Chapter 5 Inside The Italian House

A woman in a housekeeper’s uniform sprints out of the house. She looks to be somewhere in the late 60s, early 70s range, but I could have no idea. There’s a smile on her face that’s a mile wide, and I can’t help but return it.

She’s babbling in Italian a mile a minute as she runs (actually runs) down to where Anne and I are standing. My Italian being what it is, I only get about every fourth word, but from what I gather, she’s the housekeeper that’s been with the de Rossi kids for a long time, and she’s beyond thrilled to have Anne here.

“Um. Thank you?”

Her bright green eyes turn to me, and her face wrinkles into an even bigger smile. I stand stock still as she grabs my face and layers even more kisses on my cheeks.

Continuing to pour rapid fire Italian on me, she grabs me by the elbow and drags me into the house.

Meekly, I follow.

She may not be related to Alessandro and Amara, but in my heart, I know that being welcome like that can’t be a bad thing.

Maybe I’ll have an ally to find my way out of this mess after all.

Amara finds us after about an hour.

Anne is awake, her bright laughter ringing like a bell through the kitchen at Nonna Francesca (as she insists we call her) as she makes something that smells good involving noodles and chicken.

When Amara walks into the room, Nonna Francesca erupts into another chorus of Italian and another onslaught of kisses, and Amara laughs and squirms under her attention. She finally manages to wiggle away and comes to sit by Anne and me.

“So, I see you’ve met the welcoming committee.”

Nonna Francesca beams, then returns to her cooking.

“Is this the Nonna you were referring to?” I smile at her.

Amara shakes her head. “No, I like this one. She recognizes that I’m never going to be a good cook and cooks for me instead.”

“Well, that does seem a little more accurate.”

“Yeah,” Amara sighs, inhaling the air. “And she’s right. I’m a terrible cook.”

“I doubt you’re terrible at anything, Amara.”

“Alyssa, is that a compliment?”

I duck my head shyly. “Just a little one.”

“See, I knew I liked you!” she flings her arms around me and I laugh. Anne decides to join in, wiggling between us, and we all giggle together.

It’s a nice moment. Light. Easy.

So at odds with the terrible way we’ve arrived at this place.

We eat the food, then Anne’s drowsy again, so I follow Nonna Francesca to one of the spare rooms. With her help, we tuck Anne in. I’m just finishing a kiss on her forehead when I hear heavy footsteps outside in the hall.

I ignore him.

I linger just a minute longer, looking at my sweet girl, tucked neatly into her sheets. I pull back and walk slowly out of the room.

There’s no missing Alessandro now.

He looms in the hallway, staring at the door. “She is sleeping during the day?”

“Jet lag. Also she hasn’t quite grown out of naps yet, and it’s been a really crazy day. She’ll adjust.”

“I see,” he says solemnly.

I awkwardly start to walk down the hall. I have nothing to say to Alessandro. The way that he snapped at me earlier is still fresh in my mind, and now that the immediate need of getting Anne somewhere safe has passed, I’m remembering it again.

No one tells me to shut up. Not my brothers, Not Alessandro.

No one.

“Alyssa,” he calls out.

I don’t stop.

“Alyssa,” he says again, louder.

I ignore him again, moving with purpose toward the kitchen. Mentally, I’m making a list of the things that Anne and I are going to need. Clothes, some toothpaste, a toothbrush…

“Alyssa,” Alessandro booms.

I wouldn’t turn, but I feel his hand on my elbow.

Faster than I would like, I spin. “What?” I snap.

“Do not walk away from me,” Alessandro rumbles.

I fold my arms. “Or what?” You’re a monster.

The words I threw at him earlier hang between us. On my side, it’s a dare. I arch an eyebrow, daring him to do it. Hurt me. Grab me.

Prove me right.

Alessandro is fuming. His jaw works, his throat moves as he swallows something that looks like anger.

But he didn’t like that I called him a monster.

And he’s keeping that top of mind as he stares at me right now.

“Or what, Alessandro?” I repeat. I shift, tucking my arms closer together. The movement makes the thin t-shirt that I’ve been wearing stretch over my chest.

Something familiar spikes in Alessandro’s eyes.

Heat.

The way my body responds is instant.

