CHAPTER 4

Alessia's POV

After the ambush, the atmosphere inside the estate shifted completely. Lorenzo locked the entire property down, doubling the security at every exit. But the biggest change was happening behind closed doors.

He didn't make me sleep in the servants' quarters anymore. He moved me directly into the suite connected to Elijah’s nursery, giving me free rein as his son’s personal caretaker. On paper, I was still an employee. But the way Lorenzo looked at me when we passed each other in the hallways made my skin burn with a dangerous heat.

It was past midnight when I finally rocked Elijah back to sleep. The trauma of the attack still made him wake up screaming every few hours, and my arms were aching from holding him.

I gently tucked him into his small bed, pulling the duvet over his chest. I smoothed his soft dark hair away from his forehead, kissing his temple before stepping quietly out of the nursery into my adjoining room.

I turned off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of a bedside lamp. I was about to untie my apron when the heavy oak door connecting my room to the main corridor swung open.

I flinched, spinning around.

Lorenzo stepped inside.

He had discarded his suit jacket, leaving him in a dark dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His sleeve was rolled up on his left arm, revealing a bloody bandage wrapped tightly around his shoulder. He looked exhausted, lethal, and intensely raw.

"Lorenzo," I breathed out, stepping back out of instinct. "You're bleeding."

"The doctor is incompetent," he growled low in his throat, shutting the door firmly behind him. "And I don't want anyone in my space tonight."

He walked straight toward me, his heavy steps steady despite his injury. He stopped right in front of me, taking off his leather holster and tossing it onto my small table.

"Fix it," he commanded quietly.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I hurried over to the small medical kit sitting on my nightstand. My hands trembled as I grabbed the antiseptic, cotton pads, and fresh gauze.

"Sit on the edge of the bed," I whispered.

Lorenzo complied without a word. He sat down, unbuttoning his shirt completely to peel it back, exposing his broad chest, etched with hard muscle and faint silver scars. The sight made my mouth go dry.

I knelt between his parted knees, keeping my breathing shallow. I carefully unwrapped the old, blood-soaked bandage. The grazing bullet wound was deep, red, and swollen.

"This is going to sting," I warned softly.

"Do it."

I pressed the antiseptic-soaked cotton directly against the wound. Lorenzo’s entire body went rigid, a sharp intake of air escaping through his teeth, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his large hand reached out and rested on the side of my waist, his fingers digging into my apron fabric.

The heat of his touch seeped through my uniform, sending a shiver straight down my spine.

"I heard him laughing today," Lorenzo murmured suddenly, his deep voice vibrating against the small room. "Elijah. I haven't heard him make a sound like that since he was a baby."

I looked up from his shoulder, meeting his dark eyes. He was already staring down at me, his expression unreadable, laced with something heavy and suffocating.

"He's a sweet boy," I whispered, my thumb brushing against his collarbone as I wrapped the fresh white bandage around his shoulder. "He just needed a mother's touch."

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Lorenzo’s hand tightened on my waist. He pulled me closer, eliminating the space between us until my knees pressed against his thighs. His gaze dropped to my lips, his dark pupils dilating.

"A mother's touch," he repeated, his gravelly baritone sending a pulse through my veins. "Or yours?"

"Lorenzo, I'm just..."

"Stop lying to yourself, Alessia," he rasped.

My real name sounded like a prayer on his lips, stripping away my "Elena" disguise entirely. He knew. God help me, he knew exactly who I was.

Before I could gasp, his large hand cupped the back of my neck, tilting my head up. Lorenzo leaned down and pressed his mouth hard against mine.

The kiss was hot, hungry, and dangerously possessive. It wasn't the gesture of a Don treating a surrogate; it was the desperate action of a man taking what he had starved for. I tried to push against his solid chest, but the moment his tongue brushed against my lower lip, my hands betrayed me, burying themselves in his thick black hair.

He groaned into my mouth, pulling me firmly into his lap. My mind went blank, drowning in the scent of cedar, blood, and his addictive heat.

By the time he pulled back, we were both breathless. His forehead rested against mine, his dark eyes burning with a dark, obsessive light.

"This is the first," he whispered against my lips, his breath hot on my skin.

He didn't elaborate. But over the next few weeks, as the nights bled into one another, those stolen moments became our silent routine. One kiss turned into ten, then twenty, until every shadow in the mansion held the secret of our quiet, desperate obsession.

By the time we shared our ninety-ninth kiss behind the closed doors of his office, I let myself believe a foolish lie. I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, he was falling in love with me.

Until the next morning.

I was walking down the grand staircase holding Elijah’s hand when the heavy front doors threw open.

A sleek red sports car was parked at the driveway. Stepping inside was a woman draped in designer silk, her golden hair perfectly styled, her diamond ring catching the morning light.

The staff lined up instantly, bowing their heads in deep respect.

"Welcome back, Lady Bianca Moretti," the butler announced formally. "The Don is waiting for you in the dining room."