“I’m not tearing anything apart?—”
“You just told me I never loved you!” His voice cracks on the words. “You stood there and compared me to Mario, the manwho tortured you, and said at least he was honest about wanting to hurt you. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
I do know.
I can see it in his face, in the way his hands are shaking, in the raw devastation underlying his fury.
And god help me, part of me is glad.
Part of me wants him to hurt the way I’m hurting.
“You know what makes it worse?” I continue. “Mario. When he took me, when he put me in that container and told me it was just a game—that wasn’t my crazy uncle losing his mind. That was my brother. Another one of Giuseppe’s sons who saw me as illegitimate competition for what should have been his.”
Matteo’s face flashes with pain.
“Maybe I meant it,” I say quietly, and watch him recoil like I’ve slapped him.
“Maybe you did.” His voice goes flat, emotionless. “Maybe that’s who you really are underneath all the love and protection I’ve given you. Maybe blood really does tell.”
The words hit harder than any scream would have. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means right now, you’re acting exactly like Giuseppe would have.” He steps back, and for the first time, he looks at me like I’m a stranger. “Destroying everything good in your life because you can’t control your emotions.”
My nails bite into my skin. “I’m not like him,” I start to snarl but Matteo cuts me off.
“Aren’t you?” His laugh is bitter, his eyes cruel. “You’re standing here trying to hurt me as much as possible because you’re in pain. That’s what he would have done.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
I can hear my own heartbeat, can feel Alessandro shifting uncomfortably behind me, and can see the immediate regret flash across Matteo’s face.
But it’s too late.
The words are out there, poisoning the air between us.
“There it is,” I say softly. “The truth you’ve been hiding for nineteen years. You never believed I could be anything other than what he was. All that love, all that protection—it was just you trying to control a monster.”
Matteo closes his eyes in frustration—or is it something else? “That’s not what I meant?—”
“Yeah, it is.” I smile, and I can feel how vicious it is. “It’s what you meant. And you know what? You’re probably right. IamGiuseppe’s daughter. Idohave his blood. And maybe it’s time I stopped fighting it.”
“Goddammit Bianca. I just need you to fuckinglisten?—”
“And you know what the real joke is?” I cut him off, uncaring. “Even Giuseppe didn’t want me. His own daughter wasn’t worth claiming. What does that say about me?” I can feel tears welling in my eyes, but I refuse to cry. “What does that say about how unlovable I must be if even a monster rejected me?”
That stops Matteo in his tracks. “You arenotunlovable?—”
“No, I’m finally seeing everything clearly now.” The words keep pouring out, each one designed to cut deeper. “I’ve been the outsider this whole time, haven’t I? Playing at being part of a family that was never actually mine. Bella probably knew too, didn’t she? Is that why she always seemed a little careful around me? And the twins. God, they’re not my siblings, they’re my nephew and niece.”
“Enough,” Matteo orders. “Giovanni and Ariannaareyour siblings. They love you. Everyone loves you.”
“Do they? Or do they just go along with your lie because that’s what you wanted?” I can hear how hysterical I sound but I can’t stop. “How many other people know, Matteo? How many other lies are there? What else about my life is completely fake?”
Before he can respond, Antonio appears in the doorway looking uncomfortable as hell, his eyes taking in the broken glass, my tear-streaked face, and the obvious tension crackling between me and Matteo.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says carefully, “but we have a problem.”
“What now?” Matteo’s voice is rough, broken.
