"But the gun jammed." Alejandro's voice drops. "A true miracle, really. That you're still alive."
The warehouse spins. I grip the edge of my chair to stay upright.
"If I had known," Alejandro says quietly, "that I was shooting my brother... I would have stopped."
The word hits me like a bullet.
Brother.
"What the fuck?"
The words tear out of me before I can stop them. My voice echoes off the warehouse walls, raw and broken.
Alejandro doesn't flinch. He watches me with those dark eyes—eyes that suddenly look familiar. The shape of them. The way they narrow when he's thinking.
"Giuseppe raped my mother," Alejandro repeats. "Nine months later, I was born. Giuseppe is my biological father." He pauses. "And yours."
No.
No, no, no.
"My father was a soldato," I hear myself say. "He worked for?—"
"He worked for Giuseppe," Alejandro finishes. "Your mother worked in Giuseppe's household. She was beautiful. Young." His jaw tightens. "Alone."
The pattern. The same fucking pattern.
"Giuseppe had a type," Alejandro says. "Vulnerable women. Women who couldn't fight back. Women who would never tell."
I'm going to be sick.
"Your father—the man who raised you—he knew. He found out when you were ten. That's why he started drinking. That's why he became violent." Alejandro's voice is almost gentle now. "He couldn't look at you without seeing Giuseppe's face."
My father's fists. The broken bottles. The screaming.
You're not mine. You were never mine.
I thought he was drunk. Raving. Making excuses for the beatings.
"Giuseppe ordered the hit on your family," Alejandro says. "Not because your father made enemies. Because your father threatened to expose the truth. To tell everyone what Giuseppe had done to your mother."
The closet. The gunshots. My mother's scream cutting off mid-breath.
"I didn't know," Alejandro says. "When I pulled the trigger, I didn't know I was killing my own brother's family. I didn't know you were Giuseppe's son. I didn't know we shared blood."
I can't breathe.
"Giuseppe used both of us," Alejandro continues. "He sent me to kill your family, knowing I would eliminate the evidence of his crimes. Then he took you in, raised you as his weapon, and pointed you at my cousin Diego—making you believe you were avenging your family when you were actually eliminating another threat to his secrets."
This must be some kind of a sick game.
"I have proof," Alejandro says. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folder. "DNA tests. Your mother's medical records from Giuseppe's private physician."
He slides the folder across the floor toward me.
"Take your time," he says. "Read everything. Verify it yourself. I'll wait."
My hands shake as I reach for the folder. The first page is a DNA analysis. Two samples. Familial match: 49.8% shared DNA.
