Page 20 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

“Nothing I can’t handle.” His voice is tight, the usual arrogance edged with something heavier.

His fingers flex once around the envelope before he shoves it into his back pocket, as if burying the fear along with the warning.

But his jaw is tight. His eyes darker than usual.

And I know, I'm in over my head.

6

ALESSIO

I shut the door with a solid thud, the sound echoing louder than it should.

My palm lingers on the handle, like holding it will somehow stop the storm I just let in.

The envelope weighs in my pocket. Ticking. Like it's waiting to explode.

Sophie stands a few feet back. Her arms are folded tight, her jaw set in that way that says she’s two seconds from snapping. Her eyes, sharp and demanding, slice through me.

“Who the hell was that? He looked Russian. Bratva, right?”

I don’t answer right away. I can’t. There's no witty or sarcastic comment to help deescalate this situation. To erase what she saw.

My brain’s still processing the man’s words, the way he looked at me. At her. Like we were already dead men walking.

My shoulders tense, breath caught halfway in my throat. A chill scrapes down my spine, cold and crawling, like I’ve juststared down a loaded gun and realized it’s aimed at her instead of me.

She steps closer, noticing my silence. Her voice softens, laced with something dangerously close to worry. “Alessio?”

My name sounds different coming from her lips. Like she’s scared but hoping I’ll give her a reason not to be.

“It’s fine,” I mutter, heading toward the hallway.

“It didn’t look fine. He knew where I live. Where I sleep.”

And where I’ve been sleeping just down the hall. Where I’ve been watching you walk around in those tight skirts like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.

“I’ve got it handled.” I keep my voice firm, but I'm lying.

Sophie might not have noticed, but there’s a crack in my voice.

Because, the truth? I don’t have a damn thing handled.

I stalk down the hall to my room and shove the door shut behind me, not bothering with the lock. It’s not protection I need. It’s control.

And I’m losing my grip on that fast.

The envelope is still in my pocket but feels fused to my skin.

I pull it out, sit on the edge of the bed, and tear it open, heart pounding hard enough to blur the edges of my vision.

Inside is another note. No handwriting this time. Just typed letters, spaced out with precision like they were designed to chill the blood.

No one is safe. We will always find you.

My jaw tightens.

This is the third warning, and it’s not subtle. The tone has changed, no more clever threats or ominous hints. This is direct. Deliberate. Dangerous.

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