I leave the port and Luca drives me back to the villa.
My mind races through every possible scenario that might happen and the plays I may be forced to make.
I can't burn bridges, and I'm starting to hate my decisions as much as I hate my enemies.
But hating what I've done in the past won't save me from the consequences.
Only fighting to keep my hold on the reins will do that.
And now I have a daughter I didn't know existed and a woman I can't stop thinking about locked in my guest room.
By the time I reach the villa, it's almost dawn.
The streets are empty except for a few cars passing through the intersection.
Christmas lights blink on every corner.
We pull through the gates and park in the driveway.
My shirt is stained with blood.
Not mine.
The fabric sticks to my skin in places where the blood has dried.
I need to shower and change before anyone sees me like this.
But when I walk through the front door, I hear voices coming from the kitchen.
I move quietly down the hallway and stop at the entrance.
Marta stands at the counter with a kettle on the stove.
Sofia sits at the table with a mug of something hot in front of her, and Angelica stands behind her daughter with her hands on the girl's shoulders.
Sofia coughs, a rough sound that rattles in her chest.
Marta turns and hands her a spoonful of honey.
"This will help,piccola," Marta says. Her voice is gentle. "Just one more spoonful and then you can go back to bed."
Sofia takes the honey and makes a face.
She swallows it and coughs again.
Angelica rubs her back and murmurs something I can't hear.
It's a touching sight and one that wraps around my chest and adds more pressure.
Such tenderness between mother and child.
Something I never had growing up.
Then Sofia looks up and sees me standing in the doorway.
Her eyes go wide.
She shrinks back against her mother and doesn't say anything.
