206Emilia’s POVI was seated across from Alonso in the dimly lit study of his villa, the journal clutched tightly in my hands. It felt strange to be here again, to look into the eyes of a man who had caused me so much pain and confusion, yet who claimed to have loved my birth mother more than life itself. He looked different today—not the powerful, untouchable mafia king, but a man weighed down by his own ghosts.“I found this,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt as I placed the journal on the polished wooden table between us. “It was my mother’s.”Alonso’s face softened, his gaze dropping to the worn leather cover. He didn’t reach for it. Instead, he leaned back, his expression shadowed with something I couldn’t quite name. Guilt? Pain? Regret?“She kept it hidden,” I continued. “But it paints a picture I’m not sure I can reconcile. She loved you, Alonso. That much is clear. But she was also afraid of you, afraid of what this life would do to her—and to me.”His shoulders sagged,
207Emilia’s POVAlaric paced the living room like a caged tiger, his hand raking through his hair as he muttered under his breath. I sat on the couch, my arms folded, trying to keep my own emotions in check. This had become a familiar scene since I’d returned from seeing Alonso, the air between us heavy with tension neither of us seemed willing—or able—to break.Finally, he stopped and turned to face me, his dark eyes blazing. “I don’t understand how you can even consider letting that man into your life after everything he’s done.”I took a deep breath, bracing myself. “It’s not about letting him in, Alaric. It’s about understanding where I came from, about finding some kind of peace with it.”“Peace?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “You think you’re going to find peace with a man like Alonso? He’s a manipulator, Emilia. He’ll say whatever he thinks you want to hear to worm his way into your good graces.”I stood, my frustration bubbling over. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you t
208Emilia’s POVThe package sat on the dining table, wrapped in elegant gold paper and tied with a satin bow. Francesca bounced on her toes, her small frame radiating excitement.“Can I open it now, Emilia? Please?”I hesitated, glancing at the doorway where I knew Alaric would appear any moment. My stomach twisted at the thought of his reaction. This wasn’t just any gift—it was from Alonso.“Go ahead, sweetheart,” I said softly, smoothing down her curls. Francesca’s joy was infectious, and I couldn’t bear to ruin it for her.Her tiny fingers worked quickly to tear the paper, revealing a sleek black box. She opened it with a gasp, pulling out a beautiful, hand-carved wooden horse. The craftsmanship was impeccable, every detail perfect, from the delicate reins to the smooth finish of the wood.“It’s so pretty!” Francesca exclaimed, holding it up for me to see. “Look, Emilia! It’s like the ponies in my storybook!”I forced a smile, though my chest felt tight. “It’s beautiful, love. Do
Emilia’s POVI tapped my leg continuously on the floor, my hands pressed tight together as I tried to stop them from shaking. My eyes were locked on the doctor's, and I could hear him talking, but I wasn’t even listening. All that was on my mind was thoughts of how I was going to get twenty-five thousand dollars for Matteo’s surgery. Twenty-five thousand dollars! A shudder ran through me. And that wasn’t all. I still had to pay for the other hospital bills apart from the surgery fee.It seemed like my life was just going haywire at this point, and there was absolutely nothing that I could do to stop it.“Miss Abramo?” The doctor called, snapping her fingers in my face twice. I jumped and then gave her an apologetic smile.“You were saying?” I asked.“Are you okay, Miss Abramo?” She eyed me warily. “You’ve been zoning out.”“Yeah, I’m okay,” I lied, nodding. My hands began to shake, and I clasped them together once again, taking in a deep breath as she continued.“Miss Abramo, it’s get
Alaric’s POV.I watched the girl scurry off to the elevator, her hair falling loose from the bun it was tied in and the horrible skirt she was wearing flowing behind her.The elevator doors closed behind her, and I watched as she disappeared, her figure swallowed up by the steel doors. I clenched my jaw, suppressing the irritation bubbling under the surface. Emilia. That woman was a complication, a thorn that hadn’t been there this morning and yet somehow had made her way into the very heart of my day.“Are you sure she’s not Mommy?” Francesca’s voice was small, almost like she was asking herself rather than me.I looked down at her, the tears glistening on her cheeks, her bottom lip trembling. I was used to Francesca’s questions and the way her curiosity would fixate on the strangest things, but this... this fixation on a woman she’d only just met? Unusual, even for her.“Yes, Tesoro,” I replied, keeping my voice firm but softened just enough for her, though I could feel her slipping
Emilia’s POV.I was pacing in the hallway outside my brother’s room, my thoughts tangled and all about the brutal men that I had just encountered in the hallway. I had gotten into the elevator, only to go and take the second route, where they wouldn’t see me, and gone back to Matteo’s room, though I didn’t enter. He’d see through me, and I didn’t want him getting worried. My mind kept replaying the scene in the hospital lobby—the little girl who looked at me like I was the answer to something, and her father, his presence as intimidating as it was magnetic.I was lost in those thoughts when I felt someone grab my arm. I jerked around, ready to defend myself however I could, only to find a tall, muscular man gripping me tightly. He was dressed sharply, but his eyes were cold, businesslike. Allesio. He was the one holding the gun to my head.“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low but firm.I tried to pull away. “Excuse me, who do you think you are? Let me go!”“You’re coming with me,” he re
