Camila Rodrigo;
"Come, join us in the great dining hall. We have much to discuss," Alessandro said, his voice smooth as silk, yet laced with something colder. When he turned, it was with a grace that sent an involuntary chill down my spine.
And just like that, we followed the devil into the depths of his lair.
Aaron pulled out a chair for me. I gave him a small smile as I sat down. As expected, Alessandro took his place at the head of the table. Aaron settled in the seat directly to his father's right. Across from me sat a woman I hadn't noticed before. The chair to Alessandro's left remained empty.
Weird bunch…
"That's my mom," Aaron whispered in my ear.
I blinked, stunned. That was his mother?
She looked no older than thirty. Her skin glowed like it had been kissed by the sun itself—flawless and smooth. Her long black hair was swept into a perfect bun, so sleek it looked sculpted. There was an elegance to her, something both delicate and untouchable. Every move she made radiated wealth and refinement—like even her sighs were trained.
I was blatantly staring.
She turned her head slightly, catching me in the act. Her eyes met mine with a soft intensity, like she was reading a book only she had the code to.
"You must be my boy's girl, aren't you?" she asked with a slight accent—Scottish, I think. It only added to her sophisticated, almost royal air.
I sat there, blanked out, drowning in my thoughts. Aaron nudged me gently, pulling me back.
"Oh—yes, ma'am. Pardon me. You look… breathtaking. I can see why Mr. Alessandro was drawn to you," I stammered, hoping to sound poised.
I did not sound poised.
"We're divorced," Alessandro cut in, his voice sharp, clipped—final. Like he was slicing any further conversation off at the root.
I had no idea how to respond.
"Oh… okay," I mumbled, shrinking into myself with every second.
"Babe," Aaron said softly, trying to ease the tension. "My parents have been separated for a while now. That's why my mom doesn't sit near him. The only time they're even in the same room is for things like this. Isn't that right, Mom?"
She didn't even look at him. She simply raised her wine glass with grace, took a sip, and placed it down with such elegance it could've been choreographed.
"She doesn't need to know all that, Aaron. She's not a Giovanni," she said calmly—but her voice carried the weight of warning.
There was something about her—something venomous beneath all that elegance. Like a viper coiled in its lair, still and beautiful, but deadly if provoked.
The servers soon entered, lining the long table with dishes that looked straight out of a royal banquet. Golden roasted turkey with herbs and stuffing, creamy mashed potatoes with rich gravy, layers of lasagna steaming with cheese, sticky barbecue ribs glistening with sauce, and a decadent selection of desserts—cheesecake, dark chocolates, and more.
Everyone helped themselves. I went for a modest portion—mashed potatoes and a few ribs—while the others filled their plates to their liking. The room was quiet for a beat, filled only with the soft clinking of silverware. Then, the silence was broken.
And of course, it was her—the viper herself.
"Twenty-two years of knowing Aaron," she began, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "and this is the first time he's brought a lady home. Tell me, how exactly did you manage to bag my son?"
Aaron tensed beside me. "Mom…"
But I placed my hand over his, gently shaking my head. I wasn't about to let her rattle me. I was five hundred thousand dollars deep into this performance—I might as well give her a show.
"Ma'am," I said sweetly, my tone light, my eyes wide with feigned innocence. "I think you mean, how did your son win my heart? Because I assure you, no one here is a piece of property to be bagged."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but I didn't stop there.
"I could go on about how wonderful your son is, but I'm sure, as his mother, you already know that. What I can say is that without him, I'd probably be labeled as just another rude outsider… or worse, a scammer. He didn't just accept me. He saved me."
I looked at Aaron with tender admiration—Oscar-worthy, if I'm being honest.
It would take the devil himself not to believe my act.
Alessandro cleared his throat. Instantly, all heads turned his way. He didn't say a word. Just continued cutting into his meal like nothing had happened.
Then, with the smoothness of a dagger under silk, she fired another shot. "So, what do you do, dear? Don't tell me you sit at home while Aaron plays hero. He has a habit of rescuing strays."
I clenched my jaw, biting back the sharp reply forming on my tongue.
But I didn't have to say a word.
"Not everyone lounges at home spending other people's money," Alessandro said flatly, his voice emotionless. "Some people actually understand the weight of responsibility—something you've never quite grasped."
Her wine glass paused mid-air. "And you would know all about responsibility, wouldn't you?" she hissed, her voice laced with venom.
"Running around the city, playing god. I bet you know the streets better than your own family."
The tension in the room thickened like fog. And just like that, dinner had officially turned into a battlefield—served with mashed potatoes and a side of family drama.
Okay, I'm starting to think they're talking about something else entirely—something buried and personal, wrapped in years of resentment. And suddenly, I'm feeling very out of place. Half a million dollars or not… this was getting uncomfortable.
"You had the chance to be part of the mafia world," Alessandro said coolly, his tone like ice. "But you never stick to anything. Your marriage, your family—I could go on."
Aaron slammed his hand down, his voice rising in frustration. "Mom. Dad. Can we not do this? Seriously? You're really airing your drama in front of my girlfriend?"
They both fell silent, tension radiating between them like a live wire. They cleared their throats almost in sync, but not before shooting daggers across the table at each other.
After a moment that felt like an hour, Alessandro finally broke the silence.
"How did you two meet?" he asked, voice neutral again—as if nothing had just happened.
Aaron reached for my hand, gazing into my eyes with the affection of a man completely in love. We both knew the truth—but the act was airtight.
"I met her at a place called Sugar Rush," he said with a fond smile. "She ordered confectionery in ridiculous quantities without caring what anyone thought. That confidence pulled me in."
