Page 12 of Beautiful Evidence

I close the door again and hesitate, then unhook the chain and open the door wide. My shoulders are slumped in defeat as I say, "Come in." I step aside with hesitation still prickling my spine, but knowing my father sent him gives me a bit of reassurance. A violent friend is better than an unknown enemy. If he's here to protect me from whoever it is my father thinks may come after me because of this case, he can do his job better from in here.

He steps inside without comment. I close the door behind him, relock it, and place the gun back in the drawer. His eyes followthe motion, then sweep across the entire room before landing on me again.

"You always keep that loaded?" His voice is quieter now, gaze dropping to the drawer as I close it with a firm hand.

"Always. You know who my father is." I turn back toward him slowly, letting the implication land where it needs to.

He nods like that makes perfect sense, which only pisses me off. I don't need further confirmation about why he's here or what my father asked of him.

I could be rude and park him on the sofa while I go shower, but I decide it's only polite to offer him a drink. So I walk to the fridge and pull out a bottle of chilled wine, then snag two glasses and fill them. "If someone wanted to scare me, it worked." I keep my tone flat, even as I lift the cold rim of the glass to my lips while extending the second to him.

"You think that was the goal?" He tilts his head slightly, watching me with a stillness that makes me feel seen and cornered all at once. As he takes the glass, his fingers brush over mine and again, I remember the delicate way he touched me. It makes me cradle my cheek unconsciously, and his eyes trace the movement.

"No. I think they wanted in and failed. They just didn’t expect me to notice." I lower the glass to the counter and lean back, crossing my arms over my chest while I watch him sip his wine.

He folds his arms and leans against the wall. It makes his biceps push out under the tight-fitting shirt and my eyes threaten to bulge in my head. "Your father would never allow anyone to hurt you." He says it like a fact, not for comfort, and I catch myself before I snort with laughter.

I nod. "I know." I exhale slowly and blow away the frustration of that admission.

"And I wouldn’t let it happen either." His gaze doesn’t shift from mine, and it catches my attention. I study him carefully for a moment, noticing a softness in his expression that wasn’t there before. "Whatever else I am, I’m not your enemy." He leans forward just slightly, enough to close some of the space but not all of it.

"Not yet." I say it without heat, but not without warning, letting it hang between us like a challenge.

He gives a short, humorless smile. "Fair." His mouth twitches, the closest thing I’ve seen to a smile that wasn’t tactical.

I sip the wine again and stare at the edge of the counter. There’s something about him that throws me off balance. He watches everything, says little, and yet I don't actually feel like he's spying on or stalking me.

"You can sit if you want," I say, motioning to the chair across the room. I keep my tone neutral and my posture relaxed, though my pulse hasn’t slowed since he arrived.

He pulls it out and drops into it, forearms resting on the table. "You reran the tox screen." He doesn’t ask it like a question. He already knows the answer and is only testing how much I’ll admit. I drop into the chair next to him, unaware of how close it really is until our knees brush and he notices it.

I lift my chin as I take another swig and ask, "How do you know that?"

"Because you want answers, Alessia." He folds his hands together on the table next to where he sets his wine.

"And what do you think I found?" I keep my gaze on him, watching for the smallest flicker of reaction across his face.

He doesn’t answer. I let the question hang between us, unfinished. I'm not about to divulge my secrets, but I'm not foolish enough to think men like him can't access some of them.

It’s late. My limbs ache. The weight of everything I’ve uncovered presses hard against my skull, but I don’t ask him to leave because deep down, I feel safer knowing he's here, even if my father did send him.

He doesn’t offer to go, either—probably creepy under normal circumstances, and Chiari would smack me silly, but I want him here. I want to sleep tonight.

Whatever tension remains between us isn’t sharp. It doesn’t come with teeth. It hums beneath the quiet like something waiting to be acknowledged.

"I'm going to shower. You can help yourself to more wine." Standing, I slurp the rest of my glass and leave it on the counter. "And there are a pillow and blanket in the hallway closet, but you probably know that, don't you?"

My question is meant to bait him into admitting he was the one who was in my apartment, but he just lowers his chin and looks up at me through hooded eyes as I walk away, leaving me to wonder if I'm going insane.

At least I'll feel safe enough to sleep. That's what I have to keep telling myself.

8

VINCENZO

Ipour another half glass of wine and carry it with me down the hall, feet silent on the hardwood. I think about the man I’ve become in the years I’ve worked this life—how easily I follow people, get into their homes, learn their habits, and justify all of it as protection. Alessia isn’t stupid. She knew I wasn’t just checking on her, but she let me in anyway. Not because she trusted me, but because she calculated the risk and made peace with it. That says more about her than it does about me.

I open the linen closet and grab a pillow, then the folded throw blanket from the top shelf. It still smells faintly like her laundry detergent she uses which I smell on her every time I've been near her. I barely register the thought before I shake it off and close the door.

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