Page 70 of Accidental Alliance

Both brothers are two sides of the same dangerous coin, tossed up into the air by fate as we all wait with bated breath to see which one it finally lands on.

“Some of them are dangerous,” I tell him, because that is the closest truth I can bear to give him at this point. “But I am going to keep you safe.”

His eyes search mine with complete trust. “Do you promise?”

I nearly break again.

“I promise.” Those words are a vow, a death sentence for anyone who tries to make a liar of me.

He throws his arms around my neck again, and I pull him close, tucking his head beneath my chin.

I run my palm over his back, counting each breath as it slowly steadies. Only then do my eyes lift and move to the camera in the corner of the ceiling watching us.

The familiar red light blinks slowly at me.

I stare at it.

He brought Matteo to me.

A dangerous thing, gratitude. It slips in quietly where hatred leaves the smallest crack in my armor, convincing me that things aren’t as bad as they seem to be. I hate him still.

That will never change. But I look into that red light and for one fragile moment, I do not think of the man who took Matteo from me but the one who gave him back.

My mouth moves before I can stop it, and I mouth, thank you. Then I bury my face in Matteo’s hair and breathe him in until I’m lightheaded.

I hold him until my arms ache.

14

ISABELLA

The days after that blur into a haze.

Elio’s touch still lingers on my skin like a brand—bruises on my hips shaped like his fingers, the faint ache between my thighs that reminds me every time I move how desperately our bodies craved each other even when our hearts are at war.

Since then, I avoid looking at the camera.

He hasn’t come back into the room since he gave me back Matteo. I try to not take that as a sign we’re being left alone and instead choose to prepare myself for what’s next to come.

I’m not naive enough to believe our business is finished. I know it’s far from over, especially since I know they have not gotten a satisfying answer out of me regarding Davide.

Matteo senses it too even though I try to shield him from the worst of my anxieties.

He watches me with those unnervingly perceptive eyes, asking few questions but absorbing every interaction I have with the guards who bring us food and water with the same kind of interest he’s inherited from his father.

“Are we in trouble?” he asks me once, curled against my side on the cot after our dinner meal, his voice small and quiet in the empty space.

I smooth my hand through his hair, fighting with myself to lie and tell him that I have figured out a way out of here.

I’m desperate to get his hopes up, to chase away that fear I can see still lingering in his gaze from being separated from me for so long. “No, baby. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

He tilts his head back to look at me properly. “Then why can’t we go home?”

The question hollows me out as my stomach gives a hard squeeze.

I already miss our little blue house with the porch flowers I always forgot to water and the fridge covered in school papers with their glowing remarks.

I miss the glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling I used to point to at night while he fell asleep, his soccer ball abandoned by the front steps that I nearly trip on running out to get to the mail, and his cleats kicked off by the door.