My breathing becomes shallow, my skin hot, and there’s a shiver of arousal that runs over my body, arching up my spine like an electric current. My eyes drift down to Brady’s lips, then quickly dart back up when I hear him make a deep note in his throat.

I want him to kiss me.

The thought absolutely terrifies me. I don’t know what it is about Brady that makes me so weak, but I know one thing.

I can’t let him affect me like this.

I have to get out of his orbit.

I hiss out a breath and I back up until I hit the wall of the hallway behind me. Alessandro prowls forward, his eyes never leaving mine.

When the wall appears behind me, Alessandro braces one palm flat next to my head and leans forward. Jesus. He still smells good. This close, Brady is overwhelming. There’s just so much of him. Broad shoulders, dark stubble on his cheeks. His perfect kissable lips. The way his hair, which is a little disheveled from the travel, falls into his eyes. The smell of him. Bay and cedar. It’s all too much. I feel like my senses are drowning, underwater in a sea of Alessandro. I need to get away from him.

I shut my eyes. “Back up,” I whisper.

My voice shakes, and I’m so mad at myself for it. But the hand beside my head disappears, and I can finally breathe again. I make an effort to not gulp in fresh air. However, I can’t help taking a few steadying breaths before I open my eyes again. Alessandro is staring at me with curiosity, but he doesn’t move forward.

“I am not a monster, Alyssa.”

I snort. “Okay.”

 “Why are you so quick to think that?”

“Maybe the fact you murdered my parents,” I snap.

Darkness, like a summer storm, clouds his eyes. “And you think I killed mine too?”

To inherit the company faster? Yes.

“I don’t know anything about that,” I say, turning my head.

There’s silence for a minute longer. Then, Alessandro speaks again.

“How do I deserve it?”

My eyes snap back to his. “What?”

“Being Anne’s father. How do I deserve it?”

You can’t ever get there, Alessandro. “I don’t know. Show up. Be there. Be kind. Be a good fucking parent.”

“And what if I don’t know how to do that?”

“Learn, Alessandro. I had to. You can too.”

“But you will not help me.”

“No.”

I don’t provide any additional context. I don’t reassure him.

I don’t want to. I don’t plan to. If I have my way, Alessandro won’t ever have the chance to be her father.

We will be long gone from here, and there won’t be anything that he can do to find us. Because when I leave him this time, I’m going to make sure it’s somewhere that no one will follow. Not Alessandro. Not my brothers.

Anne and I will escape and never come back.

Alessandro studies me a minute longer then sighs. “Fine. Let me show you to your room.”

My heart skips a beat. My room? There’s no way in hell that I’m sleeping in another room and away from Anne. “I’m here. This is my room.”

He frowns again. “Your… our… Anne is in there.”

“And she’s my daughter. So we stay in the same room.”

I can tell that Alessandro doesn’t understand this answer. I arch an eyebrow at him. “Did you think that I was going to share a room with you, husband?”

I make the last word sound like a curse.

“I can afford for Anne to have her own room.”

“It’s not about you being able to buy her a room, Alessandro!” I whisper shout at him, conscious of my sleeping child in the room behind me.

“I already bought it. I didn’t buy it for her. I’m not breaking your rule.”

“Oh, for the love…” my voice trails off as I figure out what Alessandro is trying to say. “You think this is like the swimming thing?”

“Isn’t it?”

I sigh. “No, Alessandro. No, it’s not.”

Alessandro frowns. “She can have any room she wants.”

“We will stay in the same room,” I assert again.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you, and I will not be separated from my child while we’re here in your nest of vipers. Do you understand now?”

Alessandro’s face darkens. I prep myself for another round of bullying, but to my surprise, he hisses out a breath instead.

He turns back. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine. But,” his lips turn up in a slow grin that makes my blood heat. “If I give you this, you must also give me something.”

My heart slams in my chest. The lust in his eyes makes me feel like the ‘something’ he wants is something…

Hot.

“What do you want?” I whisper.

“I have to earn the right to be Anne’s father?”

“Yes,” any of the lustful thoughts I had are gone, quickly doused by his mention of my child. “Yes, you do.”

“Help me earn it. And I will treat you like…” his voice trails off.

I wonder what he was going to say. A queen? A whore? A wife?

“Like you are not a Russo,” he finishes.

Well.

That seems like the bare minimum.

“Why should I?” I whisper.

