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"Trouble at work. Nothing to worry about."
Alfie wouldn't meet my eye, but I knew better than to press him. "What did you want to talk about?" I asked, instead.
Alfie straightened and cleared his throat. Whatever vulnerability I'd seen was gone, replaced by a cocky, crooked grin. "Let's go somewhere."
"Go--like, out?"
"Yes, Emilia, out."
My hesitation lasted less than a second. "Okay."
Alfie arched an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I didn't think you'd say yes."
I bumped him with my shoulder. "What's the matter, losing your faith in the ability to woo a girl?"
He grinned. "Did you like the roses?"
"They were black."
"I like the meaning of the black ones better." Alfie ran a hand through his curls. He seemed almost...nervous. It was endearing. "Fated lovers."
Oh. My heart skipped a beat. "I like that."
Alfie's answering grin could have lit up Boston. "Come on," he said, and offered me his hand. "Let's go."
The T rattled beneath us, the metal screeching as it navigated the tracks. I watched Alfie out of the corner of my eye, trying to appear casual despite my pounding heart. He was leaning against the door, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, looking effortlessly at ease.
We rode the T all the way to the parks near Fenway, out near Back Bay. There was zero chance of either of our families finding us here, and it was good to be outside and stretch my legs, for once. The weather had turned warm, hinting at the approaching summer. Alfie bought us street tacos from a food truck, and we sat on the grass, eating and talking.
"So, Emilia Russo," Alfie said, laying back on the grass. I tried not to notice the distracting way his shirt had ridden up to show just a hint of flat abdomen. "Tell me about yourself."
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"That's a lot."
"I've got nothing but time."
So, I did. Alfie listened as I talked about Lorenzo and Sofia and Luca, growing up Moretti. Books. College. I even told him about my parents, and Alfie laid beneath Boston's setting sun and listened to me like I was the only person in the world.
"Jesus, Emilia," Alfie breathed, his grip on my hand tightening, "I had no idea."
"Most people don't," I admitted, "Lorenzo took me in after their deaths, raised me as his own. He's always been protective of me, keeping me away from the darker aspects of his world."
"Sounds like he really cares about you," Alfie brushed his thumb across the back of my hand. His gaze was inscrutable, but I heard in his tone the acknowledgement of the difficult position we were both in.
"Maybe," I mused, leaning into him as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting us in twilight shadows. “Lorenzo cares, I think, but Viviana has never liked me. It’s…complicated.”
He propped himself up on an elbow and searched my face. "You miss them. Your parents."
"Every day."
Alfie didn't press, and I was grateful. No one else had ever understood. Lorenzo never talked about them, and Sofia had never known them. Luca was sweet, but he couldn’t truly understand. His own parents had been monsters.
