I move closer, drawn by the devastation in her voice. “Listen?—”
“Don’t.” She holds up a hand, but there’s no real force behind it. “Don’t try to make this better. Don’t try to explain why everyone thought it was okay to lie to me for nineteen years. Just…don’t.”
But I can’t stay away.
Not when she’s falling apart like this.
Not when every instinct I have is screaming at me to comfort her somehow.
“In our world,” I say carefully, “trust is the only currency that matters. And everyone you’ve trusted has just shattered that trust simultaneously.”
She looks at me then,reallylooks at me, and something hard flashes in her expression. “Uh, including you, Alessandro. You literally just said you’ve known since the beginning, so don’t act like you’re somehow better than the rest of them.”
She’s not wrong and I’m not going to piss her off by arguing with her. “You’re right. I kept the secret too.”
“So why should I trust anything you say?” Her voice is raw, challenging as she folds her arms tightly across her chest.
“Because I’m not trying to protect you from the truth anymore,” I say quietly. “I’m not going to lie to you or sugarcoat what happened or tell you everything’s going to be fine. Matteo made a choice when you were born to shield you from something he thought would destroy you. Maybe it was the right choice then, maybe it wasn’t. But you deserved to know the truth before now, and keeping it from you was wrong.”
She stares at me for a long moment, those blue-gray eyes appraising. “You’re not making excuses for him.”
“No. I’m not.”
“You’re not telling me I should be grateful for the lie.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re just…telling me the truth. Even when it makes you look bad too.”
I nod. “Even then.”
She tilts her head, inky black hair spilling over her shoulder as she looks at me. “You understand.”
“I understand that learning your entire identity was built on lies is devastating. I understand that feeling like everyone you love has been playing a long con on your life is worse than any physical pain.” I take another step closer. “And I understand that right now, you need something real. Something honest.”
“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she whispers, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know who I am or where I belong or what any of this means.”
“You’re still you,” I tell her, close enough now that I could reach out and touch her if I wanted to. “The circumstances of your birth don’t change who you’ve become.”
“Don’t they?” She laughs again, that same bitter sound. “I’m Giuseppe’sdaughter, Alessandro. What if everything dark inside me comes from him? What if I’m destined to become the same kind of monster he was?”
Impossible. “You’re not a monster.”
“How do you know?” The question comes out desperate, pleading. “How can you be sure when I can’t even be sure myself anymore?”
The honest answer is that I can’t be sure.
None of us can predict what someone will become under pressure, how they’ll respond when everything they’ve believed is stripped away.
But looking at her now—seeing her pain and fury and desperate need for something solid to hold onto—I know with absolute certainty that whatever darkness might exist in her isn’t the defining characteristic of who she is.
“Because I know you,” I say simply. “I’ve seen how you treat people, how you make decisions, how you handle power when you have it. Giuseppe was a monster because he chose to be. You choose to be something different.”
She stares at me for a long moment, face impassive. “You’re the only one who’s been honest with me tonight.”
“I’m sure?—”
“No, you have been. You didn’t try to sugarcoat it or make excuses or tell me everything’s going to be fine. You just told me the truth.” She takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us. “I need something real, Alessandro. I need something that isn’t built on lies or family loyalty or protecting the precious DeLuca princess.”
