The temptation of my brother-in-law-Chapter 177 - One Hundred and Seventy-Seven

Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Seven

Alicia’s POV

I woke up in the middle of the night again.

The same dream. Always the same dream.

Malachi’s hands on my skin. His voice in my ear. The way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Then the recording. The screaming. The laughter.

I sat up, breathing hard. My heart pounded against my ribs.

Three weeks since I’d left. Three weeks since I’d heard his voice. Seen his face.

And I still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I hated it. Hated that my brain refused to let him go. Hated that even knowing what he was capable of, even hearing the proof of his violence, I still missed him.

Missed the way he touched me. The way he made me feel safe and wanted and seen.

How could I miss someone I should be terrified of?

I got out of bed and went to the window. The estate grounds were dark except for the security lights along the pathways. Everything was quiet. Peaceful.

The opposite of what I felt inside.

I put my hand on my stomach. Still flat. Still no visible sign of what was growing there.

Malachi’s child. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

I wondered if he knew. If somehow he’d figured it out. If that was why he was looking for me.

Or maybe he wasn’t looking at all. Maybe I’d been easy to forget. Just another woman who’d passed through his life.

No. I knew that wasn’t true. Malachi didn’t forget. Didn’t let go.

He was looking. I was sure of it. And eventually, he’d find me.

The thought should have terrified me. Should have made me want to run farther. Hide better.

But part of me, a part I didn’t want to acknowledge, wanted to be found.

Wanted him to show up and tell me the recordings were fake or taken out of context or something that would make it okay to love him.

Because I did love him. That was the worst part.

I loved a man who tortured people. Who laughed while they begged for mercy. Who was probably capable of things I couldn’t even imagine.

I went back to bed but didn’t sleep. Just lay there staring at the ceiling until dawn.

Morning came too early. I dragged myself through my routine. Shower. Dress. Downstairs to help with breakfast.

The kitchen was already busy when I arrived. Two other maids were preparing food. One of them, Maria, smiled at me.

"You look tired," she said in heavily accented English.

"Didn’t sleep well."

"The baby?"

"Something like that."

She nodded sympathetically. "My sister, she had three babies. Never slept good when she was pregnant. Always the dreams and the worry."

"That sounds about right."

I focused on my tasks. Slicing fruit. Arranging plates. Keeping my hands busy so my mind wouldn’t wander.

It didn’t work.

Malachi’s face kept appearing in my thoughts. The way he’d looked at me the last time we were together. The intensity in his eyes. The possession.

You’re mine, he’d said. And I’d believed him.

Maybe I still did.

"Alicia?"

I jumped. Turned around. Alessandro stood in the doorway.

"Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you."

"It’s fine. I was just... distracted."

"I can see that. You’ve been cutting the same orange for two minutes."

I looked down. He was right. I’d been making tiny, mindless cuts in the same piece of fruit.

"Sorry."

"Are you okay? You seem..."

"I’m fine. Just tired."

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. "My mother wants to see you after breakfast. In the sitting room."

My stomach dropped. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Nothing like that. She just wants to talk."

"About what?"

"I don’t know. She didn’t tell me." He paused. "But she seemed... thoughtful. Not angry."

That should have been reassuring. It wasn’t.

"Okay. I’ll go see her after I finish here."

Alessandro left, and I tried to focus on breakfast. But my hands were shaking now.

Signora Moretti was waiting when I arrived at the sitting room. She sat in her usual chair by the window, but someone else was with her.

Francesca.

I stopped in the doorway. Every instinct told me to turn around and leave.

"Come in, Alicia," Signora Moretti said. "Please."

I stepped inside slowly. Kept my distance from Francesca.

The bruise on my cheek from her slap had faded, but I could still feel it sometimes. A phantom sting.

"Sit down," Signora Moretti gestured to the chair across from her.

I sat. Kept my eyes on her. Refused to look at Francesca.

"My daughter has something to say to you," Signora Moretti said.

Silence.

I waited.

Francesca shifted in her seat. She looked uncomfortable. Angry. Like the words were being forced out of her.

"I’m sorry," she said finally. The words were clipped. Reluctant. "I shouldn’t have hit you. It was inappropriate."

