chapter 9- Is he bipolar?

The storm outside had finally receded. Allesandro sat at his long mahogany table, a mug of hot coffee steaming before him. Several untouched files stood before him. He glanced at them but didn't touch any. He had a lot going on in his head

Vivienne Brown pushed open the door without knocking, her eyes red in anger. Her heels clicked against the marble, her silk blouse still damp at the shoulders from the rain outside. Alessandro didn’t lift his head immediately, only when she stood directly in front of his desk did he stop writing.

"You didn’t knock," he said flatly, setting the pen down.

"You haven't been home ever since our daughter left. How do you expect me to reach out to her?" Vivienne’s voice rang glaringly at him. Large eye bags from the many sleepless nights she had had were evident in her eyes.

Alessandro leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers together. "Isabella isn't here so we don't have to play a happy couple anymore. About our daughter, I told you already this isn’t up for debate. She is safe wherever she is." Allesandro answered disinterestedly.

Vivienne pressed her palms against the polished wood of his desk, leaning toward him. "Safe? She’s alone on that island in the middle of nowhere with a man she barely knows. If the threat hasn’t resurfaced by now, then bring her home. She’s our daughter, Alessandro. Not a pawn you can move across a chessboard."

His expression didn’t change, but the faintest flicker of irritation passed through his eyes. "You think because there wasn’t an attack yesterday, or today, that it means it’s over?"

"Isn't it?" she asked sharply.

Silence stretched between them as Vivienne invited herself onto the sofa opposite him rubbing her temples.

Alessandro exhaled slowly and shook his head. "No. The threat isn’t over, Vivienne. It won’t be over until I’ve put every one of them in the ground."

She flinched at his outburst, her hands curling into fists against the desk. "And in the meantime, Isabella suffers for it. Do you know how broken she looked that morning? Her eyes were swollen, Alessandro. We're killing her dreams! She'd have launched her fashion brand today, but you didn’t even let her decide for herself."

"She’s too young to decide," he said firmly.

"She’s twenty-one." Vivienne retorted.

"She’s still my daughter," Alessandro shot back, his voice hardening. "And I’ll bury the entire world before I bury her."

Vivienne’s breath caught. For a moment, her anger softened, replaced by the raw edge of fear she tried so desperately to mask. She had known Alessandro for more than half her life, known the violence that ran beneath his composure, the blood that stained his hands long before Isabella was born. But this cold declaration terrified her.

She straightened, pulling her hands back. "Fine. Let’s say I accept your paranoia. What I don’t understand is how easily the mighty Nikolai Volkov agreed to take her in. Why him? Why so quickly?"

Alessandro’s lips curved into a faint smirk, though there was no warmth in it. "Because he owes me."

Vivienne blinked in surprise, "owes you?"

"Yes," he replied, leaning back in his chair, his eyes glinting with something dark. "Years ago, in Saint Petersburg, when Nikolai was still young, an incident happened and there was no escape for him. If I hadn’t been there…" He shrugged. "Let’s just say he wouldn’t be the man he is today." He said proudly as a small smile formed at the corners of his mouth.

Vivienne stared at him in disbelief, her lips opening then closing. "So you’re saying that our daughter’s life is collateral in some old favour that you’re now cashing in?"

Alessandro’s smirk faded, replaced by a calm severity. "I’m saying she’s safer with him than with anyone else. You don’t have to like it. But you need to understand it."

Vivienne’s chest rose and fell, anger and fear twisting inside her like a storm. She turned away from the desk, walking toward the window. The rain blurred her reflection in the glass.

"Safe," she repeated under her breath. "Do you even hear yourself? He’s a killer, Alessandro. He’s..."

"So am I," he interrupted quietly.

She froze in her tracks

He removed his glasses, setting them on the desk. His eyes met hers, cold and bloodshot. "You married a man who built an empire on blood because of money. Don’t stand there pretending you didn’t know what kind of world Isabella was born into."

Vivienne’s throat tightened in her chest as a pained expression flashed across her face.

Alessandro rose from his chair, crossed the room until he reached her, and he stopped only inches away, his big body towering above her, his voice lowering.

"She’ll hate me for this. But at least she’ll be safe. And as long as she’s alive, there’s still time for her to understand why we did what we did."

Vivienne’s eyes brimmed with tears, though she refused to let them fall. She tilted her chin upward, refusing to look away. "And if you’re wrong?"

Alessandro didn’t blink. "I’m not. When have I ever been wrong?"

Finally, Vivienne’s shoulders slumped. She pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. "I want her home, Alessandro. Please bring our daughter home."

He reached out, pulled her into his embrace, allowing her head to settle on his muscular chest, his large arm gently patting her head, the gesture almost foreign, but it warmed Vivienne's heart. She had yearned for this kind of affection from him for so long, ever since their marriage. "I'll bring her home," he promised softly. "It's just now ain't the right time."

Vivienne turned her face away. 'I don’t trust that beast with our daughter,' she thought but dared not voice it out.

Alessandro’s jaw tightened, before he pushed her away from his embrace. He glanced at the envelope lying on his desk stamped with a sigil only men like him Nikolai would recognise.

The message inside had been short, written in blood-red ink. A warning.

"Since you got the answers you can now show yourself out. I'm busy," he declared, walking back to his seat like nothing had happened.

Vivienne glanced at him, her mind racing. At times she had always felt like he was bipolar, at times he'd be gentle, then suddenly cold.