Page 35 of Alessio

Right now, they were focusing on the wrong shit.

Or it was right.

It just wasn’t easy.

Corrado didn’t seem bothered by Alessio’s words. He came back stronger for the second round, saying, “It’s true, you didn’t want all of this—our problems, the shit you weren’t getting from me—to come to a head, either, because you’re terrified of what might come after. So, you keep busy, you keep running … it keeps a distance between you and me, yeah. But then, you come back, and we have two weeks together.”

He let out a bitter laugh, so fucking dark and hurtful, adding, “But then we’re too busy focusing on being together, Alessio, because neither one of us like being apart, instead of all the shit that weighs us down. That’s why you want to do it.”

Fuck.

More than anything, Alessio wanted to deny what Corrado said to him. He wanted to tell him to shove his fucking assumptions up his ass and get out of his face. Except he couldn’t say any of that shit at all, even if he was mad—and Christ, he was so mad—because Corrado wasn’t wrong.

Nothing he said was a lie.

“You want to do the auctions because you need a new way to run, instead of staying here and handling the issues we’ve unpacked from the baggage we’ve been carrying for five fucking years,” Corrado uttered. “If you can do it to me, then the least you can do is say it, too. Just admit it.”

God.

Alessio dragged in a lungful of air that burned all the way in. “And if we didn’t have all this shit going on if we were good, Corrado … then what would you say about these auctions, and me going up for a buyer?”

Because that mattered, too.

“I would still ask you not to do it.”

Alessio’s jaw ached from how hard he was clenching his teeth. “Why?”

“Because they won’t give a fuck about you. You will be a tool, something for them to use. They will tell you where to go, and what to do. They will determine your worth, and the value of your life, by how valuable you are to them. You might die because someone figured you were just collateral, and that contract says it doesn’t matter.”

“Corrado—”

“That contract says someone can take you from me, and there’s not a fucking thing I will be able to do about it because you signed your goddamn name on it. And right now, the only reason you want to take that risk is because as much as you like to throw my bullshit at my feet, you’re still not ready to deal with your own.”

Why did he have to be like that?

Why did he have to be right?

“Okay?” Corrado asked. “Was that what you wanted me to say? Because fuck knows you still won’t let me tell you I love—”

Alessio’s hand hit the papers on the desk, sending them scattering everywhere. He didn’t let Corrado finish his statement before he spun on his heels and left the office without a look over his shoulder.

No, Corrado didn’t get to say those words.

Not yet.

They still struck like a fucking weapon.

Alessio wasn’t ready for the impact.

The music filtering out of the tiny speaker on the middle of the kitchen island had Ginevra dancing to the beat, a wooden spoon swaying with the rest of her body in her grip. She didn’t seem to care at all that Alessio sat at the right side of the island, a thriller opened in front of him, while she cooked and danced.

In fact, she barely paid him any mind at all.

He was sure Corrado had found the speaker for her and let her steal his phone for the massive music playlist he kept on the damn thing. Not that he cared to ask at the moment, because despite how interesting his book actually was, Alessio was far more concerned with watching Ginevra.

A curious thing.

Smart, and quick.