His voice carried no warmth.
“I run an empire—legal and illegal. I don’t have time to sit through endless DNA tests because you refuse to tell me the truth.”
The words hit hard.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, gaze already drifting away from me as if the conversation had lost all importance.
“I kept trying to understand why you wouldn’t give up,” he said, his voice almost absent.
“I’ve told you before—I was a victim, my sister was, and now you are. I won’t hate you for it, and I won’t look at you in a way that would make you relive it. No... I get it. I understand the pain. Just... let it be, alright?”
My lips parted.
But no sound came out.
The words had stolen it.
“Vincenzo—”
“Get in. We’re leaving.”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than I intended.
I planted my feet firmly on the ground, refusing to move.
“I’m not getting in until you agree to come with me tomorrow,” I said, my voice trembling but stubborn. “You have to. You can’t just walk away from this.”
He studied me.
Long. Quiet.
Something unreadable flickering across his face—tiredness, maybe. Or irritation. Or both.
Then he sighed.
A sound that carried more weight than any argument.
“Fine,” he said at last. “I can’t promise I’ll come.”
My chest tightened.
“But I’ll give you whatever samples you need,” he continued, already dismissing the emotional weight of the moment. “Hair. Blood. Saliva. Enough to keep confirming the identity of the child you refuse to admit isn’t mine.”
The words stung.
Every single one of them.
He stepped past me, opening the passenger door of his SUV.
His voice came again, impatient now.
“Now—will you get in?”
I took one step forward—
Then stopped.
