I'm sitting by the window in the living room, staring out at the garden, but not seeing anything. My mind is miles away, back in that café with Natasha, unraveling every word, every possible connection between our fathers' disappearances and the Caruso family. It's all tangled up, like a knot I can't quite untie, and the more I pull at it, the tighter it seems to get.Matteo, my uncle, disappeared two years after my dad. Two years of what? Planning? Hiding? Running from something? And then there's the car accident that killed Natasha's mother—an accident Antonio, Natasha's older brother, is convinced wasn't an accident at all. He said it once, called our fathers murderers, with so much venom in his voice that it stuck with me, playing on repeat in my head.I shiver, the thought sending a chill down my spine. If Antonio's right, if what he suspects is true, then what does that mean? And how deep does this go?I'm so lost in thought that I don't even hear the door open. When I finally n
I have different versions of the same nightmare every night. No matter how the details shift, they all lead back to the same moments—the same terror. It's always me, 15 years old, standing in that room, holding a gun I never wanted to touch, let alone fire.The smell of whiskey and stale air fills my nose, clinging to the walls like a memory that won't fade. My father's voice—no longer the strong, commanding tone I once admired—comes out slurred and angry, the words twisted by alcohol and years of bitterness. He's not the man I used to look up to; he's a stranger, lost in his rage and addictions."Liam, do it! Do it now!" My mother's voice pierces the air, sharp and desperate. Her eyes are wide, filled with a fear that sends chills down my spine. I see it all again, the way she looked at me that night—like I was her only hope, like if I didn't act, we would both be lost.My father is advancing, a knife in his hand, his eyes wild with a madness that has nothing to do with the man he us
I've spent the last two weeks in a whirlwind of confusion and anxiety. Liam's been distant, even more than before. It feels like we're back at square one—him, always away, always busy, always brooding. It's like Tuscany never happened. I thought we'd turned a corner, that there was something real between us, but now I'm not so sure. His eyes don't linger on mine anymore, his touch is cold, and his smiles feel forced as if they're more out of obligation than genuine emotion.Tonight, I've had enough. I can't keep doing this—wondering, waiting, feeling like a fool. I decide to visit him at his office. Maybe if I confront him, I can get some answers, or at least figure out what's going on in that complicated head of his. If I can just see him, and talk to him, maybe things will start to make sense again. Maybe he's just under pressure, dealing with something he hasn't told me about. But deep down, there's a gnawing doubt, a voice whispering that things have changed between us, and not fo
Every night for the past two weeks, I've been haunted by the same thoughts, the same dark realizations. It's why I've kept my distance from Emma, why I've buried myself in work, in travel, in anything that keeps me from facing her. But no matter how much I try to escape it, the truth is always there, gnawing at me like a festering wound.It all started when I decided to do some digging into the Conti brothers' disappearance, driven by a nagging sense that there was more to the story than anyone was willing to admit. The more I uncovered, the more the pieces began to fall into place. I discovered that one of the Conti brothers had an American wife and a young daughter he left behind. That wife was Lilian. The daughter was Emma.The realization hit me like a freight train. Emma, the woman I married, the woman who somehow became the light in my otherwise dark world, was connected to a past that my family had buried deep. A past that involved death, secrets, and betrayal. I couldn't breat
I've been holed up in my room all day, my mind spinning in circles around the same damn thoughts, the same damn questions. I've cried until my eyes are sore, puffy, and swollen, and I feel like there's nothing left inside me but this aching void. I can still hear Liam's voice in my head, those cruel, dismissive words replaying over and over again, like a broken record I can't turn off."You were right, Mother. I was never meant to be with someone like Emma."I thought I knew him. I thought we had something real, something that could withstand whatever obstacles came our way. But now I see that I was just a fool, blinded by hope, by some stupid, naive belief that love could change things. That it could make people better.He played me. I don't know why, and that's what hurts the most. Was any of it real? Did he ever care, or was I just another pawn in whatever game he and his family were playing? I feel so stupid for believing in him, for thinking that we could build something together
I'm in my study at home, surrounded by piles of papers and files, each one more damning than the last. My father's old desk is barely visible beneath the stacks of documents I've accumulated over the past few weeks. Papers with names, dates, and transactions—every sordid detail of my family's legacy laid bare. And it's all connected to the Conti brothers. How did we get here? I think as I take a swig from the glass of whiskey in my hand, letting the burn steady me.I curse under my breath, my frustration building with every second. My mother. My family. This goddamn legacy I've inherited. It's all rotten. All of it. A cancer that's eaten away at my soul for far too long. And now, knowing what I know, the full weight of it feels unbearable. The Conti brothers...their disappearance, the secrets surrounding them. It's all tied back to us, to my mother, to this cursed family.Emma doesn't know. She can't know. Not about the Conti brothers, not about the part my family played in their disa
When I get home, it's late, and the house is dark and quiet. I drop my keys on the table by the door, my feet aching from a long day. I'm not in the mood for any more surprises, but as I walk into the living room, I see Liam sitting there, almost hidden in the shadows. He's got a glass of whiskey in one hand, his posture slumped, like the weight of the world is pressing down on his shoulders.For a second, I wonder if I should just ignore him and go straight to my room. I'm not sure I have the energy to face him right now, not after everything that's happened. But he notices me standing there and looks up, his eyes filled with something I can't quite read. It's like guilt mixed with exhaustion, but I can't tell what he's feeling guilty about."Emma," he says, his voice heavy and a little slurred from the alcohol. "We need to talk."I roll my eyes. "I'm not in the mood, Liam. I've had a long day, and I just want to sleep. Besides, you don't look like you're in any state to talk about a
I pounded my fist on the conference table, the sharp crack echoing through the room. The projector screen was still flashing its garbled data, but no one seemed to be paying attention anymore. Everyone's gaze was fixed on me, a mixture of fear and uncertainty in their eyes. My patience was gone, and my frustration was reaching its limit."Seriously?" I barked, my voice echoing off the walls. "We've been going around in circles for weeks. I'm tired of this. We need a real plan, not this disorganized mess!"The room fell silent. You could cut the tension with a knife. I felt like I was on the edge of a cliff, looking down at a chasm of stress and exhaustion. It wasn't just this meeting. It was everything—my work, my strained relationship with Emma, and the looming shadow of her father's disappearance two decades ago.Emma and I had been distant lately, but that wasn't the whole story. The real weight on my shoulders was the dark history connecting our families. Her father had disappeare