Camilla Rodrigo;
"Apologies, Doctor," he said smoothly, voice laced with amusement. "I was just processing your little CBT concept. You caught my attention, dipped into my memory pool, let me kiss you—and then bam, turned into a firecracker cheerleader with one hell of a slap."
My jaw nearly hit the floor. Did he seriously just twist CBT into that absurd fantasy?
"Or…" he added, eyes gleaming with mischief, "…do you need a refresher, Doctor? I can grab a little tighter this time."
The audacity of this man!
"Your release hinges on the principles of these sessions," I said, ignoring his remark. "Your ability to integrate into society and adjust your behavioral patterns is crucial. I suggest you take every second of this seriously, Mr. Alessandro."
"We both know you want me, Doc—whether you admit it or not," he said with a lazy grin. "But to save us both time, I'll play along. On one condition: we stick to our little game of questions and answers. That's all."
I bit down on my lower lip, swallowing every insult threatening to fly out of my mouth.
"This is bigger than your ego. If you want your release to remain intact, these sessions are non-negotiable. Without your cooperation, I've got nothing to report. Figure out the rest."
He leaned forward, smirking. "I'd argue you need these sessions more than I do. Keep this up, and they'll question your fitness as a therapist. I gave you an option, you turned it down. So when your boss pulls your contract, don't say I didn't warn you."
He cleared his throat and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.
He wasn't wrong. He knew I needed this job. And I knew exactly what kind of questions he'd ask—ones that circled around that damn pool. That's why I hadn't agreed. But maybe… I didn't have a choice anymore.
I sighed. "What options?" I asked, hoping against hope it wasn't what I feared.
It was.
"Questions and answers," he said coldly. "Ball's in your court, Doc. Play it, or keep stalling."
"Fine. I'll go first," I said. The sooner, the better.
"CBT—Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. What are your thoughts on being released, and how do you plan on maintaining it? What behavioral adaptations did you develop during incarceration that might help you reintegrate into society?"
I'd come prepared. I knew better than to let him twist my words or derail the session.
"Seven months in that hole, and you think I picked up what, exactly?" he scoffed. "Tossed my control issues out the window for society's benefit? That place taught me one thing—fear. My name still makes inmates flinch. I intend to keep it that way… in case I ever go back."
His tone was flat. Void of emotion. Like every word had been chiseled in stone.
"Your turn," I said flatly.
There was no point in pushing him to explain more—he'd never budge. If he wanted to end up back in prison, that was on him. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
He looked at me, slightly thrown off. That glint in his eyes told me he expected resistance… maybe even a lecture.
"That's it?" he asked, brow raised. "No passionate plea for me to see the light?"
"You set the rules for this little game, Mr. Alessandro. I'm just following your lead," I replied coolly.
He shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat.
"Alright then. What's the story between you and Aaron? Why the lie?" he asked, voice calm but edged with curiosity.
"Aaron and I have been together for a year. Whatever happened at the pool was a mistake—one that won't happen again," I said firmly.
He didn't respond. Just gave a noncommittal "Hmm."
I didn't give him room to deflect.
"Do you plan on continuing your killing pattern? Or have you found a more… creative outlet?" I asked, staring him dead in the eye.
"That's a bold question," he said with a smirk. "What do you think's going to happen when you submit a report quoting me saying I'll kill again? Not that I fear the law. I just know how words get twisted."
I leaned forward. "It's still your turn to answer. Rules are rules."
He paused, then replied, his tone oddly sincere. "I don't know if or when I'll need to use my methods again. But I don't lie, Doctor."
For once, I believed him.
As a therapist, you learn to read through the noise, the stories, the games. But this? This felt honest.
"My turn," he said, snapping me out of my thoughts. "If I told you I wanted a taste of you… what would your honest answer be?"
I laughed—sharp, disbelieving. Was he serious?
Absolutely not. No way in hell would I sleep with my fake boyfriend's father, let alone a mafia king twice my age. That was a hell-to-the-fucking-no wrapped in a restraining order.
"No. I belong to your son, and nothing will change that," I said, flipping through my notes. "My turn."
I glanced at him, brows furrowed with something close to curiosity.
"When will it ever be enough for you? The killings, the violence, the chaos... When does it stop?"
I hated myself for wanting to know the answer—not as a professional, but as a person. Maybe because a part of me believed that, somewhere deep down, he might actually be capable of stopping. But if he didn't… it wouldn't end well for him.
Considering what my bosses have planned for him, I kept my expression unreadable.
"It only stops when I can no longer breathe. When I can't talk, walk, or take another damn breath," he said, voice booming through the room like thunder. "Because I, Doctor… am a walking god."
It felt like the room shifted with those words—thick with something dark, heavy, and electric. A chill ran down my spine.
He's not just dangerous. He is the danger. And for the first time, I believed he might actually be the devil.
