“You knew Val?” Emma whispered.

Alessandro leaned back slowly.

“No. But my sister did.”

Emma frowned.

Fifteen years earlier, Saint Catherine’s Home for Children had burned down in the middle of the night.

Officially, the fire had been ruled accidental.

Most of the records were destroyed.

Several children died.

Including Val.

At least, that was what Emma had been told.

But Alessandro’s eyes darkened when he heard the orphanage’s name.

“That fire wasn’t an accident,” he said quietly.

“And your friend didn’t die in it.”

Emma stopped breathing.

For years she had dreamed about Val.

About the little girl with dark curls and stubborn eyes who used to sneak crackers into their room after lights out.

Val had protected Emma from older girls, shared her blankets during winter, and promised they would never abandon each other.

Then came adoption night.

A wealthy couple arrived unexpectedly asking specifically for Emma.

She remembered Val crying as she pressed half of the silver necklace into Emma’s hand.

They carved matching scars into their arms with broken glass, swearing they would reunite someday.

The next morning, Emma left.

Three nights later, the orphanage burned.

Alessandro stared at her scar.

“My younger sister Sofia was also there that night.”

Emma blinked in confusion.

“She survived the fire,” Alessandro continued.

“Years later, before she died, she told me about two girls connected by matching scars and necklaces. She said one of them disappeared before the fire started.”

Emma’s stomach twisted.

“She believed the fire was meant to silence witnesses.”

Silence filled the room.

Then Alessandro pulled a photograph from his wallet.

Emma nearly collapsed.

The picture showed three children standing together outside Saint Catherine’s.

Sofia.

And Emma.

Part 3: The Devil’s Confession

For the next several days, Emma’s life unraveled completely.

Alessandro insisted she stay under his protection after one of his men discovered someone searching for her apartment.

Emma resisted fiercely at first.

She did not trust mafia bosses, bodyguards, or men who carried violence behind their eyes like second nature.

But every instinct told her Alessandro was genuinely terrified for her safety.

One night, unable to sleep, Emma wandered into Alessandro’s private library overlooking the East River.

She found him sitting alone in darkness with a whiskey glass untouched beside him.

“You’re afraid,” she said softly.

He laughed bitterly.

“I’ve been afraid for fifteen years.”

The confession stunned her.

Alessandro rarely spoke about himself, but that night something broke open inside him.

He explained how his father, Vittorio Moretti, had ruled New York through fear and bloodshed.

Vittorio believed weakness destroyed families.

Compassion was punished.

Loyalty was bought with violence.

“When Sofia died,” Alessandro said quietly, “I realized my father had poisoned everything he touched.”

Emma studied him carefully.

“You hate him.”

“I became him.”

The honesty in his voice hurt more than lies ever could.

Over time, Emma began seeing pieces of the real Alessandro beneath the terrifying reputation.

He funded children’s hospitals anonymously.

Paid for surgeries families could not afford.