Page 26 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

But just because I hate him, doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful for everything he's doing.

I glance around the apartment. The tension palpates from the walls.

It used to feel like a refuge. Now it’s a minefield. One wrong step, one wrong look, and everything could blow up.

And then there’shim.

Sharing this space with Alessio Marchetti is a special kind of punishment. Because no matter how many times I remind myself he’s a walking headline, a chaos bomb in designer shoes, I can’t seem to stop noticing the moments where he’s not the man I thought he was. The cracks in that reckless façade of his.

That’s the real danger.

It’s late afternoon, and I’m lounging at the kitchen island, no bra, no plans, just caffeine and damage control on the agenda.

I decided to cancel all appointments and meetings today after the incident in the lobby.

The sunlight pours through the windows, warm against my bare legs.

I cradle my second cup of coffee, skimming the email E had sent me days ago, on my tablet. I swivel on the bar stool when footsteps sound behind me.

Alessio strolls in like he's lived in this apartment longer than I have, shirtless, sleep-tousled hair, that permanent smirk carved across his face. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his obliques and that maddening V that disappears into fabric barely doing its job.

For a moment, my breath stalls, my heart skittering in my chest, as if trying to escape the heat building inside me.

Damn you, hormones, get your shit together.

His eyes rake over me slowly. Too slowly.

“You always dress like this for strategy meetings?” he drawls, reaching for a mug like this is the most natural thing in the world.

My breath catches. Shit.

I remember my own rule. No wandering around half-naked.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I hug the coffee closer to my chest, as if it can somehow protect me from my own hormones.

But my voice lacks bite. It sounds breathy. Weak.

And the worst part? He knows it.

That smirk deepens. “Not flattering myself. Just taking notes. Seems we’re both bad at following rules.”

My cheeks burn.

I hate how self-conscious he makes me feel. I hate even more how my body doesn’t seem to give a damn what my brain is screaming.

Because if I’m not careful, this, him, us, whatever this pull is between us, might become a bigger threat than any Bratva enforcer.

I manage to wrench my gaze away from him and focus on the tablet again, this time swiping through files for the upcoming charity gala.

“About that event…” He settles into the barstool across from me like we’re just coworkers going over logistics and not... whatever this is.

“You think it’s a trap?”

I raise a brow. “You tell me. It’s your favorite flavor of chaos.”

He actually laughs, low, gravelly, warm.

“Nikolai’s not like the rest of them.”

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