Page 15

I watched Larissa's face as she took in the quaint storefronts of Cold Spring, her eyes bright with such sheer joy, that I knew coming here had been the right decision.

Just last night, a wistful look crossed her face over dinner. When I asked what was on her mind, she expressed her discontent with being cooped up in the city for so long.

I realized how difficult all this had been for her. Her freedom, however little of it, had been taken away from her because of me. When I suggested a day trip somewhere outside of New York City for a change, I was thrilled when her eyes lit up and she asked if we could drive to Cold Spring.

The morning sun caught in her blonde hair, and she glimmered with such life that, for a moment, I stopped to consider she might have been the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on.

“You're staring, Gio,” Larissa said without looking at me, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Just making sure you don't run.” I kept my voice steady, though the truth was more complex. The sight of her, relaxed and so happy, was strangely mesmerizing. Today, I was seeing the real Larissa—carefree and bright, and I was completely smitten by this version.

“Where would I run to?” She gestured around at the Hudson Valley landscape that framed the small town. “Besides, you'd catch me.”

There was something in her tone, a teasing challenge that made my skin prickle. “Yes,” I said simply. “I would.”

She winked at me and nudged my shoulder, wiggling her eyebrows comically. I groaned, rolled my eyes, and then she laughed—a loud, whimsical laugh that fit right in with the red leaves of autumn. She lit up the room and my day with that laugh.

We walked along Main Street, our footsteps falling into an easy rhythm.

“Oh, look!” She grabbed my arm suddenly, her fingers warm through the fabric of my shirt. She pointed to a window display of antiques. “Can we go in?”

I nodded, trying to ignore the slight pressure of her hand, which she'd yet to remove. Inside, the shop smelled of furniture polish and old books. Larissa wandered from shelf to shelf, picking up small items and examining them with genuine curiosity.

She stopped at a glass case containing vintage jewelry. “That's beautiful,” she murmured, pointing to a delicate silver bracelet with tiny blue stones.

The shopkeeper, a gray-haired woman with glasses hanging from a chain around her neck, approached. “That's from the 1920s. The stones are aquamarine—match your eyes perfectly.”

I glanced between the bracelet and Larissa's eyes. The woman wasn't wrong.

“How much is it?” Larissa asked.

The shopkeeper named a figure that made Larissa's eyebrows shoot up. “That's... steep,” she said.

“It's an antique, dear.”

“What if I buy something else too?” Larissa grabbed a nearby porcelain figure—a ballerina with a chipped tutu. “Could you do a package deal?”

I bit back a smile as the shopkeeper shook her head. “I'm afraid not.”

“But the bracelet has a small scratch on the clasp,” Larissa pointed out, leaning closer to the case. “And I noticed your 'sale' sign outside.”

“That's for selected items only.”

“Which items? Maybe I'd be interested in those instead.”

The back-and-forth continued for several minutes, with Larissa employing increasingly creative arguments that the shopkeeper deflected with practiced ease. It was obvious that Larissa had no experience with real bargaining, but her earnest attempts were thrilling to watch. Her childlike innocence was so sincere.

I hated seeing her dig her own grave and noted that the shopkeeper was frustrated, and moments away from ignoring us altogether.

I gently placed an arm around a still-arguing Larissa and smiled at the shopkeeper.

“I'll take it,” I said finally, interrupting what was becoming an increasingly desperate negotiation.

Both women turned to me with surprise.

“The bracelet,” I clarified. “And whatever else she wants.”

Larissa's eyes widened. “Gio, you don't have to—”

“I know.” I pulled out my wallet and handed the shopkeeper my credit card.

Five minutes later, we were back on the street, Larissa clutching a small bag with her new bracelet and a vintage hair clip she'd added at the last minute. The ballerina doll, she decided, wasn’t worth it with the chip.

“You didn't have to do that,” she said again, looking up at me with something like confusion.

“Consider it an investment in peace. Your bargaining was becoming painful to watch.”

She laughed, the sound unexpectedly light. “I'm not very good at it, am I?”

“No.” I smiled, surprising myself. “Your brothers never taught you?”

Her smile faded slightly. “They tried to keep me away from the family business as much as possible.”

“Yet here you are with me.”

“Yes,” she said, her aquamarine eyes meeting mine. “Here I am.”

