. Her hands were steady, her touch gentle, and I found myself watching her, studying the way her brow furrowed in concentration.
When she finished, she stepped back, meeting my gaze again. “That should do it,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, feeling an odd urge to say something-to thank her, perhaps, or to acknowledge the tension that lingered between us. But the words didn’t come. Instead, I forced a nod, keeping my tone as steady as I could.
“Thank you,” I said, the words clipped, almost cold. “For the help.”
She didn’t respond, her expression remaining neutral as she closed the first aid kit and turned to leave. But as she reached the door, I noticed the way her shoulders were tense, the subtle stiffness in her movements. She was uncomfortable, tense even, and I couldn’t ignore the feeling that I was the cause of it.
Just before she stepped out, I called her name.
“Emilia.”
She paused, glancing back at me, her hand resting on the doorframe. Her expression was guarded, but I could see the curiosity in her eyes, the hint of something she wasn’t quite saying.
“I… I didn’t mean to startle you earlier,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. “With Francesca. I didn’t expect you to be there.”
Her gaze softened, just a fraction, and she offered a small nod. “It’s alright,” she replied, her voice steady. “I understand. I just… didn’t want her to see you like that.”
The honesty in her words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. Emilia seemed to sense this, because she gave a faint smile, almost as if to reassure me.
“I should go,” she said, her voice quiet. “Francesca will be looking for me.”
With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving me alone once more. I sat there, staring at the closed door, her words echoing in my mind. She didn’t want Francesca to see me like that. It was a simple statement, but it held a weight that I couldn’t quite ignore.
As I leaned back in my chair, everything that happened today, the meeting, the fight, replaying in my mind. But it was all gone now, all disappeared because of that brief moment with Emilia. The way her hands were gentle. The way she bandaged my wounds. The way her words were quiet but honest still.
For the first time in a long time, I felt something shift, an awareness that this woman-this quiet, stubborn woman who had walked into my life without warning-was more than just Francesca’s nanny. She was… different. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that, whether I liked it or not, things were changing.