I can still remember Matteo’s fury when he told me. “She wanted the DeLuca family destroyed, and she didn’t care that you would be collateral damage.”
Bianca flinches like I’ve physically struck her. “She was willing to destroy me too?”
God, this fucking sucks telling her this. “You were a DeLuca daughter in her mind, not hers. Part of the legacy she wanted to erase.” The words are brutal but necessary. “Matteo couldn’t let that happen. He tried to reason with her, tried to find another way. But Sophia was too far gone in her anger and manipulations.”
“So he killed her.” Her voice is flat, emotionless.
“There was a gunfight. Sophia drew first.” I watch Bianca’s face carefully, seeing her struggle with this final piece of the puzzle. “Matteo was the one who executed her, but it was self-defense as much as family protection.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Bianca stares at me with those steel-blue eyes that suddenly look far too old for nineteen, processing the complete destruction of whatever illusions she might have had about her mother’s love or her family’s protection.
Before she can respond, we’re interrupted by a sharp knock on the penthouse door.
My hand immediately moves to my weapon.
Nobody should have access to this floor.
“Expecting someone?” I ask quietly.
Bianca shakes her head, but she’s already moving toward the door.
When she checks the peephole, her entire body goes tense.
“It’s Matteo,” she says in surprise.
She opens the door, and Matteo DeLuca stands in the hallway.
He looks immaculate, but there’s a tightness in his eyes when he sees Bianca.
“How did you find me here?” Bianca’s voice is ice-cold.
“I’m still your father,” Matteo says quietly, stepping into the penthouse.
His eyes sweep the room before lingering on her.
There’s pain in his expression, but also resolve. “And you’re still my daughter, whether you want to acknowledge that or not.”
“Half-sister,” she corrects, tossing her head.
“Daughter,” he counters, but his voice cracks slightly on the word. “You are my daughter. I love you more than my own life.”
The raw emotion in his admission makes even me uncomfortable, but Bianca’s expression doesn’t soften.
“Stop calling me your daughter,” she fires back. “I don’t consider you a father anymore.”
Matteo closes his eyes and for a moment he looks weary.
When he opens them again, he says, “I made choices to protect you from truths that would have destroyed a child. And yes, maybe I kept protecting you longer than I should have. But every decision I made was because I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt by things beyond your control.”
His voice is quieter now, less commanding and more pleading. “I know you’re angry. I know you feel betrayed. But please don’t let that anger destroy everything we built together.”
Bianca scoffs and looks away from him, shaking her head. “What we built was based on lies.”
“What we built was based on love.” He takes a step closer, his hands slightly raised like he’s approaching a dangerous animal. “Complicated love, messy love, imperfect love—butreallove, Bianca. That was never fake.”
I watch this exchange, seeing both sides of the man—the don who commands through authority and the father who’s terrified that he’s permanently lost his child.
