“Sweetheart, why don’t you sit down?” Stella coaxed, guiding me gently toward the couch. I shook her off, propelled by a desperate need for answers. Crossing the room, I seizedMassimo’s arm and forced him to turn. The sight of him shocked me: his face drawn and pale, eyes rimmed red from sleepless nights, hair wild as if he’d been running hands through it in frustration. The sharp reek of whiskey clung to him, his clothes wrinkled and his knuckles raw and bloodied. I wondered for an agonizing heartbeat if I truly wanted to know what haunted him—or if, when the words came, I would ever be able to forgive.
For a moment, the silence pressed in around us, thick and suffocating. Massimo’s jaw clenched as if containing a storm, his eyes flicking between my face and the floor. The others stood motionless, waiting, the weight of secrets heavy in the air, but all I could see was the man before me—broken, yet somehow still fighting for something neither of us could name.
With trembling hands, I reached up and cupped Massimo’s face, forcing him to meet my eyes. My voice was barely a whisper, desperate and pleading. “Just tell me.” The words hung between us, weighted with all the fear and longing that had been building for days.
Massimo drew a shaky breath, his gaze darting away before returning to mine. In a voice raw with regret, he finally confessed, “It was all a lie.”
Confusion twisted inside me. I searched his eyes for any hint of what he meant. “What was?” My question came out small, barely audible.
He hesitated only for a heartbeat before his answer shattered the air between us. “Us. Everything.”
A deep frown creased my brow as I struggled to make sense of his words. “I don’t understand.” My voice was fraught with disbelief, unable to accept the enormity of his admission.
He looked down, shame darkening his features. “I made it all up.”
Stunned, my hands fell from his face, and I instinctively stepped back. My heart hammered relentlessly in my chest asI waited for him to elaborate, dreading every word but needing the truth all the same.
He dropped his head, voice barely audible. “I planted the drugs in your car. I had you arrested. I’m the reason you lost your spot in the medical program at school. The reason you lost your apartment.”
“What?” The word tumbled out of me, disbelief and betrayal twisting in my stomach. I shook my head as I backed away again, not sure I had heard him right. “Why would you do that?”
Massimo’s words tumbled out, ragged and desperate, his hands shaking at his sides. “I did it all because I thought it was the only way to save my family. When you confronted me that morning about the restaurant, you were right—I drugged you. I lied about our being married. I needed you to rely on me, to keep you close so my family could use who you truly are to avenge our family. Every horrible thing that happened to you—your arrest, losing your place in school, your apartment—all of it was because of me. I orchestrated everything.”
My mind reeled, tears streaking hot down my cheeks, jaw clenched so tightly my head ached. I could barely breathe—the room spun, a cold sweat prickled along my back, and a nauseous knot twisted in my gut. Was any of it real? Was every kiss, every whispered promise a calculated step for him to use me? Was I just a pawn in some fucked-up game, my life nothing more than a bargaining chip to restore his family’s name?
“Cesar spoke the truth—Reaper asked us to watch you because of who you are, but not even he knew everything. We discovered your birthright and meant to use it. I was supposed to seduce you, that’s all. But the night you came to the restaurant, I’d just learned Kate was pregnant—Barbari told me—and suddenly you and Oliver walked in. I panicked, and everything spiraled out of control.”
The sound of my hand striking his cheek rang through the tense air. I stared him down, every muscle coiled, my voice trembling with raw fury. “You bastard. That man risked everything to speak the truth, and you called him trash. You used my feelings, paraded me in front of everyone, married me again—I thought you were being romantic, but that was all just another lie, wasn’t it?”
“No!” Massimo’s denial was hoarse, desperate, but I refused to let him finish. Blood pounded in my ears, my vision swimming with tears and rage.
My chest heaved with the force of my emotions, disbelief flooding every inch of my body. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, as I searched his eyes for any glimmer of the man I thought I knew. He opened his mouth, struggling for words, but I could see they’d all been spent in his confession. A traitorous part of me longed for him to reach out, to offer some impossible justification, but I knew nothing he said could undo the devastation left behind.
A sense of finality settled over me. I was done. There was nothing left to salvage between us, not after all the lies and betrayals that had just been revealed.
Rage and heartbreak collided in my chest. “I fucking hate you.” My words came out in a seething whisper, trembling with emotion, just as a set of strong arms wrapped around my waist, yanking me back against a hard chest. For a split second, I struggled, but the grip only tightened, anchoring me in place.
Whiskey’s voice rumbled from behind me, rough and protective. “Finish it, asshole,” he growled, his arms tightening even more around me, making it clear he wasn’t going to let this confrontation end on anyone else’s terms.
Massimo’s face crumpled as Whiskey’s words cut through the tension. He hesitated, his gaze flickering between me and the ground, as if searching for any scrap of forgiveness in my eyes.The silence felt like a chasm, swallowing our past and everything we could have been. I braced myself, unwilling to let him twist the truth any further, when I remembered him saying something odd.
“You said ‘who I truly was.’Who do you think I am?”
Resigned, Massimo looked at me, his eyes full of unshed tears, and said, “You are not really Miranda Williams. Your birth name is Sinclair Thatcher Morgan. You are the great-granddaughter of Armando Pisano, the man who ordered the death of Vincenzo and Isabella Vitale... my parents.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Miranda
Lying curled up on my childhood bed, I barely registered Digger’s question from the hallway. “How is she?” The familiar scents and sounds of home should have brought me comfort, but they only underscored the ache inside me as my heart splintered apart. From the moment we left Chicago, the tears wouldn’t stop—grief poured out of me until I was wrung dry, sobbing so violently that I became physically sick. Over and over, my family was forced to pull off the road so I could catch my breath, but nothing could stem the tide of heartbreak. By the time we reached the compound, my legs were too weak to hold me up, and Whiskey had to lift me in his arms and carry me into the clubhouse. I surrendered to his strength, numb and shattered, unable to face the world on my own.
Stella’s voice was barely audible, trembling with worry as she confided, “I’m worried. She refuses to talk, to eat or drink anything.” Her gaze lingered on me, concern etched across her features. There was a desperate edge to her words, an urgency that couldn’t be ignored. “She needs Jackson,” she whispered, my brother’s name carrying a weight of hope, as if his presence alone could break through my wall of grief.
The effort to reach him had already been made, but it was met with disappointment. “I tried calling him, but his phone goes straight to voicemail.” Digger’s frustration was palpable, amplifying the sense of helplessness in the room.
Stella’s patience finally snapped, her tone sharp and commanding. “Then call Reaper,” she insisted, unwilling to accept defeat. “I don’t care who the hell you call, just get Jackson home fast.” Her determination filled the room, leaving no room for hesitation. The need for my brother’s support was undeniable, and I knew Stella would not rest until he was home where he belonged.
I rolled over, deliberately turning my back on everyone in the room. The world outside faded as I retreated into myself, feeling utterly disconnected—every concern, every hope slipping away. All I could do was surrender to the relentless waves of memories, each one bringing Massimo’s presence vividly to life. I remembered the way his arms encircled me, the gentle reassurance of his touch, the passion and tenderness in every kiss. Those moments replayed in my mind, intensifying the ache in my chest and making it harder to breathe.
