Page 49 of Beautiful Evidence
VINCENZO
We pull through the outer gate just after noon. Alessia shifts in the passenger seat. She doesn’t say anything, but her hands move in her lap like she wants something to hold. I reach across the console and take one, and she lets me. It’s the first time she’s been back to the Costa compound since she was a kid.
She holds my hand as we park and doesn’t let go until I do. We walk in together. Alessia’s posture is straight, head high, even if I feel her pulse ticking fast through our joined hands.
"You okay?" I ask her. This is old hat to me. I've been here multiple times a day for most of my life. But Alessia's pure heart is different from mine, and since she broke ties a long time ago, this place has been nothing but a memory to her.
"Yeah," she says, nodding, but I see the apprehension on her face as I lead her through the wide double doors into the foyer.
In the dining room, Emilio’s already seated at the head of the long table. Food hasn't been served yet, but there are three place settings, glasses of water poured halfway, and cloth napkinspressed into perfect folds at every plate. The table feels curated and intentional. He's making a statement that I wonder if Alessia understands. This isn't family yet, but he's trying.
Emilio straightens his spine and stands when we enter, his eyes steady and unreadable. “Alessia,” he says. He lets out a quiet breath, sizing her up like a man measuring an opponent, not his niece. “You look like your father." His tongue clicks disapprovingly. I know it's been ages since he saw her, but he can't be surprised that she looks like Gordo. They share the same DNA.
She doesn’t flinch. She lifts one eyebrow, a flicker of dry amusement breaking through her nerves. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I feel the humor in her tone, given that Emilo and Gordo share a striking resemblance themselves.
Emilio gestures to the seat at his right. He eases back into his seat and nods once. “It is one.” We sit. She takes the seat beside Emilio. I take the one across from her.
He studies her for a long moment before speaking again. “You’ve done a lot these past few weeks." His gruff tone makes me stiffen, but he follows that with, "You did well," and I try to relax a little.
Alessia folds her hands in her lap. She speaks without the slightest hesitation. “I did what I had to.”
Emilio nods and the corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t doubt that.” Reaching for his water, he says, “But I didn’t bring you here to rehash decisions. I brought you because you made them. And now you live with what comes next.”
"And that is?" I ask with an edge of protection to my tone. He knows how I feel about this woman and since the moment wewalked in, he's been sizing her up. His eyes flick to mine, and I see no malice, after all this time and the way he planned to kill her. Finally, Emilio has let his anger with his brother go. He won't carry forward the vendetta to Gordo's daughter.
He leans forward, hands clasped in front of him. “You’re free,” he says. “No one here expects anything from you. Not after what you did. You want to disappear? You can. You want to go back to your science? We’ll make sure no one questions your credentials.”
Alessia’s eyes narrow slightly. She tilts her head, testing the space between what’s offered and what’s owed. “And if I want something else?”
Emilio shrugs lightly, but there’s nothing casual in the way he watches her face. “There’s a seat here if you want it. We don’t offer that lightly, but you earned your way in." He sighs. "Vincenzo tells me you may be interested in more…"
She glances at me, but I see the question tucked beneath it. I nod once, letting her know she’s not alone but also that this is her moment. I won’t step in. I won’t speak for her.
She turns back to Emilio and leans back, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass without lifting it. “I always thought if I left forensic work, I’d do something quieter. You know… bake bread… teach undergrads. Anything that didn’t come with NDAs and bulletproof glass.”
He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Not quite what your father had in mind, I imagine.”
She breathes in and lets it out slowly. “I’m not sure he had anything in mind for me at all,” she says, but there’s no bitterness in it.
I study her across the table and marvel at how absolutely stunning she is and how she captivates the room. "I want…" Alessia's soft sigh meets me where my heart pinches.
"I want to stay exactly where I am," she says, her voice low but clear, meant only for me. I reach for her hand across the table and wrap my fingers around hers. "With Enzo… And I want my family." Her eyes are sharp as she says, "I just don't want to be involved in the crime."
Emilio grins in pride as if Alessia is his own daughter and she has made him proud. "I think we can arrange that." He nods at the doorway and the staff comes in, setting out a feast on the table in front of us.
Lunch is casual. Emilio talks about Gordo and Rosa, how he misses them and how his life has taken them all in different directions. He tells her how honored he is to have her home and assures her that my work won't keep me from tending to her needs. When lunch is complete, he calls his staff back.
Once the staff clears the table, Emilio wipes his mouth with his napkin and sets it neatly beside his untouched plate. He checks his watch, then looks up.
"There’s one more thing," he says, rising slowly. His tone is less formal now, but still measured. "You’ll want to take this next part on the terrace." There is a hint of sparkle in his eyes that's not normal for him, and I'm curious to see what he has planned for us.
Alessia stands before I do. I lead her through the back hall, out past the garden as we follow Emilio. The terrace overlooks the western ridge, where the hills flatten and the sky opens up. Aphone is already waiting on the small stone table, a video call incoming.
Emilio points at it and smiles, saying, "It's for you," and she reaches for it like it might burn her.
Gordo’s face appears when she swipes to answer, and she glances up at me with confusion. The signal’s strong. He’s in a room with shuttered windows and a leather chair. Somewhere safe.
He looks older than the last time I saw him but clearer. Like the noise around him has settled and he feels more at peace. Gordo leans slightly toward the screen, eyes sharp but warm. “Alessia,” he says, and he draws it out in a fatherly way. "Figlia mia…"
