Page 34 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

Denver leans back with a slow exhale.

“I’ve seen him at rock bottom. When he first got here after their mom died, he was... wrecked. Angry. Grieving. Barely speaking English. He must’ve felt like Enzo just dumped him into some foreign school like he was someone else’s problem. But from what Dad told me, he wasn't coping well back home. Enzo must’ve felt like Alessio’s only option was to start fresh.Away from all the painful memories that reminded him of his mother.”

I blink.

Denver shrugs. "In a way he's like us. A kid trying to find a way to grieve the death of his mom. And it doesn't help that his father was navigating the same things he was."

I swallow the hard lump in my throat.

This is all news to me.

When our mother died, at least I had Denver. But Alessio...he was alone.

Denver shakes his head. “High school was brutal. Alessio got into fights. Skipped class. He fell into wrong crowd."

My chest tightens as I picture teenage Alessio. Lost. Hurt. Alone.

“That little shit even tried to start something with me. That's until I gave him a beating he wasn't going to forget." He combs his fingers through his hair.

"But even then, he had this look, like he was just trying to survive the next day. I tried to look out for him after that.”

This is a whole new light being shone on Alessio. A side of him he has buried so deep, it is hard to find anymore, apparently.

“Look, sis. He fucked up a lot. But he never stopped trying. And once you earn his loyalty?” He nods, eyes locked on mine. “He’s all in.”

That lands harder than I expect.

I look down at my coffee, swirling the contents.

Denver watches me for a beat, then adds softly, “Just be careful, Soph. I’m not saying he won’t screw up again. I’m saying... if he cares about you, he’ll fight like hell to get it right.”

His words lodge in my chest, heavy and hot.

I nod, but my throat is too tight to speak. Because part of me wants to believe that so badly it aches. That Alessio could be more than the chaos he shows the world. That beneath theswagger and the smirks, there’s a man worth the risk. That the flickers of vulnerability I caught are the real him.

But the other part, the one still nursing the scars from trusting the wrong men, curls inward, defensive.

I can’t afford another mistake. Not when everything is already on the line.

By the time I get back to the apartment, I’m already mentally preparing for the mess I’ll find. Dishes in the sink. A protein shake mess. Him without a damn shirt on.

I unlock the door and instantly smell it, the scent of his body wash and something vaguely burnt. Probably the remains of whatever culinary crime he committed trying to use the toaster again.

I drop my keys into the bowl and glance toward the living room.

Naturally, he’s sprawled across the couch like a smug Roman emperor, all bare chest and cocky, one arm slung behind his head like he’s posing for a damn cologne ad. Wearing nothing but those damn gray sweatpants that cling in all the wrong, or maybe right, places.

He has a smug expression on his face that says,what are you going to do about it,dolcezza?

“Seriously?” I toss my bag on the kitchen counter. “We wear shirts in this apartment, you know.”

“Correction.” Alessio eyes the screen, not a hint of shame in his voice. “You wear shirts. I prefer the freedom of going without. Since this is the only freedom I get for now, I guess.”

“Wh—”

The doorbell rings.

I freeze, eyes narrowing. “You expecting someone?”

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