“He never gave me a chance to explain anything. Once Enrico decided I was guilty, there was no conversation. To him, I’ve always been guilty. Always the traitor.”
Silence stretched between us. Júlia breathed in slowly and then looked at me with quiet, determined seriousness.
“It doesn’t matter what he believes, Valentina. You don’t need to prove anything to him.” Her grip on my hand tightened. “What matters now is protecting Clara—and protecting this town we love. We can’t let Ferrara win.”
I nodded. She was right.
“I’m scared for my daughter,” I admitted, my voice breaking at the edges. “I never wanted her to feel rejected by her father. I…” I dropped my head, pressing my hands to my face. I didn’t know how to continue.
I didn’t know what to do.
How long would Enrico stay in town? How much risk was Clara in if I kept her in the same orbit as him?
God.
I had loved that man with my whole heart—once—and now I was forced to wonder whether he would be capable of hurting a four-year-old child.
His child.
The child he never wanted.
A silent tear slid down my cheek. I hated feeling fragile, but I didn’t know how to stop it.
Júlia didn’t push. She let the silence breathe until I could.
Minutes crawled through the night, but none of them carried my anguish away. I didn’t want to give up my life. But I couldn’t stop asking myself how much damage I might be doing to Clara if I didn’t.
If I disappeared… Enrico would likely leave me alone.
But that wasn’t fair. Not to me. Not to Clara. Her life was here too.
As if he sensed I needed him, Theo padded down the hallway and dropped at my feet with a heavy sigh. I let out a sad laugh and scratched behind his ear. His golden fur bristled under my fingers.
“He says it’s going to be okay,” Júlia tried to joke.
Before I could answer, my phone rang—loud enough to startle me.
My stomach tightened when I saw the unfamiliar number. I hesitated—then answered.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Muniz, good evening,” a man said. “I apologize for the late hour. This is Cláudio, the mayor. This isn’t an official call—more of a courtesy.”
I blinked, stunned.
The mayor of Tiradentes was calling me? At eight at night?
“The mayor?” I repeated reflexively.
“Yes, ma’am. Me.”
“Um…” I faltered. “How can I help you?”
“I believe you requested a meeting between the Association and Ferrara Group’s representative,” he said. “Is that correct?”
My heart slammed against my ribs. My fingers tightened around the phone as I forced my voice to remain steady.
I had—before I knew who that representative was.