"That wasn't a question, Doctor—it was a promise. I will get into your pants. One way or another. And when I do, you'll enjoy every second of it."
His voice dipped into something low and sensual. I swallowed hard.
No. He can't have this kind of power over me. He doesn't mean anything. He's nothing.
"Keep dreaming, Mr. Alessandro," I shot back. "Not even in hell would you catch me naked."
He smirked darkly. "See you in hell, then. Sex is hotter down there, anyway. And you, Doctor—I love the way you think."
He's unhinged. And definitely not my type. I'm not the kind of woman men like him chase. I'm plain. Average. I don't even do older men.
"I don't do older men," I muttered, glancing at the notes in my jotter. "I have taste."
"I witnessed your taste fail you at the pool," he snapped. "You purred when I touched you, Doctor. Don't act like you didn't want more. You were bloody aroused."
I flinched, jaw tightening. "The pool never happened. It was a mistake—erased from my mind and everywhere else. You should do the same."
But he wasn't letting it go.
"Every moment is still vivid in my mind. You can forget it all you want. I'm here to remind you, every damn day, of what you felt."
Did he just call my life miserable?
"I regret ever letting you close," I hissed. "People make mistakes, they learn from them. What's your excuse? Why are you so hell-bent on dragging me back into that moment?"
"I'll never let a vile murderer touch me again," I snapped. "After what you showed me at the dock—how dark, how wicked you truly are—you think I'd ever want to witness that again? The only reason I'm enduring this is because of the contract. After this, it's goodbye forever!"
His eyes narrowed, lips curling with a twisted grin.
"You'll beg for me before the two weeks are over, Doctor. And when I'm done, you'll be a worse version of yourself. I don't lie. You'll come to see that side of me soon enough."
His words were a razor across my nerves. They burrowed in deep, dragging chills down my spine.
No. I'd never beg. And I'd never become like him.
"This ends now!" I snapped. "If you don't pull yourself together, Mr. Alessandro, I swear I will shut this entire session down!"
He raised both hands in mock surrender, mocking me with every gesture.
"Alright, alright… I need my therapist, remember? I'll be a good boy. For now."
"Your forty-five minutes are up," I said sharply, beginning to pack up my notes. "If you'll excuse me."
"Give me your phone, Doctor," he said casually.
I froze.
"What makes you think I'd ever do that?"
The nerve. The arrogance. As if he had the right to anything of mine.
This was the mafia. And their rules were twisted beyond reason.
"Unless you want me calling Aaron every time I need a session, I suggest you hand over your number. I mean..." His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "I could always let something slip about our little secret."
"You must be joking," I snarled, anger flashing through me.
"If you leave without giving me your number, you'll find out exactly how serious I am. Your move, Doctor—your balls, your court."
He turned his back, fingers flying over the keyboard like he was already preparing for war.
I stood frozen, weighing my options.
There was nothing romantic between Aaron and me, but even so—this would be beyond awkward. Aaron deserved to hear things from me, not from his father's smug mouth.
On the flip side, if Alessandro had my number, he wouldn't need to drag Aaron into this.
Not ideal—but not the worst outcome either.
Silently, I extended my palm.
He sighed, bored, and handed over his phone.
I dialed my number, let it ring once, and flashed my screen so he could see the connection.
"There. Now you can reach me. Strictly professional. Don't forget that."
He smirked.
"You've got a filthy mind, Doctor. I'll only call when necessary. An important man like me doesn't have time for foolish games."
A biting comeback hovered on the tip of my tongue—but I swallowed it. No point throwing gasoline on his fire.
Without another word, I slipped out of the study, my heels echoing softly as I crossed into the other wing.
I wanted to get as far away from him as possible—until hushed voices stopped me cold.
"Mother, that's no excuse to barge into my room," Aaron's voice cut through the silence, taut with frustration. "I was with my girlfriend, and once again, you invaded my privacy."
"She's not good enough for you!" his mother snapped. "That weak little thing in your room has no place in the world your father built! The second she sees who you really are, she'll run. Mark my words."
"She accepts me—all of me. And she's not weak," Aaron growled. "She's good. Kind. Compassionate. Three things you wouldn't recognize if they slapped you in the face."
"The mafia eats kindness alive!" she spat. "She'll never be Donna material. You need someone with power and connections, not some nobody who wandered in on a whim."
"Call her a nobody again," Aaron snarled, "and I'll make you swallow every word. I don't care if you're my mother—no one disrespects my woman."
Silence crackled, thick and brittle.
"It's time to revoke your visiting rights," Aaron said coldly. "I'm not a teenager anymore. I don't need your toxic brand of love poisoning my life."
"You don't mean that!" she hissed.
"Watch me."
Fast footsteps pounded down the hall.
I spun on my heel and darted back toward the room before I could be seen, heart hammering in my ears.
So much for a quiet exit.