"They want you to back off," I continue, my voice now eerily calm. "To kill the bill. Or stall it. Or make concessions."
"Yes."
"And if you don't?" The dread rises higher, restricting my breath.
He hesitates just long enough. "Then they'll remind me of what's at stake." My heart breaks open, but he doesn't notice; he keeps talking. "They made a mistake," Dad says calmly. "A critical one."
I stare at him, my ears are ringing, but I don't dare to allow hope to ignite. I know him too well. Know already where thisis going, but I don't want to put it into a thought or words yet. "What mistake?"
"They didn't takeyou."
The words don't make sense at first. I shake my head slightly, like that might dislodge whatever he's trying to say. "I don't understand."
He smiles. Not wide. Not cruel. Just… satisfied.
"Don't you see?" He's nearly triumphant. "This is brilliant."
My stomach turns sour.
"We spin it," he continues, already pacing now, warming to the idea. "Senator's son-in-law and grandson kidnapped. Daughter barely escapes with her life. A home invasion. A martyr narrative." He gestures vaguely at me, as if I'm a prop. "The public will eat this up."
I feel like I'm going to be sick.
"What happens to Amauri?" I whisper. He doesn't answer immediately. "And Carter?" I add, because Iamstill, inexplicably, a decent person. "What happens to Carter?"
He shrugs. That small, dismissive movement lands harder than any blow.
"Don't you see?" he repeats, almost impatient now. "Up until now, Amauri was a ticking time bomb."
My heart stutters. "A what?"
He sighs, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "Manetti's bastard son."
The room tilts. For a second, everything goes distant and hollow, like I'm underwater.He knows. The realization blooms slowly, sickeningly. He's known. Somehow. Always. I never told him. I never said it out loud. But of course, he knows. Of course, he knows that Amauri is Massimo's son. That thought barely has time to register before a dark premonition claws its way up my throat.
"What are you saying?" I ask, my entire body shaking. "That a dead grandson and son-in-law are worth more to you than if they're alive?"
He rubs his hands together. Actually rubs them.
"The Cartels played this beautifully," he beams. "Forced my hand without ever having to ask."
I stare at him. This man. My father. I've always known he was a bastard. Cold. Ambitious. Ruthless.
But this?
"He is your grandson," I remind him, and now my voice is breaking completely. "Amauri isyourgrandson."
He shrugs. "A bastard," he replies flatly.
The word drops into the room like a corpse. The air goes still. Heavy. Suffocating. I feel something tear loose inside my chest, something final and irreversible. My son is not a symbol. Not leverage. Not collateral damage.
He is a little boy who calls meMummy. Who makes his own lunch. Who believes pirates are real and the world is mostly safe.
I stand up.
Slowly.
Every part of me is shaking, but my voice is suddenly very clear. "You will not sacrifice my child."