I said nothing.

"Alicia?" Signora Moretti prompted.

"It’s fine," I said. Because what else could I say?

"It’s not fine," Signora Moretti corrected. "But we’re moving forward. Francesca will not touch you again. If she has concerns about your work, she’ll bring them to Alessandro or to me. Understood?"

Francesca nodded. She still looked angry.

"You can go," Signora Moretti told her daughter.

Francesca stood and left without another word. Without looking at me.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

"I know that wasn’t easy," Signora Moretti said. "For either of you."

"She hates me."

"She doesn’t hate you. She’s afraid of you."

"Afraid? Of me?"

"You look like her sister. The sister she lost. Every time she sees you, it reminds her of Giuliana. Of everything that happened." Signora Moretti poured herself tea. "When Giuliana left, Francesca took it personally. They were close. Best friends. And then Giuliana chose a man over her family. Over her sister. Francesca never forgave her for that."

"That’s not my fault."

"No. It’s not. But grief makes people irrational. Makes them lash out at whoever’s nearby."

I understood that more than she knew. I’d lashed out plenty in my own grief. When my mother died. When everything with Travis fell apart.

"I saw her before," I said quietly. "At the mall. When I first arrived in Italy. She looked at me like she’d seen a ghost. Called me that."

"She told me. She came home that day shaking. Convinced she’d seen Giuliana. I told her it was impossible, that she was just seeing what she wanted to see. But then Alessandro hired you and..." Signora Moretti trailed off.

"And it became real."

"Yes."

We sat in silence for a moment.

"Can I ask you something?" Signora Moretti said.

"Of course."

"The father of your baby. Is he a good man?"

The question caught me off guard. I didn’t know how to answer.

Was Malachi good? No. Absolutely not.

But was he good to me? Had he made me feel things I’d never felt before? Had he shown me a version of myself I didn’t know existed?

Yes.

"It’s complicated," I said finally.

"Most things worth having are."

"He’s dangerous. Violent. Capable of terrible things."

"But you love him anyway."

It wasn’t a question. She said it like she already knew.

"I shouldn’t. I should hate him. Should be terrified of him. But I can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t stop missing him."

"Does he know about the baby?"

"No. And he can’t know. If he finds out..." I stopped. Didn’t want to finish that thought.

"If he finds out, he’ll come for you."

"Yes."

"And you don’t want that."

Did I? I didn’t even know anymore.

"I want my baby to be safe. That’s all that matters."

Signora Moretti studied me for a long moment. "You remind me of Giuliana in more ways than just your appearance. She ran too. From a man who was wrong for her. Who was dangerous. She thought she could make it work. Thought love was enough."

"What happened to her?"

"I don’t know. But I suspect she learned that love isn’t always enough. That sometimes the people we love are also the people who destroy us."

Her words settled over me like a weight.

"You should rest," Signora Moretti said. "You look exhausted."

"I have work—"

"Alessandro can handle it. Go. Sleep. That’s an order."

I stood up. "Thank you, Signora. For everything."

"Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t solved anything. Just postponed the inevitable."

I didn’t know what she meant by that, but I didn’t ask.

I went back to my room and lay down. Closed my eyes.

And dreamed of Malachi.

Always Malachi.

His hands. His voice. The way he’d made me feel alive and terrified and wanted all at once.

I woke up with tears on my face.

Missing someone who was bad for me. Who I should run from. Who I could never go back to.

But missing him anyway.

Because the heart doesn’t care about logic or safety or what’s good for you.

It just wants what it wants.

And mine wanted him.

Even though it would probably destroy me.

Even though I knew better.

I put my hand on my stomach again. Felt the life growing there. The reminder of what we’d created together.

"I’m sorry," I whispered to the baby. "I’m sorry your father is who he is. I’m sorry I can’t give you the family you deserve."

The baby didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.

But I felt it anyway. A tiny flutter. Too early for movement. Probably just my imagination.

But it felt like a response.

Like the baby was saying: It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.

I hoped that was true.

Because I didn’t know how much longer I could keep running from the man I loved and the life I’d left behind.