The temptation of my brother-in-law-Chapter 195 - One Hundred and Ninety-Five

Chapter One Hundred and Ninety-Five

Alicia’s POV

The estate was quiet.

Too quiet for a place that had been under threat just hours ago. The extra security guards still patrolled the grounds. Lights blazed from every corner. But inside, the house felt oddly peaceful.

I sat in the kitchen with Signora Moretti. She was teaching me how to make her mother’s pasta sauce. Something to do with my hands. Something to keep my mind occupied while Malachi was still in Paris.

"The secret is patience," she said, stirring the pot. "You can’t rush good sauce. You let it simmer. Let the flavors develop."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

I smiled despite everything. "That’s not very specific."

"Cooking is not about specifics. It’s about feeling. About knowing when something is ready."

Sophie sat at the table doing homework. Or pretending to. She’d been staring at the same page for twenty minutes.

"He’s going to be fine," I told her.

"You don’t know that."

"No. But I have to believe it. Otherwise I’ll go crazy."

Alessandro walked in. "All quiet outside. No movement. Whatever Zhao was planning, he’s either abandoned it or waiting for another opportunity."

"Or Malachi handled it," I said quietly.

"That’s possible too."

My phone sat on the counter. Still off. I’d been staring at it for the past hour, wanting to turn it on. Wanting to know.

But I was afraid. Afraid of what I might find. Or not find.

"Turn it on," Signora Moretti said without looking at me.

"What?"

"Your phone. Turn it on. The not knowing is worse than any news you might receive."

She was right. The uncertainty was eating me alive.

I picked up my phone. Powered it on.

It took forever to boot up. Messages started flooding in.

Three from Malachi.

I’m okay.

Handled. Zhao is pulling back. Emily won’t be a problem.

I’m coming home. Be there in six hours.

Relief flooded through me so intensely I had to sit down.

He was okay. He was alive. He was coming home.

"What does he say?" Sophie asked.

"He’s fine. He’s coming back."

She let out a breath she’d been holding. "Thank God."

More messages came through. From Maurice. From Alessandro. From numbers I didn’t recognize.

But one caught my eye. From an unknown number. Sent two hours ago.

I opened it.

You were right to trust him. He gave me a choice tonight. No one’s given me a choice in five years. I don’t know what to do with that. But I wanted you to know he fought for you. He was willing to die for you. That’s rare. Don’t let fear make you throw it away. - E

Emily. Emily had messaged me.

I read it again. Then showed it to Alessandro.

"She’s backing off," he said. "Whatever happened in Paris, Malachi got through to her."

"Or she realized revenge isn’t as satisfying as she thought it would be."

"Maybe both."

I typed back carefully.

Thank you for telling me. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Whatever that is.

I didn’t expect a response. But one came almost immediately.

I hope so too. Take care of that baby. And take care of him. He needs you more than he’ll ever admit.

Then nothing. No more messages.

I set down my phone and went back to stirring the sauce.

"Six hours," Sophie said.

"Six hours."

"Are you nervous?"

"Terrified."

"Why?"

"Because everything changes now. Before, I could tell myself I was just accepting his help temporarily. That I’d make a decision later. But now..." I stopped. Didn’t know how to finish.

"Now you have to decide if you want him in your life. Really in your life."

"Yes."

"And what’s the problem? You love him. He loves you. You’re having his baby."

"The problem is I’m still scared. Still not sure I can trust him completely. Still worried he’ll become his father."

Signora Moretti turned off the stove. "Come with me."

She led me to her study. Pulled out a photo album I’d never seen before.

"Your mother," she said, opening it. "Before she left."

Photos of my mother as a young woman. Smiling. Laughing. With Signora Moretti. With a man who must have been my grandfather.

"She was happy here," Signora Moretti said. "But she was also suffocating. We had plans for her. A life we’d chosen. A man we’d approved. And none of it was what she wanted."

"So she ran."

"Yes. She chose uncertainty over security. Chose love over comfort. And for years, I was angry with her. Felt betrayed. But now, looking at you, I understand. She wasn’t running from us. She was running toward something better."

"But she died. She struggled her whole life. Was that better?"

"She had you. She had Sophie. She had your father, who loved her more than anything. Was the struggle hard? Yes. But she chose it. She lived on her terms. Died having lived a life she’d chosen." Signora Moretti closed the album. "Don’t let fear of struggling keep you from choosing what you want. Your mother would have told you the same thing."

I looked at the photos. At my mother’s young face. So full of hope and determination.

Had she regretted it? Running away? Giving up wealth for love?

I’d never know. She’d died before I was old enough to ask.

But I remembered her singing. Remembered her laughing with my father even when money was tight. Remembered the way she’d looked at him like he was her whole world.

Maybe she hadn’t regretted it at all.

"What if I choose wrong?" I asked quietly.

"Then you’ll figure it out. You’ll adapt. You’ll survive. That’s what we do."

Marco appeared in the doorway. "Alicia. You have a visitor."

My heart stopped. "Malachi?"

"No. Someone else. She’s at the gate. Says her name is Emily. Says she needs to talk to you. Face to face."

Emily. Here. Now.

"Should I send her away?" Marco asked.

I thought about it. About the woman who’d lost everything. Who’d spent five years planning revenge. Who’d messaged me less than an hour ago with what felt like genuine advice.

"No. Let her in. But keep security close."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But do it anyway."

Ten minutes later, Emily sat across from me in the garden. The same bench where I’d talked to Malachi earlier.

She looked different without the mask and distorted voice. Younger. More fragile. Like a strong wind might break her.

"Thank you for seeing me," she said.

"Why are you here?"

"To apologize. For the things I said on the phone. For trying to turn you against Malachi. For using your fear against you."

"Why would you apologize? I’m nothing to you."

"You’re carrying a child. A child who deserves better than to grow up in a war between families. A child who deserves parents who love each other." She looked at her hands. "I lost my child. Lost everything. And I’ve spent five years trying to destroy everyone else because I couldn’t stand being the only one in pain. But tonight, watching Malachi... he would have died for you. Would have let Zhao kill him if it meant you’d be safe."

"What happened in Paris?"

"He gave me a choice. Told me I could walk away. Could find something other than revenge to live for. No one’s given me a choice in five years. Everyone’s just been afraid of me. Or trying to use me. But Malachi... he saw me. Really saw me. And he offered me a way out."

"Are you taking it?"

"I don’t know yet. But I wanted to tell you something. Something you deserve to know."

"What?"

"Your marriage to Travis. It was arranged. Pa Blackwood knew about your connection to the Morettis. He planned the whole thing. But Malachi didn’t. He didn’t know who you were when he fell for you. Didn’t know about the alliance or the planning. He just saw you and fell."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I was there. Watching. Planning my revenge. I saw every family meeting. Every decision. And Malachi was never part of those discussions. Pa kept him out of it deliberately. Wanted him focused on operations while Pa handled strategy."

Relief and something else flooded through me. "He didn’t know."

"No. And when he found out, when Pa told him after you were already married to Travis, he was furious. Felt like Pa had used you. That’s when things between them started to fracture."

"Why are you telling me this?"