That bastard. Dmitri had killed someone who was already Luigi. Why? When? He stole the man’s identity and carved it into himself. To hide? To kill our mother? None of it made sense.
“Are you okay?” Alessia’s voice cut through the haze.
I looked up.
She had left the sofa and was standing near the table, eyes searching mine. I couldn’t think through the questions crowding my mind. She set the ice cream in front of me. Everything was meaningless, the same as the ice cream smeared on her lip. She tried to offer comfort, but nothing about this mattered.
“You can have some,” she whispered.
“I need to be alone.”
She took a step back, nodding. “Okay.”
She turned toward the door, and something inside me rebelled. “Alessia.”
She stopped, shoulders tensing, though she didn’t turn. Somehow, she always quieted the storm in me. I didn’t know how, but I needed it now. I circled the table and came to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll go back to bed,” she whispered.
I turned her until her eyes met mine. She blinked, as if she understood without words. The space I once needed had lost its use. Her presence worked better than silence.
“Stay.”
She shook her head. “You look like you need to be alone.”
My gaze fell to her mouth, that stubborn smear of ice cream clinging to her lip, daring me. Before I could move, she leaned in and pressed her lips against mine. The storm tearing through me went still. I seized control and sabotaged her lips.
Her hands pressed against my chest as my tongue claimed her mouth. Breathless, she pushed me away, muttering something about stopping. It was her safe card, and I wondered why she’d wasted it here, in the middle of a kiss.
She stepped back. “I think … there’s a better way to talk.” She kept her eyes anywhere but on me. “You never talk. And I know after this, you’d bury the issue. You’re angry. I can feel it.”
Angry wasn’t the word. She was right, but she had no business poking at the way I handled things.
Her hand slipped to the doorknob. “I’ll leave you alone.”
I caught her wrist before she could turn it. A sharp gasp escaped her as I pulled her close; her palm slammed against my chest.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Finding a better way to talk.”
I locked the door and guided her toward the table. She tried to resist as I set her on the surface, spread her legs, and stepped between them.
“Rodion…” she breathed and gulped. “I swear to God.”
Her words faltered, lost in the air between us. I held her there, our silence heavier than anything spoken. Her lips parted like she wanted to say more, but no sound came, only that trembling breath caught between us.
“I thought you wanted to talk.” My eyes lingered on her mouth before I forced them back to hers.
“Well,” she glanced down at her thighs. “I do. What made you this angry?”
“Dmitri.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“He sent a package.”
Her brows drew together. “What was in it?”