Chapter 10: Beneath the Surface
(First-person POV: Alessia)
The days had started to blur together. The estate, for all its opulence and grandeur—gleaming marble floors, sprawling gardens, and luxurious furnishings—felt more like a gilded cage with each passing moment. Every hallway seemed to whisper secrets. Every closed door mocked me, a barrier to the answers I so desperately needed.
I wasn't a fool. Matteo was hiding something. Many things, actually. His distant demeanor and evasive responses were proof enough. And then there was Luca. His words, his warnings—they lingered like poison in my mind.
Restlessness can be dangerous.
I woke the next morning with an ache deep in my chest, the kind that couldn't be eased by sleep. Matteo hadn't come to me since our tense conversation in the study, and the silence between us had grown deafening. It wasn't the silence of peace; it was the silence of avoidance, of walls being built brick by brick.
I sat up in bed, staring out the window at the early morning sun spilling over the estate. My reflection in the glass seemed like a stranger—a woman trapped in a world that wasn't hers, surrounded by shadows she couldn't understand.
Something inside me snapped.
If Matteo wouldn't give me answers, I would find them myself.
The office door creaked as I pushed it open, the sound making my heart stutter. Matteo's workspace was as cold and dark as the man himself: immaculate, meticulous, and eerily silent. His desk sat at the center, a monolithic structure that practically screamed authority.
I hesitated for a moment, scanning the room as though someone might jump out and stop me. When nothing happened, I closed the door softly behind me and approached the desk.
The drawers slid open with a faint hiss, each one revealing neatly organized files, pens, and notebooks. At first, it all seemed harmless—receipts, meeting notes, contracts written in sharp Italian. But the deeper I dug, the more I realized how carefully coded everything was.
And then I found it.
A folder, tucked away at the back of the bottom drawer. Its cover bore a single word scrawled in black ink: Rosso. Red.
My breath hitched. With trembling fingers, I opened the folder.
Inside were photos. Grainy black-and-white images of men in suits, their faces hardened with power. Some I recognized from the dinners and meetings Matteo had dragged me to. Others were strangers.
But it wasn't the photos that sent a chill down my spine. It was the handwritten note tucked beneath them.
"Il traditore è più vicino di quanto pensi."
The traitor is closer than you think.
The words burned into me, my heart pounding in my ears. Who had written this? And who was it for?
The door creaked behind me, and I froze.
"What are you doing?"
Matteo's voice was low, sharp, and laced with something dangerous.
I turned slowly, clutching the folder like a lifeline. Matteo stood in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on mine. His posture was stiff, his hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks as though to keep them from doing something reckless.
"I—" The words died in my throat as my grip faltered, the folder slipping from my hands and scattering its contents across the floor.
Matteo didn't move, his eyes never leaving me. "I'll ask you again. What are you doing?"
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "I was looking for answers."
His eyes flicked to the scattered papers, then back to me. "Answers to what?"
"To why I'm here!" The words burst out of me, my frustration boiling over. "To why you dragged me into this world without a choice! To why you and Luca act like you're seconds away from tearing each other apart!"
Matteo's jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing as he stepped further into the room and shut the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place sent a shiver down my spine.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said quietly, his voice calm but laced with menace.
"Why not?" I demanded, my voice trembling. "What's in this folder, Matteo? What are you so afraid I'll find?"
"This isn't about fear," he snapped, his composure slipping for the briefest moment. "This is about survival."
"Whose survival?" I pressed, stepping closer. "Yours? Mine? Or someone else's?"
"Enough," he said, his voice low and firm.
"No, it's not enough!" I shot back. "I'm your wife, Matteo. Or have you forgotten that? Don't I deserve to know the truth?"
Matteo's face hardened, but there was something behind his eyes—something raw and unguarded. He knelt to gather the papers, his movements slow and deliberate.
"You don't understand what you're asking for," he said, his voice quiet but strained.
"Then explain it to me!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "Because I'm tired of living in the dark, Matteo. I'm tired of feeling like a pawn in a game I don't even know the rules to."
He stood abruptly, the folder clenched tightly in his hands. For a moment, I thought he might explode. But instead, he exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging under some invisible weight.
"You think you want the truth," he said finally, his voice hollow. "But the truth isn't something you can take back once you have it. It changes everything."
"I don't care," I said firmly. "I deserve to know."
His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I thought he might give in. But then he shook his head, his expression closing off.
"Not yet," he said.
"Not yet?" I repeated, my frustration boiling over. "When, Matteo? When it's too late? When I'm already caught in whatever trap you're trying to keep me out of?"
Matteo didn't answer. Instead, he turned and walked past me, the folder still clutched in his hand.
I stood there, trembling with anger and helplessness.
That night, sleep eluded me. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as Matteo's words echoed in my mind.
The truth isn't something you can take back.
I wanted to believe he was protecting me, that his secrets were some misguided attempt to keep me safe. But the cryptic note, Luca's warnings, and Matteo's growing distance painted a different picture.
Somewhere, deep in the shadows of this house, was a truth that could destroy us all.
And I was going to find it.
The faint sound of voices pulled me from my thoughts. They were muffled but tense, coming from somewhere outside my room.
I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent against the cold floor as I moved toward the door.
The voices grew louder as I crept down the hall, and I recognized them instantly. Matteo and Nico.
"…Luca knows," Matteo was saying, his voice low and urgent.
"What do you want me to do?" Nico asked.
Matteo hesitated, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "If he acts again, we'll have no choice."
I leaned closer, straining to hear.
"And Alessia?" Nico asked.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"She can't know," Matteo said finally, his voice heavy. "Not yet."
I barely made it back to my room before the floor creaked under my weight.
Matteo was hiding something. Something about Luca. And now, I wasn't sure if I was safer not knowing—or if I'd just stumbled onto the secret that could destroy everything.