Emilia’s POV I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, relief washing over me even as a new wave of anxiety took its place. I’d just agreed to work for a man who practically oozed power, and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.“Good,” I said, trying to sound confident. “When do I start?”“Immediately,” he replied, his voice as decisive as ever. “Francesca is waiting for you.”The suddenness of it left me stunned. “Now?”He raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a pressing engagement?”I shot him a look, and he merely smirked, clearly unfazed by my reaction. “Fine,” I muttered. “But this doesn’t mean I’m at your beck and call.”A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”Somehow, I didn’t believe him.With a sigh, I turned around, feeling his gaze follow me as I moved. I turned back to look at him, my heart racing despite my best efforts to stay calm.“One more thing,” I said. “I’ll be honest with Francesca. I won’t lie to her or make promises I ca
5Alaric’s POV Emilia had surprised me, and it took a lot to do that. Most people I dealt with were quick to nod, to obey, and to walk away as fast as they could manage. But Emilia? No, she had come back with demands of her own. The moment she’d lifted her chin, fire in her eyes, and laid out her terms, I’d felt an unexpected flicker of admiration.I watched her closely from my office, just across the hall. Through the glass door, I could see her kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a sea of crayons and papers, fully engaged in whatever imaginary world my daughter had conjured up. Francesca had always been spirited, a handful even on her best days, but in Emilia’s presence, she softened. She was calm, happy even, and that made me feel lighter.Emilia was resourceful. She didn’t waste time coddling Francesca, but instead, she encouraged her to express herself, to chatter away about every little thought that crossed her mind. She listened intently, nodding at all the right times, react
208Emilia’s POVThe package sat on the dining table, wrapped in elegant gold paper and tied with a satin bow. Francesca bounced on her toes, her small frame radiating excitement.“Can I open it now, Emilia? Please?”I hesitated, glancing at the doorway where I knew Alaric would appear any moment. My stomach twisted at the thought of his reaction. This wasn’t just any gift—it was from Alonso.“Go ahead, sweetheart,” I said softly, smoothing down her curls. Francesca’s joy was infectious, and I couldn’t bear to ruin it for her.Her tiny fingers worked quickly to tear the paper, revealing a sleek black box. She opened it with a gasp, pulling out a beautiful, hand-carved wooden horse. The craftsmanship was impeccable, every detail perfect, from the delicate reins to the smooth finish of the wood.“It’s so pretty!” Francesca exclaimed, holding it up for me to see. “Look, Emilia! It’s like the ponies in my storybook!”I forced a smile, though my chest felt tight. “It’s beautiful, love. Do
207Emilia’s POVAlaric paced the living room like a caged tiger, his hand raking through his hair as he muttered under his breath. I sat on the couch, my arms folded, trying to keep my own emotions in check. This had become a familiar scene since I’d returned from seeing Alonso, the air between us heavy with tension neither of us seemed willing—or able—to break.Finally, he stopped and turned to face me, his dark eyes blazing. “I don’t understand how you can even consider letting that man into your life after everything he’s done.”I took a deep breath, bracing myself. “It’s not about letting him in, Alaric. It’s about understanding where I came from, about finding some kind of peace with it.”“Peace?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “You think you’re going to find peace with a man like Alonso? He’s a manipulator, Emilia. He’ll say whatever he thinks you want to hear to worm his way into your good graces.”I stood, my frustration bubbling over. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you t
206Emilia’s POVI was seated across from Alonso in the dimly lit study of his villa, the journal clutched tightly in my hands. It felt strange to be here again, to look into the eyes of a man who had caused me so much pain and confusion, yet who claimed to have loved my birth mother more than life itself. He looked different today—not the powerful, untouchable mafia king, but a man weighed down by his own ghosts.“I found this,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt as I placed the journal on the polished wooden table between us. “It was my mother’s.”Alonso’s face softened, his gaze dropping to the worn leather cover. He didn’t reach for it. Instead, he leaned back, his expression shadowed with something I couldn’t quite name. Guilt? Pain? Regret?“She kept it hidden,” I continued. “But it paints a picture I’m not sure I can reconcile. She loved you, Alonso. That much is clear. But she was also afraid of you, afraid of what this life would do to her—and to me.”His shoulders sagged,
