Chapter 2 Fucking pervert

Chapter Two

Alessia

“He's stable now, ma'am.”

I look up from the plastic chair I've been sitting in for what feels like forever. A nurse stands in front of me, holding a clipboard against her chest.

“The doctors have cleaned up his injuries and treated the cuts. He lost quite a bit of blood, but he's going to be fine.” She gives me a reassuring smile. “You can go ahead and see him if you'd like.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

She points me toward the room, and I get to my feet.

The hospital smells like disinfectant, and my heels click against the tiled floor as I follow the signs. I hate hospitals. The last time I was in a place like this was the night my parents were pronounced dead.

Yet here I am again, going through it all for some stranger because I decided to be a good Samaritan.

I push the door open, and the injured man turns his head toward me. His face is covered in bruises, one side swollen from the beating, but somehow, he still manages to smile.

“Well, look who it is.”

I give him a small smile and step farther into the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better now.” His eyes move over my face. “Not every day a beautiful woman with a good heart comes along to save a man's life.”

I take that as a compliment because, frankly, I need something good to come out of tonight.

“You're lucky I stepped in when I did,” I tell him. “You could have been hurt much worse.”

“I don't mind that I got a bad beating.” He gives me a lazy smile. “It ended up bringing you to me, didn't it?”

I roll my eyes, but I don't think much of it. He's injured, probably still shaken, and flirting is apparently his way of coping.

“Anyway, you're stable now, so I should probably let you rest.”

“Wait.” He shifts against the pillow and winces. “Could you help me adjust this? It's uncomfortable.”

I hesitate for a second before walking toward the bed. “Fine.”

I reach for the pillow behind his head, trying to lift it slightly without hurting him. Before I can finish, his hand closes around mine.

I freeze. “What are you doing?”

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, his eyes travel slowly over me, lingering on my dress before dropping to the designer bag hanging from my shoulder.

“You know, beautiful...” he wheezes, his grip tightening around my hand. “Since you already saved my life, maybe you could finish the job.”

My brows pull together. “What are you talking about?”

“The doctors said they could process my discharge after monitoring me for an hour.” His smile widens. “Maybe you can take me back to your place after.”

For a second, I simply stare at him. Then everything clicks.

What was I thinking?

This man isn't just a thief.

He's a fucking pervert!

I yank my hand out of his grip so hard that he nearly loses his balance.

“You are disgusting, you sick old man!”

I turn around and storm out before he can say another word.

My chest is heaving by the time I reach the hospital entrance. I can't believe this. I risked my life, walked into a situation involving an actual Mafia Don, stood there lecturing him about morality, and then personally brought the man he was beating to the hospital.

For what?

To discover that I should have minded my own business.

Enzo had been entirely right about him.

I should have walked away.

I reach my car and unlock it, still furious enough to feel heat crawling up my neck. Before getting inside, I pull out my phone and check the screen, hoping something from Stefano can calm me down.

But none of my calls or texts have been returned.

My anger slowly gives way to something else.

What if something happened to him?

My mind immediately starts creating ridiculous possibilities. Maybe he's not ignoring me. Maybe he slipped while taking a shower, hit his head, and fainted.

Yes. That was possible.

I refuse to believe that after all these years, Stefano would deliberately ignore me on our anniversary.

I get into my car and start the engine.

Twenty minutes later, I'm pulling into the parking garage beneath Stefano's apartment building.

I don't bother knocking when I reach his door. I have a spare key, and if he's hurt, wasting time standing outside would be stupid.

I unlock the door and step inside. “Stefano?”

No answer.

I close the door behind me and walk farther into the apartment. Everything looks normal. His shoes are by the entrance, his jacket is hanging over the back of a chair, and the television is off.

My heart starts beating faster.

Maybe he really is hurt.

I walk straight toward the bedroom, calling his name again.

“Stefano?”

The door is slightly open, and I push it wider without thinking.

The sight that greets me makes me stop in my tracks.

For a moment, my brain refuses to understand what I'm seeing.

Stefano is on the bed with a woman. Not just any woman. I recognize this one.

She's Diana.

Yes, I definitely remember her name. She's the secretary he always takes to events because he doesn't want to trouble me.

My mouth goes dry. “Stefano?”

His head snaps toward me, and his entire expression changes. “What the fuck? Alessia?”

He immediately pulls away from Diana and grabs the blanket to cover himself. Diana scrambles backward, clutching the sheets against her chest.

I stand in the doorway, staring at them.

And suddenly, everything makes sense.

The late nights at the office. The endless excuses. The phone calls he stopped answering. The reason he never proposed after all these years.

It wasn't because he was waiting for the right moment. It wasn't because he wanted to surprise me.

He was simply a coward.

How could I not have known? How could I have been so stupid not to realize?

I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe. “H-how could you?”

He looks at me, but there isn't even an apology in his eyes. Instead, his face hardens.

“What?” he snaps. “You didn't see this coming?”

I stare at him in disbelief. “What?”

He sits up, completely unashamed. “You've been married to that company for years, Alessia. What did you expect?”

My chest tightens. “You cheated on me because I work?”

“You barely give me any attention anymore.” He gestures toward himself as though I'm supposed to feel guilty for what I've just walked in on. “Everything is always about Bianchi Logistics. Meetings, investors, shipments, board members. That's all you fucking care about.”

I shake my head slowly. “This is your excuse?”

“It's not an excuse.” His voice rises. “It's the truth. If you had paid a little more attention to me, you would have noticed I've not been the same man now for months. But of course, how would you when you're always busy?”

Diana remains beside him, quietly watching me.

There is something about the way she sits there that makes my stomach turn.

She doesn't look ashamed.

She looks like she has already won.

Stefano continues talking, but I barely hear him anymore. He tells me I pushed him away. He tells me I made him feel unwanted. He tells me Diana actually gives him the attention he needs, as though that somehow makes what he did acceptable.

Every word feels like another slap.

I could scream.

I could throw something.

I could cry.

But I refuse to give either of them that satisfaction.

I reach into my purse and pull out the spare key to his apartment.

Stefano watches me. “Alessia...”

I toss the key onto the bed and it lands beside him.

“That’s the last part of you left with me. I will not be associated with you going forward.”

He opens his mouth, but I turn around before he can say anything else.

I walk out of the apartment without looking back.

Even when I get into my car, I don't cry.

I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white and stare at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes are burning, but no tears fall.

“You're Alessia Bianchi,” I whisper to myself. “You don't cry over boys.”

I take a shaky breath. “You're stronger than this.”

And I drive home.

The entire journey is quiet.

When I finally reach my apartment, I don't turn on the lights. I drop my purse on the sofa and walk toward the small table beside my window.

An old photograph of my parents sits there.

My mother is smiling brightly at the camera, one arm wrapped around my father. He has that familiar smile I remember from childhood, the kind that made everything feel safe.

I pick up the photograph and stare at them.

Years have passed since they were murdered.

Years of questions.

Years of police reports, investigations, dead ends, and unanswered calls.

Their killer was never found.

That is the one thing in my life I've never been able to let go of.

I run my thumb gently over the edge of the photograph, my throat tightening.

“I'll find out what happened to you,” I whisper.

My voice shakes, but I don't look away from their faces.

“I don't care how long it takes. I don't care who I have to go through or what I have to uncover.”

I take a slow breath.

“I'll find the person who killed you.”