Page 29 of Alessia
My pulse quickens as I skim through. There’s a name I recognize, someone prominent, someone whose face is on the news almost daily. And next to their name? A series of photos, emails, and a single, chilling note: “Not compliant. Potential problem. Resolution pending.”
I shove my chair back, my breath coming faster. The weight of what I’ve uncovered is pressing down on me like a vice. She controls everything. She has her hands in every pocket of the city. There’s no escape from her, not without consequence.
And then, I see it, the folder labeled Hitlists.
My fingers tremble as I open it. My heart pounds in my ears. A series of documents pop up, each with a name, a photo, and a status. Ongoing. Confirmed. Eliminated.
My mind races, trying to piece it all together. The shipments, the leverage, the legal manipulations. It all forms a terrifying picture. Alessia’s world isn’t just dangerous; it’s unstoppable. The reach of her family extends beyond what I ever imagined, and yet, she had let me in, even when she didn’t have to. Even when she shouldn’t have.
As a nurse, I’ve sworn to preserve life, to do no harm. But what I’ve uncovered is the opposite of that oath. People have died, people will continue to die, because of this family. I should be disgusted. I should run and never look back.
But I don’t. Instead, I think of Alessia. The way she moves through the world with confidence, her sharp mind, her undeniable presence. She isn’t just a part of this world, she rules it. And somehow, despite everything, she had pulled me into her orbit. I know that if I walk away now, I’ll never see her again. Never understand the full depth of what she’s offered me.
A life outside the lines.
I take a shaky breath, my decision solidifying. My morals are screaming at me to leave, but my heart, my very soul, tells me otherwise. I could be afraid, or I could take control. I close the folder, my hands steady now. I know what I’m choosing.
I standfrom the chair and walk out of the office in search of Alessia.
I need to talk to her. I need to ask her if this is all she wants, all she can be.
I find her in the living room, reading a book , a glass of red wine is standing on the coffee table. She looks rather peaceful considering I just went through her entire digital empire.
“I’ve seen what I needed to see.” I say, her shoulders tense up before she lays down the book and stands to face me.
“I guess that we’re done now?”
“I don’t know yet. I have one more question to ask you actually.”
“Which is?”
“Is this all there is to you? Are you really only this world?”
“What do you mean?”
“I kind of find it hard to believe that this is all there is to you.”
Alessia lets her eyes focus on the floor and doesn’t respond. I walk over to her and take her hand.
“If I’m in , if I become a part of your world , I want to understand who you are. All of you, not just the parts you let people see. You don’t have to hide from me, Alessia. I want to know about the things you keep tucked away, the stuff that’s yours and yours alone.”
Her hand feels cool against mine, and I sense the weight of her hesitation. For a moment, the room is filled only with the soft humof the street outside and the slow beat of my heart. She stands still, her eyes still trained on the floor as though the very act of meeting my gaze would require too much of her.
I wait, patiently. I know she’s a woman of few words, but there’s a depth to her silence that speaks volumes.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she looks up, her blue eyes locking with mine. There’s something fragile in her expression, something raw, but she doesn’t look away.
“You think you can handle it?” she asks, her voice softer now, tinged with something I can’t quite name.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I want to try. I want to know all of you, even if it’s complicated or messy.”
She exhales, a quiet sound, as though she’s weighing my words. She takes a step back, pulling her hand from mine, and sits back down on the couch. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve pushed too far. Maybe I’ve asked too much too soon. But then, slowly, she pats the space beside her.
“Come sit,” she murmurs.
I take a seat next to her, close but not too close. The air between us is thick, but the tension has shifted. There’s a vulnerability in her now, a softness that wasn’t there before, and I can see it in the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the way her fingers play with the edge of her sleeve.
“It’s not easy,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Being me. Being the person, you see. There’s a lot more to me, a lot more I’ve had to learn how to keep hidden. I’ve had to bury parts of myself to survive, to fit into the world that demands so much. It’s… exhausting.”
