Alessandro walks toward us with terrifying calm. Each step is deliberate, measured, counting down to something catastrophic.
"Sofia." His voice is deadly quiet. "Who is this?"
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again like a dying fish.
"I—this is—" Words. I need actual words. "This is Tommy. He's—"
"Old friend from the neighborhood!" Tommy jumps in, his voice way too enthusiastic for someone who looks like he's about to pass out. "Total coincidence running into each other here. Small world, right? Crazy how—"
"Is that true?" Alessandro's eyes never leave my face.
And here's the thing about Alessandro's eyes right now: they're not just angry. They're burning.
There's something possessive and dangerous swimming underneath the cold fury, and it hits me like a physical blow to the chest.
"Yes!" I nod frantically, words tumbling out in a desperate avalanche. "Yes, I—Tommy and I grew up in the same area, same neighborhood, we've known each other since we were kids, and I didn't know he'd be here, I swear, we were just catching up, just talking about old times—"
"You lied to me."
The words cut through my explanation like a knife through butter. Or through my increasingly flimsy cover story.
"About the library." He takes another step closer. "About needing to work on your paper. About everything."
"No, I—the paper is real, I just—"
"You snuck out the back to meet him." Another step. Now he's right in front of me, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The way he says 'him' drips with something dark and possessive. "Don't insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise."
My pulse hammers so loud it's probably registering on seismographs three states away.
"Alessandro, please, it's not—"
"Not what?" His voice drops even quieter, and somehow that makes it more dangerous. "Not what it looks like? Because it looks like my maid—my maid—lied to my face so she could sneak off and meet some guy in a parking lot."
The emphasis on 'my' sends heat crawling up my neck despite the terror.
"It's not what it looks like," I try desperately. "Tommy really is just a friend, we weren't doing anything wrong, we were just—"
"Rule Two." Alessandro's hand comes up, and I flinch instinctively, but he just holds up two fingers. His jaw is so tight I can see the muscle jumping. "You don't lie to me. Ever. Remember?"
"I wasn't—"
"You snuck off to meet another man." The words come out low, controlled, but there's violence underneath. "After I specifically asked where you were going. After I drove you here. After I—" He stops himself, but his hands curl into fists. "Don't make this worse by lying again."
He reaches out and grabs my arm—not painfully, but firmly enough that I gasp—and starts pulling me toward his car.
"Wait—Alessandro—"
"Hey man—" Tommy makes the mistake of trying to intervene. "We were just—"
Alessandro rounds on him with explosive violence. Tommy stumbles backward.
"Walk away." Alessandro's voice could freeze hell. "Now. Before you become a problem I need to solve."
The threat hangs in the air, crystal clear.
Tommy's hand is halfway to his pocket, but his eyes meet mine.
I shake my head slightly. Don't make this worse.
For one horrible moment, I think he'll argue.
But then he backs down.
"Sorry, man. Didn't mean trouble." He holds up both hands, backing away. "See you around, Sofia."
He leaves into the shadows, and I'm alone with Alessandro's fury.
"Car. Now."
I don't argue. Can't argue. Just let him guide me—his hand still firm on my arm—to the passenger side.
The drive back to the brownstone is silent and terrifying.
Alessandro's knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched so tight I worry about his teeth.
I try multiple times to explain—opening my mouth, drawing breath—but every time, Alessandro holds up one hand without looking at me.
"Don't." His voice is flat, controlled. "Don't say another word until we're home."
So I sit there watching city lights blur past, trying not to think about what happens next.
We pull up to the brownstone, and Alessandro kills the engine.
He gets out. Opens my door. "Inside."
I follow him through the front door, legs shaking.
Mrs. Bianchi looks up from the kitchen, sees Alessandro's expression, and finds urgent business elsewhere.
Alessandro heads upstairs, clearly expecting me to follow.
I do, because what else am I going to do?
We reach his bedroom. He closes the door with a soft click.
My heart is trying to escape my ribcage.
Alessandro still hasn't moved. He just stands there, jaw tight.
"Alessandro, please, let me explain—"
"Sit."
"What?"
"Sit down. On the bed."
I sit, mostly because my legs are about to give out anyway.
Alessandro runs a hand through his hair—the gesture frustrated, almost violent—and I realize he's trying to control himself.
"You broke the rules," he says finally, voice tight. "Rule One—you went somewhere I didn't know about. Rule Two—you lied. So you could meet him."
"I can explain—"
"Can you?" He takes a step closer, and there's something predatory in the movement. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you deliberately deceived me to sneak off and meet some guy. Some guy who clearly knows you well enough to have your attention. Which raises all sorts of interesting questions."
His eyes rake over me, possessive and furious.
"Are you fucking him?"
Everything. I've been lying about literally everything since the day we met.
But I can't say that. Can't tell him the truth.
"No!" The word comes out too loud, too desperate. "No, I'm not—Tommy is just a friend. An old friend. That's all."
"Just a friend." His voice is flat, disbelieving. "Is that why you lied to me? Snuck around behind my back?"
"We weren't doing anything wrong—"
"That's not what I asked." He steps even closer, crowding me. "I asked why you lied."
"I—" My mouth opens and closes. I can't tell him the truth. Can't explain Tommy. Can't explain anything without unraveling everything. "I didn't think you'd understand."
"Understand what? That my maid needs to sneak off to parking lots to meet strange men?"
"He's not strange, he's—"
"Someone you clearly trust more than me." The words come out bitter, jealous. "Someone worth lying for."
The accusation hits like a slap.
"That's not—Alessandro, it's not like that—"
"Then what is it like?" He's so close I can feel his breath. "My maid—the girl I've protected—you made me look like a fool."
His hand grips my chin, forcing me to look at him.
"Watching you run off to meet him? Wondering what you were doing?"
The raw jealousy is almost frightening.
"Nothing," I whisper. "He wasn't—"
"Don't." The word is sharp. "Don't make it worse."
Then Alessandro does something unexpected.
He sits beside me on the bed and pulls me across his lap.
"What are you—"
"You broke my rules, Sofia. Met with another man behind my back." His voice is calmer now, but there's still a dangerous edge. "And there are consequences for that."
My brain catches up to what's happening.
"Alessandro, wait—"
"Should've thought about that before you lied to me." His hand comes to rest on the small of my back, holding me in place. "Now stay still."
I'm bent over his knee, hands braced against the mattress, heart hammering.
Something tells me I'm about to find out exactly how jealous Alessandro De Luca can get.