We continued walking, stopping occasionally to gaze into shop windows or sample something from the street vendors—local honey, artisanal bread. I watched her face with each new discovery, strangely satisfied by her delight.

“Let's get coffee,” I suggested when I noticed her suppressing a shiver as a cool breeze swept down from the hills.

She took a corner table, and I ordered for the both of us at the counter before making my way over to her. Black coffee for me and a hazelnut coffee for her.

“How did you know?” she asked when the server placed the frothy drink before her.

I shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

“No,” she said, stirring in a packet of sugar. “You've been watching me.”

It wasn't a question, and I didn't deny it. “Force of habit.”

“Is it hard? Always having to watch people?” she asked as though she could tell where the habit came from—my dangerous word. “Your family. Are they all like this?”

I leaned back in my chair, studying her. “We're talking about your family today, not mine. You’ve met most of mine, and know more than most.”

She wrapped her hands around her cup, her new bracelet catching the light. I hadn’t realized she’d put it on already, and the sight of it gave me joy.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

“Whatever you want to tell me.”

She was quiet for a moment, tracing the rim of her cup with one finger. “I know you’re not on good terms with them, but my family is my world. Without them, I wouldn’t be half the woman I am. My oldest brother, Gastone, took over when my father got sick. He was only twenty-two.”

I nodded, though the information wasn't new to me. The Ajello family's structure was something I'd memorized years ago, as I had with all our enemies and allies.

“He practically raised us after our mother died,” she continued. “Gastone, Carlo, and Dino were just kids, and I was a little baby. My father...” She paused, a shadow passing behind her eyes. “He wasn't always kind.”

I leaned forward slightly. “In what way?”

She took a sip of her cappuccino, leaving a small dot of foam on her upper lip that she didn't notice. Without thinking, I reached across and wiped it away with my thumb. She froze at my touch, her eyes widening.

“Sorry,” I murmured, withdrawing my hand.

She shook her head, as if clearing away a thought. “My father believed in discipline. When I misbehaved, or when he thought I'd misbehaved, he had... methods.”

“Methods,” I repeated, my hand clenching into fists already at the tone she used, laced with such pain.

“He used to lock me in dark closets,” she said, her voice suddenly smaller. “For hours sometimes. Once, for a whole day without food or water when I spilled wine on a guest's suit by accident. I was seven.”

My chest turned cold, and my heart stopped. The image of a small girl, Larissa, locked in darkness, made my jaw clench.

“I developed a fear of small spaces and the dark,” she continued, her gaze distant now. “I still can't ride in elevators. Gastone would sometimes slip notes under the door to me, or whisper stories through the keyhole to keep me calm. Once, he even got locked in with me on purpose so I wouldn't be alone.”

“And your other brothers?”

“They didn't know how to stand up to him then. They were scared too.” She blinked, refocusing on me. “Gastone protected all of us as much as he could. When he took over, he promised things would be different. And they were.”

I nodded, understanding what she meant. Gastone Ajello, the man I had it out for, was also the boy who'd whispered stories through a keyhole to comfort his terrified sister.

“What about you?” she asked suddenly. “What was it like growing up with Caspian?”

I wasn't prepared for the question, and I wasn’t finished with this conversation. The sheer anger I felt toward her father and myself was spilling over.

“Larissa,” I shook my head, needing to say what I did. “You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” she whispered, reaching over and clasping her hand over mine. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do,” I said, briskly. “When I first took you, I hadn’t realized… didn’t know…”

I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I’d kept her in the dark, in a small cell. I’d made her relive her worst nightmares, and I didn’t know how to undo it.

But, I didn’t need to say a word, because she squeezed my hand tight and gently. “I know,” she said simply, with a tender smile that melted my heart. “You weren’t to know.”

In that moment, I realized just how precious Larissa Ajello was. The girl had a heart of gold.

Soon, she went back to her original question and I didn’t bother to stay fixated on her family life. Something told me she needed to change the topic, and I was more than happy to ease those painful memories from her mind.

“About Caspian,” I said. “He was always... intense, different. But he looked out for me, for all of us. In his own way.”

“And your parents?”

“Dead before I really knew them.” I surprised myself with the honesty. “Caspian remembers, but I don’t.”

She reached across the table again and laced her fingers through mine. “I'm sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Still. To grow up without parents...”

