Alessa would never havedreamed she’d be nervous to step off the plane when she returned to Newark. Never mind that technically she had returned via private, billion-dollar jet.Definitely not how I pictured ever joining the mile high club. Yet even that distracting memory did little to ease her nerves as they descended to the tarmac. She’d half expected to be swarmed with fuming De Salvos, have the sky open up declaring her a traitor for her disobedience, and a hailstorm of bullets bring it all to an end.
Rationally she knew she hadn’t earned that degree of anger. It was just easy to fear the worst.
Instead, Cristiano had greeted them. The conversation had been a little awkward—for her—predictably short, and entirely non-violent. His eyes had asked the most damning questions, and Alessa had kept her lips pressed tightly shut.
She’d also stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Rocco. Not a half-step behind, not in front of, not off to the side of. In their world, it was as much as a statement as any public display of affection. A man like Cristiano De Salvo would not have missed that.
Given that they had arrived in Newark so early in the day, they had plenty of time to drop off luggage and find their feet before getting to any business. The flight crew had been redirected to available rooms at Cristiano’s mostly residential building, which the family referred to as the Tower. It saved the Cavallos a bit of money and provided their people actual security, while maintaining all the comforts the hotel would have offered. It was a gesture of good will.
Rocco, however, insisted on staying with her in her apartment.
Alessa had never been more cognizant of how small her apartment truly was until the moment she guided Rocco through the door, both of them having to squish into the entry space to fit inside together. She wiggled free, hauling the one piece of luggage she’d brought with her, and maneuvered past the short wall, into what was supposed to be the open living-kitchen space. Altogether the box wouldn’t take up halfof his downstairs. She’d never compared his square footage with hers, but the difference was tangible.
Rocco moved forward, leaning up against the peninsula that doubled as an island and tripled as her dining table. It sat two. Unless they were two very large, muscle-bound gorilla men, then it sat only one. In Rocco’s case, sitting beside him there would be cramped … but she’d never really had a problem being tucked up close to him.
“Alessa,” he said, after turning his head in both directions and presumably taking the space in. “You live in a postage stamp.”
She frowned, continued forward, and dropped her bag and then herself onto her old sofa. “I warned you it was small. It’s efficient for my life, and it’s been just me since I left home, so it’s fine.”
Rocco sighed and approached her. “Maybe it worked before,” he said. He pulled her suitcase off the sofa and settled beside her. “But you deserve more.” He looped his arm around her waist, hauling her into his side. “Imagine if I lived here with you, we’d be tripping over each other even when we didn’t want to.”
She arched a brow at him. “You’d actually love that.”
He grinned and his gaze dropped down, as if he hadn’t already looked his fill of her in her new dress. “Well … yes. But I’d rather just glue you to my side and have as much space as we might want.”
Alessa rolled her eyes and slumped into him. “Seriously, Rocco. You won’t hurt my feelings if you want to take Cristiano up on his offer. The rooms at the Tower are nicer.”
“Then why don’t you have one?”
She scrunched up her face. “Testosterone overload. No thank you. I’d be the only female constantly in residence for fifteen floors in either direction.” She would worry about Felicity if Felicity weren’tCristiano’s. No sane man incurred that wrath.
Rocco tipped his head back and laughed, his hold tightening. “You’re right, we can’t have that.” He pulled in a breath, still grinning. “It’s bad enough I’m embarking on a war with neighbors. I’d hate to have to shoot up my best allies.”
“You’re ridiculous.” But she had to bite back her smile.
He leaned in and kissed her temple. “I promised not to attack you as soon as we were alone, but sitting here and waiting on Em is not going to work out well for that. Show me something while we wait—take me somewhere, whatever you want.”
Alessa blinked up at him, briefly startled by the request. More startled by the fact that he wasn’t just giving in to his urges. Then she smiled, a strangely warm yet sad smile, as an idea occurred to her. They would be heading to her family home once they met back up with Emanuele, perhaps after a small detour for a quick bite to eat, and she had no delusions that her parents would monopolize the day until it was time for his meeting with Dante. If she was going to go—if she was going to take him—this was the best time. “Okay. I know a place.”
Without argument, Rocco let her up and followed her back out the door. He even let her drive.
Her chest got tight, as it always did, as the old stone structure and leaning wrought iron gate of Woodland Cemetery loomed closer. It wasn’t Newark’s most glamourous final resting place, but neither was it the worst. And though they had been raised with a degree of religion, none of it had stuck—undoubtedly because the practice had been mostly for show from the beginning. As a result, the local church plots had been non-options.
Rocco scooped up her hand and gripped it tight. “Are you sure this is what you want to show me, beautiful?”
Alessa dragged in a ragged breath and wedged her fingers between his. The feel of his palm against hers was grounding. “Yes,” she said. She paused just outside the gate that would lead inside. “If … Al were still here”—her throat constricted and she had to cut herself off, just for a second—“if it were an option, Al would be the first part of my family you’d be meeting.” She managed to turn a smile up to him. “Big brother privileges or something.”
The smile Rocco offered in return was muted with a tender sympathy. “As long as you’re sure.”
She was about as sure of this as she was of anything they were doing that day, which was to say, she’d never been so unprepared. But it felt right, so she led him forward.
The cemetery was quiet, and though it hurt, Alessa easily remembered the path to her brother’s marker. Al didn’t have a flashy tombstone. He had a modest, sturdy piece of rock that stood only half a foot taller than the low-trimmed grass. It was rough around the edges, left natural, because he’d spent so much time enjoying nature when he’d been younger. And thecenter bore the polished, engraved plaque with his full name, birth and death dates, and the standard, heartbreaking words.
Alfonso Adimari III. Beloved son, brother, and friend.
It was so much less than he deserved. But what he deserved wouldn’t fit on a rock.
She didn’t even realize she’d started crying again until Rocco pulled his hand from hers in favor of curling his arm entirely around her, tucking her up into his side. It was shortly before nine in the morning, in late June, and yet she appreciated his warmth. It felt different somehow from the building heat of the day.
