Season 1 Chapter 3
Hello Hell
Estimated reading time:4m read
Emilia
Chapter text
Not the next day.
Or the next.
Two weeks.
Long enough to almost forget him—
until the buzzer at the door.
I was expecting a delivery.
Never thought twice about bounding down my brother’s stairs.
Halfway down—
L’orso comes into view.
Shit.
Not the outfit I want to be wearing for an oath.
Please let him be here for something else.
Mason’s with him, talking quietly.
He looks up first.
“Hey, Em.”
“Hey, Mace. Boss.”
I hardly glance at L’orso.
“Did you buzz me?”
“Yeah. I think you’re supposed to meet with L’orso today.”
He gestures to him.
L’orso’s face is buried in his phone.
“Try to be more organized, Miss Monte,” he says, not looking up.
My brow furrows.
Mason shoots me a warning look.
I swallow the retort.
“Apologies. Do you mind if I change quickly? I don’t want blood on this dress.”
He looks up—eyes locking on mine, laser-sharp.
“No. Now.”
He turns and disappears down the hall into Mason’s office.
“I’m not fucking going in there, Mason,” I hiss when the door slams.
“Oh yes you are. And don’t get him all worked up again.”
My face snaps to his.
A mischievous smirk.
“Define worked up?”
“He’s going to kill you and you like it.”
He shakes his head and walks off—toward the meeting room that’s become his temporary office.
Dammit.
I stomp my heel and smooth my immaculate silk Chanel dress one last time.
Why does there always have to be blood?
“Miss Monte!”
His voice slices through the hallway—angry, impatient.
I grind my teeth.
Goodbye, Chanel.
Hello, hell.
The office door is open when I reach the end of the hall.
I skip knocking.
Maybe Mason’s right.
Maybe I am asking for it.
Whatever it is.
L’orso paces behind my brother’s desk—jaw tight, eyes narrowed on the floor.
I steady myself. Grip the silk for one last breath.
“Mr. Alfonsi?”
His eyes snap up.
Expression unreadable.
“Sit.”
He points to the chair across from him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to switch it first?” I mumble as I move toward it.
He waits for me to sit before taking his own chair.
Today, my file isn’t on the desk.
“What took so long?” he barks.
On the polished wood rests an eight-sided blade, designed to bite the palm and scar for life.
The oath knife.
My pulse drops to my stomach.
Every Alfonsi knows that blade.
“I should ask you the same question.”
Our eyes meet.
His lip curls.
“I’m a very busy man.”
“Maybe my oath isn’t as important as you thought.”
His expression softens—barely.
“Maybe.”
“And yet, you’re here. With that knife.”
“You said you’d be ready.”
“I am. Can we stop this and just—”
“They want me married.”
Quiet. Flat.
I blink.
“What?”
“They think they can stop me.”
A breath.
“So I’ve come to offer a deal.”
Oh no.
“Marry me, Emilia. Six months. No blood oath. No ring. Just paper.
I’ll sign whatever you need for NorStar at the end.”
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
The room freezes.
He’s serious.
Deadly serious.
Shit.
He leans back in the chair, eyes never leaving me—studying every move.
The scrutiny steadies me just enough to think.
Maybe this isn’t a bad thing.
No—terrible idea.
But still...
He’ll back my return to NorStar.
My family won’t have a choice.
I want that.
But at what cost?
What would being married to L’orso even mean?
Would he always be like this—
brutal, cold, cutting?
Or is there something beneath the ice?
“Uh… dispiace. I definitely didn’t expect that.”
His jaw tightens.
Silent.
I take a slow breath.
“What would a wife of yours even do?”
“We’ll have to sell it. Obviously.”
His tone—clipped, irritated.
Or maybe… vulnerable?
“And you think you can sell it?”
His gaze cuts to mine.
“What’s your point?”
“I have several.”
“Of course you do.”
He gestures, impatient. “Go on.”
“I’m not sure you’re capable. They’ll see through it immediately.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. What else?”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“What else, Emilia?” he snaps.
He’s trying to hold the line.
I’m not making it easy.
“Don’t you think it’s a little one-sided?”
“Six months for the rest of your life? No, I don’t.”
“No oath?”
“You’ll be an Alfonsi if you agree. No oath needed.”
Liar.
Katerina’s scar flashes in my mind.
Trust him? No.
Outsmart him? Maybe.
“Have you decided?”
His phone pings; he doesn’t blink.
Just waits.
This is a disaster in the making.
“I’ll do it. But Ciro’s your problem now.”
“Ciro was always my problem, Miss Monte.”
“Alright, then I guess you can text me the details?”
I stand.
He follows.
Too close. Too hot.
I look away and head for the door.
“I will,” he says behind me—low promise, dangerous as sin.
I pause, hand on the knob.
Turn just enough to see him watching me.
“Oh— and L’orso?”
He lifts his gaze, slow.
Silent.
“If I’m marrying you…”
“You’re getting a ring.”
“And it’s going to draw blood.”
