7

7

Alaric’s POV

I stepped into the house, a frown forming on my face at how quiet the house was. And it made me very very uneasy. Normally, by the time I stepped through the door, Francesca’s laughter would echo down the hall, and I’d catch glimpses of Emilia chasing her around, a small, stubborn smile always tugging at her lips. But tonight, it was so quiet, almost as if something was wrong.

I hung my coat by the door and glanced around, half-expecting Emilia to appear, carrying Francesca in her arms or perhaps ushering her to bed. But instead, when I found them, Emilia barely looked up. She sat with Francesca on the couch, brushing through her silver hair with a gentleness that looked at odds with how stiff her shoulders were.

“Daddy!” Francesca squealed, but she didn’t get up from the couch, keeping still as Emilia continued brushing her hair. I grinned at her in reply.

“Good evening,” I said, keeping my voice even as I stepped closer. Emilia didn’t respond. Not immediately, anyway.

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the brush in her hands. She only glanced up briefly, just long enough to acknowledge me, before turning her attention back to my daughter. “How was your day, Francesca?” she asked in a soft voice, as if I weren’t even there.

I couldn’t ignore the shift in her tone. It was reserved. It was as though a wall had been raised overnight. Like a barrier she hadn’t bothered hiding. It was subtle, but I could tell. She was giving me the cold shoulder, and I was no stranger to that particular dance. I’d seen it enough times to recognize when someone was deliberately trying to distance themselves. But it was the first time I’d ever seen it from her.

I watched them for a moment, letting the silence stretch as I considered my next move. Normally, I wasn’t the type to linger, to wait for someone to explain themselves. But with Emilia, I felt a flicker of curiosity, a faint need to understand her reaction. It wasn’t something I was used to, nor was it something I particularly liked. But it was there, all the same.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral as I leaned against the doorway. Francesca looked up at me, her eyes bright with that familiar spark of excitement, but Emilia’s expression remained stoic, her gaze fixed downward.

“Yes,” she said, her voice clipped, betraying none of the warmth I’d grown accustomed to seeing in her interactions with Francesca. “Everything’s fine.”

It was a lie, of course. I could see it in the way she refused to look at me, the way her jaw tightened as she spoke. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to provoke this reaction, but it was clear that something was bothering her. And for some reason, it bothered me more than it should have. She was just an employee, a caretaker I’d hired out of necessity. But despite that, the idea of her turning against me, even subtly, left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Francesca, go get your things ready for bed,” I said gently, nodding toward the stairs. She looked disappointed but didn’t argue, hopping off the couch and giving Emilia a quick hug before she scampered off. The second she was out of earshot, I turned my attention back to Emilia.

“You’re upset,” I stated, crossing my arms over my chest as I met her gaze. “Is there a reason for that?”

She finally looked up, her eyes flashing with something sharp and unmistakable. Anger. “I’m not upset,” she said coolly, but there was an edge to her words that told me otherwise. “Just doing my job, as you so kindly reminded me yesterday.”

I felt a prickle of irritation at the mention of yesterday. She hadn’t seemed this bothered then, but it was clear now that something I’d said had struck a nerve. I was used to people following my orders without question, without complaint. Emilia, however, seemed determined to challenge that.

“Is this about yesterday?” I asked, keeping my tone steady. “I thought we had an agreement, Emilia. You understood the terms when you accepted this position.”

She crossed her arms, mirroring my stance, her gaze unflinching. “Yes, I understood the terms. But I didn’t realize those terms meant I’d be cut off from my own family.”

I bit back a sigh. I had hoped she’d let this go, that she’d accept the boundaries I’d put in place without pushing further. But Emilia was nothing if not stubborn. “I paid for your brother’s treatment, as agreed,” I replied, my voice firm. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s in good hands.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, I saw a flash of something vulnerable in her expression. “You think that’s enough?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You think that just because you threw money at the problem, it doesn’t matter if I’m there for him or not?”

I could feel the tension between us growing and I didn’t like it. Part of me wanted to end it, to remind her of her place, but another part—a part I didn’t fully understand—wanted to hear her out.

“You’re here to take care of Francesca,” I said finally, choosing my words carefully. “That’s your priority now.”

Her gaze sharpened, and she took a step forward, her voice filled with barely suppressed frustration. “You don’t understand, Alaric. Family isn’t something you can just replace with money. It’s not something you can control or keep at arm’s length.”

I clenched my jaw, my patience thinning. “This isn’t about control, Emilia. It’s about commitment. I need someone I can rely on, someone who won’t let personal matters interfere with their responsibilities.”

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the silence like a blade. “And I need to know my brother is okay. Is that really so much to ask?”

For a moment, we just stood there, locked in a silent standoff. Her defiance, her anger—it was as if she was challenging me, daring me to see things from her perspective. And it unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

I took a step back, forcing myself to calm down, to regain my composure. “I understand your concerns, Emilia,” I said, my voice quieter, more measured. “But I made it clear from the beginning that this job would require sacrifices. You agreed to that.”

She looked away, her shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of her. “I didn’t realize what those sacrifices would feel like,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I thought…I thought maybe it would be different.”

Something in her tone struck a chord in me, a faint echo of something I’d long since buried. It was rare for anyone to speak to me so honestly, without fear or pretense. And though I didn’t want to admit it, her words had an effect on me. They lingered, burying themselves in my mind.

After a long pause, I let out a sigh. “I’ll…arrange a visit,” I said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “Once everything is settled here, you can see him. But for now, I need your focus on Francesca.”

Her eyes softened, and for the first time that evening, I saw her smile. “Thank you,” she said quietly, the fight in her voice replaced by something softer, something almost gentle.

I nodded, turning away before she could see the small crack in my façade. I was a mafia don. And yet, I had agreed to her so easily. I wasn’t sure why I’d agreed to her request, why I’d allowed her words to affect me the way they had. But as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Emilia had somehow gotten under my skin.

And despite myself, I couldn’t deny the curiosity growing within me, the urge to understand her. And that, in my world, was very very dangerous.