“Lorenzo’s men beat him first,” I explain. “They were trying to silence him. I just finished what they started.”
Tony’s jaw clenches, but I see doubt flickering in his eyes. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because your sister does.” I swipe to a video of Melinda’s testimony, recorded in case we needed proof. She explains everything she overheard while Adrian’s prisoner. The real story of that night. How Vincent tried to save Nicole. How Lorenzo manipulated everyone.
Tony watches in silence, his face growing paler with each revelation.
When the video ends, he looks up at me with something like horror in his expression.
“He told me you were the monster,” he whispers. “He said you tortured Dad for days before killing him.”
“I did torture him.” I won’t lie about that. “I thought he raped my sister. I thought he deserved every second of pain I inflicted. I was wrong.”
“So you kidnapped my sister to punish her for something our father didn’t even do?” Anger flares in Tony’s eyes. “How is that any better?”
The accusation hits its mark. “It’s not. I destroyed Sophia’s life based on lies. I forced her to marry me, made her watch photos of her father’s execution, treated her like property.” I meet his gaze steadily. “I can’t undo any of that. All I can do is try to protect her now and make sure Lorenzo pays for what he’s done to both our families.”
Tony’s laugh is bitter. “She’s always had terrible taste in men.”
The truth doesn’t stick.
Over the next week, I work with Tony, reshowing him the evidence, walking him through the timeline of events.
When that doesn’t work, I get physical with him—punching him in the face, spraining fingers, whatever will cause him pain with the least damage.
Only because of Sophia, though. If he were any other guy, I wouldn’t give two shits about breaking him from Lorenzo’s brainwashing.
It’s brutal.
He has moments of clarity followed by episodes where he reverts to Lorenzo’s programming, calling me a murderer and Sophia a traitor.
During those times, I have to restrain him, and Sophia has to leave the room because she can’t bear to see her brother like that.
But slowly, painfully, the truth begins to take hold.
On the eighth day, Tony sits across from me at the kitchen table, his shoulder healing but his eyes haunted.
I think he needs more time, but Sophia can’t bare to watch anymore.
“I remember now,” he says quietly. “The night of the accident. It wasn’t an accident at all.”
Sophia, who’s been making coffee, freezes. “What?”
“Lorenzo’s men ran me off the road.” Tony’s hands shake as he grips his coffee mug. “They pulled me from the wreckage and told me I had two choices—work for them or watch them kill you and Dad. I was nineteen, scared, and I believed them when they said Dad was working with them.”
“Oh, Tony.” Sophia sinks into the chair beside him, taking his hand.
“They kept me isolated for months, feeding me information about Dad’s crimes, about how the Artyomov family was destroying ours.” Tony looks at me, and I see genuine remorse in his eyes. “I thought the Artyomov’s were the ones that forced Dad to shove you in the closet, that held debts over his head. I was so angry about everything they took from you. I…did things I can’t take back. And when Mikhail kidnapped you? I lost it.”
“What things?” I ask, though I’m sure I probably already know.
Tony’s face goes pale. “I helped him move against your operations. Sabotaged shipments. Fed him intelligence about your security. I thought I was protecting my family, but I was just helping him destroy both of ours.”
The confession hangs in the air. I should be angry.
Should want revenge for the damage he’s caused.
But looking at him now, seeing the guilt and shame in his expression, I only feel tired.