His eyes lock with mine. “You stole my daughter from me, Alyssa. I do not owe you anything. You owe me. But I am not a monster. I know that in order to earn Anne’s love, I must find a way to work with you as well. So, I offer again. If I give you something, you will give me something in return. Understand?”

My words are caught in my throat. I nod instead.

“Good,” he turns on his heel and clicks down the hall.

Leaving me, spiraling in his wake, behind.

XXX

Alessandro de Rossi POV

I do not see either Alyssa or Anne until breakfast the next day.

Breakfast, of course, is more than just that. It is a large affair, that I insist will be held in the formal dining area. With a full breakfast spread, courtesy of Francesca.

Like a goddamn family.

Alyssa and my truce feels shaky but stands still. It kills me that I have to sit across the table from my child and not claim her as my own. It kills me that I have to earn my place as her father.

It kills me even more that I’m playing along with this.

I’m the first in the dining room. I sit and wait.

The minutes tick by.

Francesca brings out a glass of cold water. No ice, of course. I’m not so American that I have to have ice in every single one of my beverages.

But I do insist on the water being cold, at least.

A drop beads on the outside of my fine Venetian glass, and I watch it slip downwards as the water slowly becomes room temperature.

Where the hell are they?

Just when I’m about to get up to find my errant wife and child, Alyssa’s voice echoes in the hallway.

“I don’t know if they’ll have French toast, baby. But maybe we can tell Nonna Francesca that’s your favorite breakfast, and she can make it for you for a special treat.”

I snort. I will make a note to tell Francesca, and Anne can have French toast every day for breakfast if she wishes.

Whatever that is.

They appear in the dining room. Luna breaks into a big smile. “Mr. Mommy’s friend!” she says with a wave. “Are you here for breakfast too?”

I nod. “I am.”

“What’s your favorite?” she chirps as she climbs up to a chair at my right-hand side.

The fact that she has come so close to me without anyone forcing her to do so makes my heart do something that feels uncomfortable.

“I prefer French toast,” I say with a completely straight face.

I have never eaten French toast in my life. As far as I know, the French eat toast the same as anyone else in the world. I think that she’s referring to bread that’s been soaked in milk and eggs, which I have always called pan dulcis. It is often made for children, or for babies who are just learning how to stomach food.

However, I haven’t a single memory of eating something of that nature. I probably have. Most of my childhood is a blur to me, and someone likely made it for me at some point in time.

I just haven’t been a child for so long. Even when I was a child, I was not a child.

I feel a small amount of guilt at lying to the child’s guileless face.

However, the glow that illuminates Anne’s face is worth the small white lie.

“I love French toast!” she shrieks, the emphasis on love so high-pitched that it could shatter glass. She squirms in her chair, standing on it to look at me. Her small hands rest on my shoulder as she leans in. “Do you eat a lot of syrup on it?”

“Anne. Your butt goes in a chair. Feet go on the floor,” Alyssa chides.

Dutifully, Anne follows her mother’s instructions. “Sorry Mommy. Can I have French toast now?”

“We will see what Francesca makes,” Alyssa says firmly.

Anne’s lower lip juts out, trembling slightly. “But…”

“We’re guests. What do guests do?”

“Try everything once,” Anne sighs like she’s on the bad end of a business deal.

A smile teases at the edge of my lips. Despite Anne’s obvious displeasure, she’s handling the disappointment well.

Francesca brings our food then. She’s made a platter of cornetti, similar to a croissant, as well as some sliced meats and cheeses. Coffee, of course, for Alyssa and me.

She smiles at Anne, giving her a cup of hot chocolate. Francesca ruffles Anne’s hair and kisses her on the head, then heads back to the kitchen.

Anne gives the cornetti an apprehensive look. “What is that?”

“Cornetti. Look, Francesca fills it with something for me,” I say with a smile, breaking one open. Sure enough, this one is filled with Nutella.

Anne’s eyes go big. “Mommy can I have it?”

“Sure. Let me know what you think,” Alyssa says demurely.

I glance at her, but her eyes are downcast.

“Here,” I put the cornetti on Anne’s plate. Delicately, she nibbles at some of the pastry, then dips it in the Nutella. She turns to Alyssa again. “Mommy this is like a birthday cake for breakfast!”

Birthday.

“When is your birthday, bambina?”

XXX