Chapter 5 A BEAUTIFUL MISTAKE

Alessia Moretti

I didn't know how to think, what to feel or how to react. All I knew was that Xavier whose surname I still hadn't figured out had a hold on me. And that was not a good thing, it was bad for me, my business and the mafia in general.

Feelings were never supposed to come into the picture, not in our world. It was seen as some sort of weakness. But that kiss? It was something else.

I didn't sleep. Not really, I realized I had made a mistake. A terrible, terrible, beautiful mistake.

My fingers ghosted over my bottom lip, still remembering the heat of his mouth. Xavier. Still a mystery. Still a ghost in expensive clothing and unreadable eyes. But that kiss...

That kiss had no right being what it was.

I sat up slowly in bed, silk sheets slipping off my body like secrets I hadn't meant to reveal. My hair was a tangled mess of waves down my back. The villa was quiet, too quiet. Usually I welcomed the silence, it meant control, it meant no emergencies-but this morning it felt like an accusation.

Because I'd slipped. Xavier screamed danger.

And slipping in my world could mean death.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood, stretching until my spine popped back into place. My robe hung on the gold hook beside the mirror. I pulled it around me and padded into the bathroom.

The woman in the mirror didn't look like a mafia donna. She looked... soft.

God. I hated that.

I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face until my skin stung and my thoughts quieted. This was what happened when you let the outside world in. When you let your guard down for even a moment. I should never have gone to that gala. Never worn that damned emerald dress. Damn, those are a lot of nevers.

I should never have let him get close enough to kiss me.

A knock on the bedroom door. Three short taps.

"Come in."

Bianca stepped in, eyes darting to mine and then away again. She'd been with me for years. Loyal. Efficient. More than a maid but less than a friend. Just the way I liked it.

"Your meeting with Emilio has been moved up. He's downstairs."

"Of course he is," I muttered.

"He brought the files and cappuccino."

I smiled grimly. "Then I guess he values his life."

She bowed slightly and left. I didn't move. Not immediately. I stared at my reflection one last time, searching for the crack that kiss had left. It wasn't visible, but I could feel it. Deep. Right beneath the surface.

I tightened the robe, steeled my jaw, and walked out.

---

The study was full of sunlight and danger. Emilio sat by the window, leather folder on his lap, espresso in one hand. His dark suit was perfectly pressed, and his trimmed beard was a little too neat for a man who'd slit a throat in an alley just last week.

"Alessia," he greeted. "You look... fresh."

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you have something to say, Emilio?"

He chuckled. "Not unless I want to be thrown out that window."

"Good instinct." I sat across from him. "Talk."

He flipped open the folder and slid a few photos across the desk. A deal gone bad. Another family muscling into southern territory. Drugs rerouted. One of my men dead.

My lips pressed together. "This is the third shipment they've intercepted."

"They're getting bold."

"They're getting suicidal," I corrected. "Set a meeting. Noon. Bring Marco and Dario. I want eyes on the warehouse before I get there."

"Already done."

That was why I kept Emilio around. That, and he was smart enough never to ask about my personal life.

But today...

He hesitated.

I didn't like hesitation.

"What?"

He rubbed his jaw. "The gala night. You left early."

"I got bored."

"Bored," he repeated, unconvinced. "It wasn't about the man you were with?"

My spine straightened. "What man?"

He raised a brow. "Tall. Sharp suit. Looked like he knew how to ruin a bank account. Or a woman."

My jaw ticked. "Careful."

"I didn't mean to pry. Just... you looked different after. And you never look different."

Because I wasn't allowed to.

I waved a hand dismissively. "It was nothing."

A lie. But one I needed.

---

By noon, I was back in my element, boots echoing through the warehouse, orders flying from my lips, and steel in my spine. The shipment was intact, but the threat was real. We had a mole. Someone feeding routes to the Calabrese.

My men knew better than to speak unless spoken to. My silence was enough to make even Dario, normally a smug bastard, keep his gaze low.

I liked control. It was the only thing that had ever protected me.

And yet, beneath the layers of dominance and calm, my thoughts still drifted. Back to the terrace. The way the night had wrapped around us like a secret. The heat of Xavier's breath, his mouth, his touch-

No.

I slammed the thought shut.

There was no room for daydreams. Not in a life built on blood.

---

Later that evening, I returned to the villa, exhausted but wound tight. I went straight to my study, poured two fingers of scotch, and sat in my leather chair by the window. The sky was dusky pink, the sun bleeding over the hills.

I didn't turn on the lights. I liked the shadows. They kept the truth at bay.

My fingers toyed with the rim of the glass.

He hadn't called. Not that I gave him my number. But he hadn't tried to find me. That should've been a relief.

So why did it feel like an itch I couldn't scratch?

I set the glass down and crossed to the bookshelf. My mother's music box sat nestled between two ancient volumes on Sicilian warlords. I picked it up carefully, winding the key at the bottom until the soft lullaby began to play.

It was the only thing I had left of her.

Suddenly, I was ten again, sitting on her bed while she brushed my hair. Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were fierce.

"Feelings aren't weakness, Alessia," she'd said. "They're warning signs. Pay attention to what your heart is telling you... even if you don't follow it."

But that was before she died. Before I buried softness with her.

Now I couldn't afford to listen to my heart.

I closed the lid. The lullaby stopped.

---

A knock at the door.

"Come in," I said without turning.

Bianca stepped in, silent as ever. "There's something else, Signorina."

"What is it?"

"A man dropped this at the gate." She extended a small envelope. No return address. No name. Just my initials on the front, written in bold, masculine script.

My pulse jumped.

"Did he give a name?"

"No. Just said it was urgent. Then he left."

I waited until she was gone before opening it.

Inside was a note. Just a line:

"I meant what I said and I won't apologize for kissing you. –X"

I read it twice. Then again.

No threats. No demands. Just... truth.

I hated how my hands trembled.

I hated more how I smiled.

For one brief second, I let the warmth seep into me. Let myself feel something other than fear, control, and rage.

But then I burned the note.

Letting it exist felt dangerous. Like giving him space inside my world.

Inside me.

And there was no space left.

I downed the rest of the scotch and stood by the fire, watching the paper curl into ash.

He was bold.

He was dangerous.

And I wasn't ready to admit that I wanted more.

"The kiss was a mistake. A beautiful, dangerous mistake I could never afford to make again."