He wants reassurance that his daughter is still fundamentally good, still the person he raised despite everything that’s happened.
He wants me to tell him that the violence affected her, that she struggled with the decision, that some part of her gentle nature survived the brutality.
I can’t give him that comfort.
“There was no psychological impact,” I admit quietly, watching his face turn to stone. “No moral struggle, no nightmares, no second thoughts. She pulled the trigger like she was turning off a light switch.”
The color drains from his face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean she felt nothing, Matteo. No guilt, no regret, no human reaction to taking a life. She was calm, controlled, and completely unaffected by ending Vincent Torrino’s existence.”
He stares at me for a long moment, processing this information. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.
“She enjoyed it.”
It’s not a question.
He already knows the answer; he just needed someone else to confirm what he’s been afraid to acknowledge.
“She enjoyed beinggoodat it,” I correct, though the distinction feels meaningless. “She enjoyed proving herself, demonstrating her capabilities, and showing the Families what she’s capable of.”
He grips the arm rests. “That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?” I challenge gently. “In our world, competence and satisfaction often look identical.”
Matteo runs a hand through his hair, destroying what’s left of his usually perfect styling. “This is what I was afraid of. This is what I spent nineteen years trying to prevent.”
“You tried to protect her from her own nature,” I point out.
“I tried to give her choices!” The words explode out of him with more force than he probably intended. “I tried to raise her so she could choose to be better than what Giuseppe or Sophia were, better than what this world demands.”
“And she’s making her choices now.” My voice remains calm despite the anger radiating from him. “You may not like them, but they’re hers to make.”
His eyes are wild as he looks at me. “She’s nineteen years old and she’s becoming a monster.”
The accusation hangs between us, and I feel irritation start to rise in me. “She’s becoming what she needs to be to survive in this world. What she needs to be to lead.”
“Lead?” He laughs bitterly. “You think this isleadership? Killing without conscience, embracing violence like it’s a gift?”
“I think it’s power,” I reply steadily. “And power is what determines whether you live or die in our business.”
“There’s a difference between necessary violence and pathological brutality,” Matteo snaps.
I raise a brow. “Is there? Because from where I’m sitting, both get results.” I lean forward, meeting his gaze directly. “Giuseppe built an empire through pathological brutality. You’ve maintained it through necessary violence. The methods are different, but the foundation is the same.”
“The foundation is control,” he corrects sharply. “Knowing when to use violence and when to show mercy. Understanding that fear is a tool, not an end goal.”
I shrug. “And maybe Bianca will learn that balance. But she has to embrace what she is before she can learn to control it.”
Matteo stares at me like I’ve just confirmed his worst fears. “You’re encouraging this. You’re helping her become what Giuseppe was.”
“I’m helping her become what she chooses to become,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“No, there isn’t.” His voice turns hard. “You’re enabling her worst impulses because you’re fascinated by her darkness. You think it’s attractive, don’t you? You like her capacity for violence.”
The words hit closer to home than I want to admit, but I keep my expression neutral. “I think she’s powerful. I think she’s making choices that will keep her alive in a world that wants to destroy her.”
Matteo’s laugh is rough and bitter. “And I’m sure you enjoy seeing her kill people, don’t you?”
