POV: Emilia Conti
Alessio didn't come after me.
That was the first thing I noticed.
I walked back to my suite at an even pace, spine straight, footsteps unhurried. Every part of me expected his presence at my shoulder, his voice cutting in with quiet authority, some variation of we need to talk or this isn't the time.
None of that happened.
The door opened. The door closed. The lock slid into place.
And I was alone.
That should have been a relief. Instead, it felt like a recalculation.
I paced the room, slower than before, letting the tension drain out of my limbs while my mind stayed sharp. Silence in this place was never accidental. It meant something was being decided elsewhere.
Luciano's voice replayed in my head—not the words themselves, but the tone. Calm. Reasonable. Like someone explaining logistics, not discussing the future of a human being.
Formalize the situation.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.
So this was where it went next.
A knock sounded.
Not the polite, meaningless tap I'd grown used to. This one was firmer. Deliberate.
I stood. "Come in."
The door opened, and Alessio stepped inside alone.
No guards. No entourage. No jacket this time, just a dark shirt, sleeves unrolled, collar open. He looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
He closed the door behind him.
"You heard more than you should have," he said.
I crossed my arms. "You already know the answer to that."
His gaze stayed on my face, assessing. "Luciano doesn't miss opportunities."
"He didn't feel like he was improvising," I said. "It sounded rehearsed."
"Yes."
"That doesn't worry you?"
"It does," he replied. "Which is why we need to be clear."
I lifted my chin slightly. "About what."
"About limits."
I almost laughed. "You're going to lecture me about boundaries?"
"I'm going to explain the consequences," he said evenly.
I walked past him toward the window, needing space. "Then explain this one. At what point do I stop being a variable and start being a decision?"
He didn't answer right away.
"That hesitation?" I said quietly. "That's the problem."
"You don't understand how this works," he said.
"Then stop assuming I don't want to," I shot back.
He moved closer, not crowding me, just present. "People are watching."
"They already were."
"They're watching how I respond."
"And your response," I said, "is containment."
"Yes."
I turned to face him. "Say it plainly."
"You can't move freely anymore," he said. "Not until this stabilizes."
"And when is that?" I asked.
"When your position is no longer ambiguous."
There it was.
"Meaning?" I pressed.
He held my gaze. "Meaning you need definition."
I let out a slow breath. "You're talking about marriage."
"I'm talking about alignment," he replied.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that works," he said.
I laughed softly, more disbelief than humor. "You think binding me to you publicly will make this safer."
"It will make you untouchable."
"Or it will make me a trophy," I countered. "Or a threat. Or bait."
"All of those already apply," he said. "This removes uncertainty."
"For you."
"For everyone," he corrected.
I shook my head. "You're not listening."
"I am."
"No," I said. "You're deciding."
He didn't deny it.
"You didn't ask me," I continued. "Not once. You're framing this like logistics."
"Because it is."
"I'm not a shipment," I snapped.
"You're not," he said firmly. "You're someone people would kill to control."
"That doesn't make this right."
"It makes it necessary."
I stared at him. "Necessary for whom."
"For you," he said. "And for me."
"That's the first honest thing you've said."
Silence stretched between us, thick but controlled.
"Luciano wants this," I said. "Gianna wants it."
"Yes."
"And you?" I asked.
He hesitated.
That was new.
"I want stability," he said finally.
"That's not the same thing."
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
I stepped closer, closing the distance deliberately. "You're not afraid they'll hurt me."
He didn't answer.
"You're afraid they'll use me," I continued. "That I'll become leverage you can't control."
His jaw tightened. "Yes."
"Then don't pretend this is about my safety."
"It's about preventing escalation."
"By escalating," I said.
His gaze sharpened. "You don't see the alternatives."
"Then show me," I said. "Not ultimatums. Options."
"There are no options that don't involve risk."
"There never are," I replied. "That doesn't mean you stop choosing."
He studied me for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes—not anger, not frustration. Calculation.
"You wouldn't submit quietly," he said.
"No," I agreed. "I wouldn't."
"And you wouldn't run blindly either."
"No."
"You'd stay," he said slowly. "But on your terms."
I didn't answer.
"You'd demand visibility in the decision," he continued. "You'd want leverage of your own."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're learning."
"Don't mistake that for weakness," he said.
"I don't," I replied. "I mistake it for intelligence."
A faint breath left him. Almost a laugh.
"If this happens," he said carefully, "it won't be what you think."
"That's never reassuring."
"It won't be a cage," he continued. "It would be a declaration."
"And if I refuse?"
He met my gaze without flinching. "Then I'll still protect you."
"By force."
"By containment."
I shook my head. "You keep offering me the same thing with different words."
"Because the situation hasn't changed."
"Then maybe you're not changing fast enough."
The words landed harder than I expected.
He looked at me sharply. "You think I'm the problem."
"I think," I said slowly, "that everyone around you is trying to solve this without asking the one person it affects."
Silence again.
"This conversation isn't finished," he said.
"No," I agreed. "It's just starting."
He stepped back, giving me space this time. "I won't move without telling you first."
"That's new," I said.
"Consider it… a concession."
I nodded once. "Consider it necessary."
He moved toward the door, then paused.
"For what it's worth," he said, not turning around, "Luciano doesn't underestimate you."
"That's not comforting."
"It should be," he replied. "He underestimates everyone else."
He left.
The door locked.
I stood there for a long moment, breathing slowly, grounding myself in the quiet.
Marriage.
Alignment.
Definition.
They weren't asking if I wanted it.
They were asking how much resistance it would cost them.
I walked back to the window and stared out at the city, feeling the weight of eyes I couldn't see.
If this was becoming a negotiation, then fine.
But I wouldn't enter it unarmed.
And I wouldn't let them forget—
I wasn't just the problem they were trying to solve.
I was the variable that could break it.