Page 108 of Accidental Alliance

“Why should I trust you?” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “You disappeared from my life the night I needed you most. What makes this time any different?”

His eyes close just for a second. The words hit him harder than any slap could have. I see it in the way his expression tightens, in the way his throat works as if he has suddenly swallowed glass.

Alessio bruised his face, but I have found the tender spot beneath the bone. When he opens his eyes again, they are softer than I am expecting.

That terrifies me. Cruelty would be easier. Arrogance would give me something to hate without complication.

If he sneered, lied, if he wrapped himself in that familiar Conti pride and demanded my deferment, I could reconcile with that.

But this?

This quiet remorse of a broken man pressing his face almost imperceptibly into my palm like he has been starving for this tenderness he has no right to ask for?

This is far more dangerous.

“I know I’ve hurt you…” Elio closes his eyes again, and this time, he does not hide from what he wants. He nuzzles against my palm with such quiet, devastating surrender that my heart fractures straight down the middle. “I am sorry, Isabella. For everything. I truly am. You have every reason to hate me.”

For one unbearable second, we are not enemies. We are not a Russo and a Conti fighting on opposite sides of the table. We are not the abandoned woman and the man who left. We are only two people standing in the wreckage of what we might have been if our families had not gotten in the way before we found happiness.

“You don’t have to forgive me.” His eyes open. The eyes still know how to undo me. The grief in them is ugly and human, wretched enough to feel real. “But please… let me help you end this.”

My heart pounds so hard, I feel sick with it.

I want to believe him. That is the worst part. After everything… some ruined little piece of me still wants to let his apology mean something.

I rip my hand away before I can forgive him and take every word of vitriol I’ve hurled his way back. I turn away from him quickly, pressing one hand to my mouth as my fingers tremble against my lips.

I will not cry in front of him. I will not let him see that the apology has touched a raw part inside my chest. I will not give him the satisfaction of knowing there is still a part of me stupid enough to ache for him.

I head for the door without another word. My hands are slick with sweat when I reach for the handle. For one horrible second, I fumble with it like a frightened girl instead of the strategist I am trying so desperately to be.

The metal slips beneath my fingers, forcing me to tighten my grip and pull it open.

Cooler air spills in from the hallway.

Davide is already waiting outside. He stands a few feet away with two guards posted behind him, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. He does not ask what happened. He simply waits while I step through and pull the door shut behind me.

The soft click of it closing feels far too final.

I sag back against it, giving myself just this one moment of weakness before I gather myself. I drag in one breath, then another, each one ragged enough to scrape my throat. When I finally speak, my voice sounds steadier than I feel.

“I think he’ll be useful.”

Davide’s face does not change, but his expression tightens.

I force myself upright, peeling my body from the door as if I can peel away the moment that just happened too from my soul.

“As long as we keep him isolated, we can use him against his family.”

Davide’s expression grows grim. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

A humorless laugh almost escapes me. As if danger has not already moved into my life, eaten from my table, slept under my roof, and learned my son’s name.

“I know.” I turn to face him fully. “Having the Conti underboss under our roof is the best insurance we have right now. He knows their structure and their weaknesses. He knows how his father and brother think, who they trust, who they own. If we can use this opportunity to our advantage, we can crush the Contis before they make another move against you.”

The strategist within me rises to the surface once more, dragged out of deep water and forced to breathe in fresh oxygen. My heart is still a mess inside my chest and my palm still tingles from the feel of Elio’s face resting in it, but none of that matters now.

“We can use that to our advantage as long as he’s kept secured,” I continue. “No phones. No unsupervised conversations. If he is truly here to help, he will tolerate it. If he isn’t, we find out quickly if this is some kind of distraction and will deal with him accordingly.”