His mother scoffed, her face twisted in disdain. "Now I see why she looks like that."
I blinked, stunned, but Alessandro didn't give me a chance to respond.
"Oh? And what did you look like before I made you into what you are now, Monica?" he cut in sharply, his words like knives dipped in acid.
Monica.
Sweet name for the devil herself.
She didn't miss a beat. "If she actually ate real food, maybe she wouldn't be so scrawny. Pale skin, unkempt—even makeup can't cover it."
I bit my lip, biting down the storm building in me. But I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me rattle. I exhaled, slowly and purposefully.
Then I picked up my napkin, dabbed my lips, and set it down with deliberate calm.
"Ma'am," I began, my voice steady, "I know I'm not your ideal choice for your son. And that's fine—because he chose me. How I look? That's my decision. I don't need approval to exist in my own skin."
Then, as if to seal my point, I scooped a spoonful of chocolate pudding and took a bite—cool, collected, and completely unbothered.
Aaron didn't waste time jumping to my side.
"Mom, that was out of line," he said firmly. "It's her body. I love her the way she is. Your opinion won't change that. Not now, not ever."
The table fell into a strained silence, thick with tension and unsaid things. But for the first time, I didn't feel small. I felt like I owned my space—pale skin, chocolate pudding, and all.
---
"Darling, you know I only want what's best for you," Monica said, her voice trembling with faux sincerity. "I just need to be sure she loves you for you, not for the family name."
Aaron gave her a flat, unimpressed look. Without breaking eye contact, he reached across the table and held my hand for everyone to see.
"Not everyone is like that, Mother," he replied coolly. "Camila definitely isn't. I'd love for the two most important women in my life to get along. Do it for me."
Monica's lips curled with disdain.
"Baby, you had options. With your father's name, entire empires would've killed to merge their bloodline with ours." Then she turned to me, her gaze dripping with venom. "And yet… you bring this home?"
Her words hung heavy in the air.
And then—
"I think it's time you leave," Alessandro growled.
The room froze.
His voice, deep and menacing, echoed like thunder. The table seemed to tremble beneath his fury. Even the staff dropped their gazes, heads bowed. No one dared to move. No one dared to breathe.
He stood, and for a moment, the air shifted—dangerous and raw. His eyes blazed with rage.
"I won't say it again, Monica. Get out of my house."
She shot up from her seat, hands planted on her hips, fury dancing in her eyes. Her figure, sculpted and dressed in a form-fitting purple gown, screamed high fashion and polished perfection—but her expression, twisted with hate, shattered the illusion.
"You're kicking me out? For her? This skunk?" she hissed. "You're sending me away from my home? My family?"
Alessandro's laugh was cold, sharp.
"You? Family?" he spat. "You left this home. You turned your back on us. You lost every right to call this place yours the day you walked out. And now you sit at my table, trying to tear others down?"
His voice cracked like a whip, low but full of scorn.
"You're nothing but a stranger here. The only thing tying you to this house is the title mother. And even that feels like charity."
Monica's jaw clenched. Her entire body radiated indignation.
"I always knew you'd come crawling back, Alessandro. You miss us. You want me back. But you're four years too late. You put your business above your family—above me! And now you think you can have it all again? How shameless can you be?"
I blinked. Wait… was she rewriting the story? He never once said he wanted her back. There was no "when we needed you most" speech. Just rage.
Alessandro sneered.
"You're delusional, Monica. The day you left was the best day of my life. Do you really think I'd throw away my peace—my freedom—for you?"
Then his voice dropped to a deadly calm.
"Romeo!"
In seconds, two suited men entered the room, like shadows summoned by his will.
"Boss," they greeted in unison.
"Make sure she's out of this house in the next five minutes," Alessandro ordered. His tone brooked no argument.
Then he turned to Aaron and me, eyes briefly softening.
"You two. My study. Now."
With that, he turned and walked out—leaving silence, tension, and shattered pride in his wake.
---
The entire house fell into a thick, uneasy silence as Alessandro stormed out. For a moment, no one dared move—like the room itself was holding its breath.
Then, as if reality snapped back into place, his men moved swiftly, escorting Monica out without a word.
I was left alone with Aaron and the lingering tension... plus a few stunned employees pretending to be invisible.
What a dramatic family...
Sigh.
"I swear, it's not always like this," Aaron said gently, trying to ease the mood. "Usually, Dad just stays quiet and lets her run her mouth. But today... I think he really must like you. Defending you like that? That's a first."
I nodded slowly, still processing everything. Alessandro's outburst wasn't just unexpected—it felt personal. Deep. Like something had finally snapped. Honestly, Monica had been getting on my last nerve too. She was lucky I wasn't the one trading insults.
"So," I said, trying to lighten the mood, "you've got the world's wealthiest families lining up at your feet... and here you are with me."
He rolled his eyes and extended his arm, which I gladly took.
"You know I could never really be with any of them," he whispered as we walked. "You know who I am. What I am. Those spoiled heiresses would sell me to the press the moment they sensed something wasn't... normal."
"You know your father's going to lose it if he ever finds out," I warned softly, keeping pace beside him.
"He'd destroy me," Aaron said, his voice darkening. "Men like him don't understand anything outside their own rules. It's their way or nothing. He'd rant about shame and disgrace and dragging the family name through the mud."
He paused, then looked at me with eyes full of steel.
"But I'm working on something—a plan that'll blindside him. When I pull it off, I'll finally have control. I'll finally be free."
The conviction in his voice sent a ripple through me. There was weight in his words. A silent, buried war being fought inside him.
I opened my mouth to ask more, but before I could, we reached the study doors—tall, imposing, guarded by two stoic men in black suits.