205Emilia’s POVI sat at the edge of the couch, clutching my mother’s journal like it was my lifeline. It had this emotional weight to it that I hated, pressing against my chest like a phantom ache and making me feel suffocated. Alaric paced the room, his sharp movements punctuated by the occasional clenched fist. I’d just finished reading him the most damning entries, and the fire in his eyes made me question whether I should’ve shared them at all.“She loved him,” I said quietly, breaking the tense silence. “That much is clear. But she was scared, too. Scared of what his world meant for her—and for me.”Alaric stopped mid-step, turning to face me. His jaw tightened, and his eyes were colder than I’d seen them in a long time. “She was scared because Alonso dragged her into hell. He promised her safety, and instead, he handed her over to a life she couldn’t escape.”His words cut deep, and not because they were wrong. The journal painted a picture of a man who loved my mother but cou
204Emilia’s POVThe late afternoon sunlight filtered through the wide windows of the library, casting golden patterns across the polished wood floor. My fingers brushed against the spine of an ancient leather-bound journal, its surface cracked and worn with time. I had found it tucked away in a small wooden chest Alonso had left in the room I was temporarily staying in—a chest I wasn’t supposed to open but couldn’t resist. I hadn’t even remembered about it until now.The name Inscribed on the cover made my breath catch. Isabella. My mother.I hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I had spent weeks trying to piece together who she really was, struggling to separate the idyllic image I had as a child from the fragmented truth Alonso had given me. And now, here in my hands, was her voice—her thoughts, her fears, her love—all bound in a fragile relic of the past.My heart pounded as I flipped open the cover. The pages were filled with a delicate script, the ink faded b
203Alaric’s POVThe meeting room was quiet except for the low hum of voices as my men debated logistics. Allesio stood at the head of the table, his arms crossed, the tension in his posture mirroring my own. I sat back in my chair, listening but not speaking, my fingers steepled as I processed the information.“They’ve been hitting our distribution routes near the docks,” Allesio said, his tone clipped. “Two shipments delayed this week alone. It’s not coincidence, Alaric.”My jaw tightened. “And you’re sure it’s the Santoros?”Allesio nodded. “As sure as I can be. The timing, the method—it fits their MO. They’re small-time, but they’re not stupid. They see the tension with Alonso and think it’s their chance to play kingmaker.”“Idiots,” I muttered, leaning forward. “They won’t survive stepping into this war.”“We could let them,” Allesio suggested. “Let them hit Alonso’s operations, stir up trouble on his end. It might even work in our favor.”“No,” I snapped, the finality in my voic
202Alaric’s POVThe house was quiet, too quiet, as I sat in my office with a glass of whiskey that I hadn’t touched in over an hour. The amber liquid caught the dim light of the desk lamp, swirling lazily as if mocking my restless mind. Emilia was in the next room, probably pacing, possibly crying, but definitely not telling me everything she was thinking. That was the problem with her. She’d shoulder a world of burdens without letting anyone else carry even a fraction of the weight.And it was killing me.I heard the soft creak of the door opening, and when I looked up, there she was. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her face weary, but there was something very dull in her expression. She didn’t wait for me to invite her in—she rarely did these days. Instead, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts.“Are you going to stand there all night?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.She crossed the room and sat in the chair ac
201Emilia’s POVThe house was unusually quiet when I stepped through the front door, the familiar scent of leather and polished wood greeting me like an old friend. My body ached from the stress of the day, and my mind was still reeling from everything Alonso had said. But as my gaze swept the empty entryway, I felt a pang of longing—for the comfort of this home, for Francesca’s sweet voice, and, yes, even for Alaric’s brooding presence.I hadn’t even taken a step toward the living room when I heard the unmistakable sound of Francesca’s laughter floating down the hallway. It was light and unburdened, and it felt like a balm on my frayed nerves.I followed it, my footsteps soft against the tiled floor, and found them in the sunroom. Francesca was perched on Alaric’s lap, her tiny hands clutching one of his much larger ones as she giggled at something he’d said. Alaric, for his part, looked almost relaxed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.The sight made my heart twist
200Emilia’s POVThe air inside the car felt heavy and suffocating as though the stupidity of my decision pressed down on every passenger. The convoy surrounding us—a caravan of SUVs loaded with Alaric’s men—only heightened my anxiety. Outside the tinted windows, the world passed by in muted colors, but my focus was on the knot in my stomach that tightened with every passing second.“I still think this is a mistake,” Alaric’s voice crackled through the small earpiece I wore, his tone as sharp as the blade he always carried.“I know,” I replied quietly, glancing at the driver, who kept his eyes locked on the road. “But I need to do this.”He sighed audibly. “We’ll be right outside. If anything feels wrong, anything at all—”“I know,” I interrupted. “You’ll storm the place. Just… trust me, Alaric.”The line went quiet, but I could sense his frustration. He hated this, hated the idea of me walking into Alonso’s villa even with his men stationed at every entrance and exit. Still, he’d agr