“We had family,” I said, thinking of my uncle who had raised us, who later turned out to not be the man we thought he was. “We survived.”

“More than survived,” she said, her eyes meeting mine with conviction. “You thrived. Built something powerful.”

“Built on blood,” I replied, not sure why I was saying these things to her, of all people.

Her voice was quiet but certain. “You did what you had to, right?”

We sat in silence for a moment, thinking of our families. I looked at her, really looked, and saw resilience shaped by pain. For a brief, dangerous moment, I allowed myself to imagine a different world where our last names didn't matter.

“I know a place I'd like to show you,” she said suddenly, breaking the spell. “If you don't mind.”

“Lead the way.”

Twenty minutes later, I pulled the car up to a large Victorian house set back from the road. A sign out front read “Hudson Valley Children's Home.”

“An orphanage?” I asked, confused.

Larissa nodded, a strange intensity in her expression. “I come here sometimes. The children... they are amazing.”

Inside, we were greeted by the sound of laughter and the sight of children playing in a large common room. A middle-aged woman approached us, her face lighting up when she saw Larissa.

“Miss Ajello! We weren't expecting you today.”

“It was a spontaneous visit, Mrs. Bennett. This is my friend, Gio.”

Friend. The word felt both inadequate and wildly optimistic.

“Any friend of Larissa's is welcome here,” Mrs. Bennett said warmly. “The children are just finishing their art projects. Would you like to see them?”

Before I could respond, a small boy with dark curls spotted Larissa and came running over. “Miss Larissa! Did you bring Mr. Gastone?”

I stilled, suddenly feeling as though I was being trapped in a situation for which I hadn’t been warned. She didn’t bring me here out of innocent motives; that much I realized instantly.

Larissa crouched down to his level. “Not today, Tommy. But I brought a new friend.”

The boy looked up at me suspiciously, and I felt oddly exposed under his tiny, scrutinizing gaze. “Is he nice?”

Larissa glanced up at me, her expression unreadable. “Yes, Tommy. He is.”

For the next hour, I watched Larissa move among the children with practiced ease, knowing many by name and asking about their projects and lessons. They adored her; that much was clear. Something in me shifted as I observed this side of her—this gentle, nurturing aspect I hadn't expected.

I found myself drawn into their activities despite my initial discomfort at being thrust into this plan. A little girl with braids insisted on showing me her drawing, and I crouched beside her, nodding seriously as she explained the purple blob that was apparently a dragon. A boy asked if I was strong enough to lift him, and before I knew it, I was hoisting squealing children into the air, their small bodies light in my hands that had done such different work.

Later, as Larissa helped the staff distribute snacks, I stepped into the hallway for a moment's peace and noticed a plaque on the wall. I moved closer, reading the names of donors. My eyes stopped on one: “The Ajello Foundation.”

“Your family funds this place,” I said when Larissa joined me a few minutes later.

She nodded. “For the past five years. Gastone started it after we found out that one of his men had been raised here.”

For some reason, hearing that made me angry. It was as though she was trying to prove to me how innocent her brothers were, how good, and I was the one who had been in the wrong.

I stared at her, something cold forming in my stomach. “Is that why you brought me here? To show me what a saint your brother is?”

Her eyes widened. “No, I—”

“This whole day,” I said, the pieces falling into place, “was just a strategy, wasn't it? The shops, the café, the stories about your childhood—all leading up to this moment where I'm supposed to see Gastone Ajello as some kind of humanitarian instead of the man who's trying to push us out of our territory.”

“That's not fair,” she protested, her cheeks flushing. “I wanted to show you a part of my life that matters to me. A part most people don't see.”

“Most people don't need to be convinced to spare your brother's life,” I replied coldly.

Her face paled. “What?”

“You knew exactly what you were doing.” I turned away from her, anger and something like disappointment washing through me. “We're leaving.”

“Gio, please—”

“Now, Larissa.” I walked toward the exit. I heard her quick footsteps behind me, heard her making hurried goodbyes to the staff.

In the car, the silence was heavy and charged. I gripped the steering wheel too tightly, focusing on the road ahead. The day that had started with unexpected pleasure had soured completely.

“It wasn't like that,” she said finally, her voice small.

“Save it.” I kept my eyes on the road. “I'm taking you home.”