Page 36

Merda. This is going to be a long night.
I return to the bedroom, two steaming mugs in hand. The scent of fresh coffee fills the air as I push the door open with my shoulder.
Melania doesn't look up when I enter. She's hunched over the laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. The glow from the screen illuminates her features in the dimming light.
I place her coffee on the nightstand, careful not to spill it.
"Thanks," she murmurs, but her eyes never leave the screen. Her fingers continue their relentless dance across the keys, typing lines of code I don't understand. She's completely absorbed in her work, lost in a world of numbers and commands that might as well be a foreign language to me.
I settle into the chair across from the bed, stretching my legs out in front of me. From this angle, I can watch herwithout being obvious. The intensity in her eyes as she works is something to behold.
I take a sip of coffee, letting the warmth spread through my chest. I put the coffee on the floor beside me.
The chair is surprisingly comfortable as I lean back. The soft clicking of keys becomes almost hypnotic, a rhythm that fills the quiet room.
My eyelids grow heavy despite the caffeine. I fight it at first, determined to keep watch. But the warmth of the room and the steady sound of Melania's typing lulls me toward sleep.
I'll rest my eyes for just a moment. The weight of the day settles over me like a blanket and before I can stop it, my eyes close completely.
The steady rhythm of Alessio's breathing fills the room as I work. I glance up from my laptop, my eyes tired from staring at the screen for so long. Two hours have passed since he first dozed off in that chair.
I can't help but smile at the sight of him. His head tilted to one side, mouth slightly open, one arm dangling off the armrest. The fearsome right-hand man of Damiano Feretti, completely defenseless in sleep.
A quiet laugh nearly escapes my lips. It's almost comical—this man who radiates danger when awake looks so... normal now. If someone walked in and saw him like this, they might mistake him for a teacher exhausted after grading papers, or maybe a veterinarian who worked a long rescue mission.
The harsh lines of his face have softened. His perpetual scowl replaced by a peaceful countenance. Even the stubble that usually makes him look formidable makes him appear more vulnerable now.
I shake my head, returning my attention to the screen.
My fingers resume their dance across the keyboard. The second layer of Raymond's security system is proving even more complex than I anticipated. Military-grade encryption wasn't an exaggeration—whoever designed this system knew what they were doing.
I've been mapping the authentication protocols, looking for weaknesses in the system architecture. There's always a backdoor, always a vulnerability. I just need to find it.
I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness. Hours of hunching over a laptop have left my neck and back aching. I stretch my arms above my head, careful not to make noise that might wake my sleeping captor.
The coffee Alessio brought me sits empty. I could use another one but I'm not about to risk waking him by trying to sneak downstairs. Besides, I'm making progress. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.
I stretch my neck again, fighting through the dull ache that's settled between my shoulder blades. The code on the screen blurs slightly as I stare at it too long. Something feels... off.
I exhale loudly, a frustrated sigh escaping before I can stop it.
Alessio jerks awake instantly, his body snapping to attention before his eyes are even fully open. His hand reachesinstinctively toward his waistband—before his gaze focuses on me.
"What? What's going on?" His voice is rough with sleep but alert, eyes scanning the room for threats.
"Nothing urgent. I just... I think I'm seeing some anomalies in the code, but I can't tell if I'm being paranoid or not."
He pushes himself up from the chair, rubbing a hand over his face before stepping closer. "What the hell do you mean by anomalies? It's all the same fucking gibberish to me."
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, unexpected and genuine. "Apparently not the same, since you've been asleep for the past two hours while I've been working through it."
He stops directly beside me, close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath and the faint scent of his cologne. Too close. The mattress dips as he supports himself to lean over to look at my screen.
"Show me," he demands.
I turn to face him properly, suddenly aware of how little space exists between us. His eyes—dark and intense—lock with mine. The laughter dies in my throat as a chemical combustion passes between us.
His gaze slides down to my mouth, lingering there with an intensity that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. I can't help but glance at his lips too—full, with a defined cupid's bow, the bottom one much fuller than the top.