Season 1 Chapter 5
Reality
Estimated reading time:4m read
Emilia
Chapter text
Emilia
I blink awake to a domed skylight and silk against my skin.
No.
No, no, no.
I was hoping last night was just a vivid, sexy, deranged dream.
“Shit.”
I whisper it into the empty room as the night replays in ruthless clarity.
The flirting.
The guns.
The gun retrieval.
The… butterflies?
Absolutely not.
Nightcaps are a scam.
This is fake.
A deal.
A bargain for Mars.
I am not catching feelings.
And L’orso definitely isn’t.
And Ciro—
That photograph.
Okay. Panic later.
Coffee now.
I slip into the matching silk robe and swing the door open—
Straight into a wall of muscle.
Raul.
“Miss Monte.”
Maybe that’s the only phrase he knows.
“Good morning,” I say. “Are you lost? Main house is that way.”
He shakes his head.
“No. Mr. Alfonsi sent me.”
He holds out a red legal envelope.
“He asked that you take a look.”
Of course he did.
“Did he also ask you to stand outside my bedroom like a haunted coat rack?”
Silence.
Definitely trained by the best.
“Fine.”
I take the envelope and head to the kitchen.
Espresso helps.
For about eight seconds.
Then the envelope catches my eye.
My name — handwritten — in a script I don’t recognize.
I’m reaching for it when a presence shifts behind me.
“Nic—” I start—
Nope.
L’orso.
Perfect.
Crisp black suit.
Cold eyes.
Zero remorse for my pajama situation.
He taps his ear — a reminder.
I pull the headphones out.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Mm.” I step back before my brain can betray me. “Where’s Mace?”
He takes my espresso. Drinks it. Sits.
“I sent him out. Thought you’d enjoy a leisurely morning.”
This fucking man.
I make another espresso.
Stay standing.
He touches the envelope.
“I have a meeting in twenty minutes,” he says. “But since you haven’t opened this—”
“Where’s the meeting?”
“Brooklyn.”
“You’re not going to make it.”
“I know.”
Not even pretending to hurry.
He lifts the envelope and my coffee, moving across the room.
Lion movement — quiet power, no apology.
Heat sparks under my skin.
He sets everything on the counter.
“Ran into Nico on my way,” he says.
Oh no.
“Is he alive?”
“Currently.”
“Then who—?”
“From now on, Raul will be with you. He’s the best I have. Safer than Nico.”
“What?” My spine stiffens. “I don’t need that level of surveillance—”
“Are you afraid of Ciro or not?”
I go still.
“Then that’s the cost. Twenty-four seven protection.”
My fists clench.
“And Nico?”
“Reassigned.”
“…Where?”
“The afterlife.”
I glare.
“Don’t kill him, L’orso.”
“Because it would hurt you?”
“Because it would hurt this.”
The shift is instant.
Jaw loosens.
Shoulders drop.
“I’ll let him live. Because you said so.”
Beat.
“But if he looks at you like that again, I’m taking the eyes.”
I swallow. Nod.
“Open it,” he says.
I tear the envelope open.
Newspaper.
My heart drops.
The photo hits first.
I look like a mobster’s wife.
Gucci. Silk. Heat in my eyes.
And him — looking at me like I’m oxygen.
It looks real.
It looks good.
“At least the world will know I was beautiful,” I say, smoothing the page.
“And mine,” he murmurs.
I don’t look at him.
Panic claws back in.
Ciro is going to see this.
“This is good for us,” he says.
“It’s good for our deal.”
“No.”
His voice sharpens.
“This is about us.”
“Then kill him,” I snap. “Because I cannot breathe in this city with him watching. Kill him — or get me out.”
He studies me.
Ruthless. Calculating.
“If you’re this worried,” he says, “you should move into my loft.”
“What?” I bark. “How is that—”
“It’s the safest building in the boroughs. The entire Ragossi family could storm it and not touch you.”
I hate how much that lands.
“The whole Ragossi family,” I whisper.
His eyes burn.
He likes that reaction.
He reaches into his coat.
Another envelope.
Marriage license.
He lays it on the counter.
Inevitable.
“Not leverage. Not strategy,” he says.
“Just reality.”
I laugh once — thin.
“No fight over prenups? No theatrics?”
“You’re going to die in space, Emilia. I’m not worried about you stealing my assets.”
Fair.
I look down—
And freeze.
Leonardo Alfonsi.
L’orso has a name.
A real one.
My fingers brush the ink.
“That is confidential,” he says.
Not the Boss.
The man.
“Can I say it?” I whisper.
His body goes rigid.
“No.”
“Unfair to deprive your wife of such a privilege.”
I bat my eyes.
Jaw flexes.
Dangerous.
“One time,” he grits.
I grin.
“I’ll save it.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“It’ll be good for us.”
He exhales — slow. Controlled.
“Attenta, Emilia.”
Always.
I sign.
He signs.
“What now?”
“You pack. I go to my meeting.”
“I’m not moving in.”
“You will. It’s just a matter of days.”
“I think I’ll wait.”
“You would.”
He sips my espresso.
“Friday. Gala. I’ll send a gown.”
“You don’t know my size.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You wish.”
He meets my gaze — unblinking.
“I do.”
He leaves.
Silence collapses around me.
I am Emilia Sophia Alfonsi.
My phone rings later.
Half-asleep.
UNKNOWN CALLER ID.
Of course.
I answer.
“Hey—”
“Hello, Princess.”
My blood freezes.
Hands shaking.
Vision narrowing.
Breath fracturing.
Ciro.
“Did you miss me?”
