Page 21 of Beautiful Evidence

VINCENZO

Alessia doesn’t argue when I take her by the elbow and walk her to my car. There’s a tightness in her jaw, a sluggishness in the way she moves. And her eyes still dart around in fear, which tells me she was really terrified by what happened. I have to look into Leo and where he's at. My gut tells me he's curled up in an alley somewhere bleeding out or already dead. Those fuckers don't mess around.

We drive mostly without words. Rome passes by in streaks of gold and shadow. There isn't much traffic due to the time of the evening, but it's busy enough to give me pauses to glance over at her more than I should. She doesn’t look out the window or fidget. Her posture stays rigid, unmoving. She clutches the coat around her like armor, holding it closed as if it can shield her from everything.

"I thought they were going to grab me," she says eventually with a hollow tone. Her eyes stay fixed on the dashboard, but I watch her bottom lip quiver. "I’ve never been that scared before. Not even when I saw the window broken." Her fingers curl tighter around the belt of her coat.

Comforting someone isn't my strongest quality. I'd like to think I could manage it, but I remain quiet and listen instead. I've been trained to react through violence as a means of self-preservation and defense. Softer things aren't my style.

"It hasn’t left me yet," she adds. "That feeling. Like they're still waiting." She exhales slowly, like she’s trying to bleed the tension from her chest.

I shift my grip on the wheel and keep my eyes on the road. That, I understand. The feeling of always looking over your shoulder because someone is hunting you. We have that in common.

When we get to her building, I kill the engine and get out. When I open her door, she starts to argue, but I shut it down with a glare. "I'm going in and checking things." I step past her without waiting for permission, and she follows me toward the building. My proximity sensor beeps and I hear her hurried steps as she tries to catch up and keep up.

She unlocks the door and lets us in. The apartment smells like her botanical shampoo. I walk through each room, silently check the closet doors, the windows, the bathroom, and under the bed. I find nothing. The threat must've been only external tonight, but it doesn't make me feel any better about it. If Leo just flaked, I'm gonna tear his throat out.

"Happy?" she says when I return. She stands with her arms crossed, chin lifted like she’s trying to prove something.

"You called me because you felt scared," I remind her. "If I’m overstepping, say so. But don’t act like I wasn’t needed." I meet her eyes, daring her to challenge the truth of it.

"You’re not a bodyguard, Vincenzo. You don’t have to—" She cuts herself off, frustration tightening her jaw.

"You didn’t call a bodyguard. You called me." I don’t raise my voice, but my tone stops her cold.

It shuts her up long enough for me to start heading for the door. But when my hand rests on the knob, I hear her whimper and I look over my shoulder.

"Don’t go," she says suddenly. "I don’t want to be alone." Her voice is quieter now, the edges softened with something raw. Her frustration with me bleeds into desperation to be in control, and while she cannot control me—and she fucking knows it—she has me wrapped around her finger.

I stop and turn fully around, smirking. "Why?"

She steps closer, arms still wrapped tightly around herself. "I feel safer when you’re here." She looks at me then, and for once, she doesn’t try to hide the desire. Maybe it's just to have my strength so she can sleep knowing I'll kill whoever tries to get at her, or maybe she wants me for me—because there is an electricity that crackles between us.

And it’s not the words that hit me. It’s the honesty in them. The way her voice doesn’t crack, but it wants to. The way her shoulders are still stiff with words she's not ready to say to me yet.

I hold her gaze for a long moment, reading her face the way I would a threat—carefully, thoroughly. Then I take off my coat, hang it on the back of a chair, and walk back into the apartment.

Turning to face her, I see the uncertainty in her eyes, a mixture of gratitude and something else that I can't quite name. I push the thought aside and focus on what's important. Keeping her safe.

"I'll check the locks one more time," I say gruffly, doing my best to maintain a barrier between us. But as I inspect each window and door, I'm acutely aware of her presence behind me, like an electrical current between us. This isn't like me. I never let a mark get under my skin. But Alessia is different.

When I've finished securing the place, I join her in the living room. She's perched on the edge of the couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her coat is still draped around her shoulders, and she shivers, though I don't know if it's from the chill in the air or something else entirely. "Why don't you change into something more comfortable?" I suggest, trying to divert her attention from her earlier admission. "I'll make us some coffee."

Alessia hesitates, then nods sharply and disappears into her room. I take this opportunity to check the door one last time, making sure it’s locked before drawing the blinds. I don't trust whoever it was that harassed her earlier tonight, and I'm determined to keep her safe.

But before I get to the kitchen, I hear movement behind me and she’s wearing a soft red robe, cinched at the waist with a matching belt. She pads into the kitchen barefoot and sighs. “I don’t think I should have coffee. I won’t sleep.” Her movements seem robotic, but I give her space.

“Then wine?” I ask, and she nods, moving toward a cupboard on the far end of the kitchen. The curve of her ass is accentuated by the way the robe hugs her hips, and my eyes drink her in. When she stretches up to reach an overhead cupboard but can’t quite make it, I walk over and reach it for her. Our bodies are so close I can smell her shampoo, and she doesn’t pull away.

“Thanks,” she mumbles as I pull two wine glasses out and set them on the counter. She reaches for one as my fingers brushover hers, and the electric charge between us is palpable. I remember the feeling of pinning her to her mattress and I crave more of it. So I don’t back away, not even when she pauses and turns, looking up at me. “What?” she breathes, but her heart is pounding. I watch her pulse in her neck throb.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, Alessia.”

Her cheeks flush crimson, and I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her shoulder. “Enzo, I?—”

“Shh,” I whisper, pressing a finger to her lips. “I’m not going to hurt you, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I was just paying you a compliment.”

Alessia’s lips grow dark with arousal as she reaches up and wraps her fingers around my wrist and pushes my hand down. “Who said I don’t want to?”

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