Page 121 of Filthy Dirty Dom

"Thank you, Luca," Alex murmured. “For everything. I’m sorry. About Nico. If it wasn’t for me—”

“Don’t go down that road again, Alex. It’s an insult to Nico, just as it was to Mia. They both cared for you. Mia loved you, even if you didn’t love her.”

Alex jerked back. How the hell had he known that?

“You treated Mia the way a husband should treat his wife, Alex. She was happy for the short time she had you. But I always knew she wasn’t the one for you. This Leslie, it seems she might be.”

“She is,” he said firmly.

“But…”

“What are you asking?”

“You’re not going to let yourself have her, are you?”

Alex looked at Leslie, who was smiling. He smiled back.

“I have to go, Luca.”

“Of course, Alex. Just remember what I said. Mia loved you. She wouldn’t want you to live your life alone because of the guilt you feel for what happened to her. Mia was of the life. She knew it was a risk, forsaking the family, even if none of us could have predicted how far it would go.”

With that, Luca hung up.

Alex stared at the phone before setting it down.

“Luca’s got things under control again. He made a deal with the Russians. We can go home.” It was a bittersweet announcement. They had found something special here, but it was time to return to their lives, their reality.

Leaning in, he kissed her, slow and soft. "Start packing what you want," he instructed, "I'm going to go talk to Father Alessio. Let him know."

Before he left, he told Leslie to lock the door behind him. She’d already started throwing her stuff into a bag but nodded. He left and shut the door behind him.

The monastery was quiet as Alex walked in the direction of Father Alessio’s room. His footsteps echoed around him as he made his way down the stone corridor, each footfall seeming to reverberate throughout the building.

Then he heard it—a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It took him a moment to place it, the strange gurgling noise, like water pouring slowly from a bottle.

He quickened his pace, rounding a corner, and stopped short.

Father Alessio lay on the floor in a pool of dark, spreading liquid. He had been stabbed, a blade protruding grotesquely from his chest. Another wound, deeper, and more fatal, was visible at his throat. His eyes were wide open, staring vacantly at the ceiling, and his lips moved weakly as if he was trying to say something, but only weak, choked sounds were coming out.

"No," Alex whispered, the word a soft gasp of horror. He rushed to Father Alessio's side, his knees hitting the cold stone floor with a thud. "No, no, no," he repeated.

But even as he watched, Father Alessio's eyes glazed over, the light fading from them. His lips stopped moving, and the gurgling sound ceased, replaced by a heavy, dreadful silence.

The realization hit Alex like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and reeling. Father Alessio was dead.

The man who had dedicated his life to helping others, who had offered them refuge and solace when they had needed it the most, was gone.

The sight of Alessio's lifeless form, the blood still seeping from his wounds and pooling beneath him, sent a sickening sense of déjà vu through Alex.

Father Alessio. Stabbed.

Nico. Stabbed.

Mia. Stabbed.

He remembered Mia’s laughter, her voice, her touch—the essence of her that still lingered in the corners of his mind. Yet the strongest memory of her was the most painful one.

He had found Mia, her body sprawled across the polished hardwood floor. Her usual vibrance was replaced by a ghastly pallor, her eyes, once full of warmth and love, stared blankly at the ceiling. She was beautiful, even in death, but the sight of her lifeless body had felt like a knife twisting in his heart.

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