Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
The past is alive in this house.
It lingers in the dust-covered bookshelves, in the ink of my father’s handwriting on forgotten pages, in the air that suddenly feels thicker, like the house itself is holding onto secrets it refuses to let go of.
I feel it in the way Eleanor watches me. In the way Bria’s knee bounces under the table, her energy restless and uneasy.
This house, this supposed safe house, was meant for us to find. “I don’t know where to start.”
Bria looks around, “If anything, this is a good space to figure things out.”
We don’t bother hiding our words from Eleanor, this woman has kept our secrets all of these years.
Eleanor reaches for a wooden box sitting on the far shelf. It’s old, the edges worn, the rusty latch refusing to open until she puts force into it.
Inside, there’s a small flash drive.
I don’t breathe.
I already know this is about to destroy me.
Eleanor turns, holding it out to me. "This was left, I’ve never looked through anything in this house, it was never my business.”
My fingers tremble as I reach for it. The plastic is cool, smooth against my palm.
This is it.
The last message my father left behind.
I know deep in my bones, he will be on this.
Bria shifts beside me, her voice breaking the silence. "Well? What are we waiting for?"
I don’t answer. Because suddenly, I don’t know if I can do this.
Seeing his oil painting tore me to shreds. Now, I’m about to hear him. See him.
And I don’t know if I’m ready.
Eleanor moves to the desk, pulling out an old laptop. The kind that still has a disc drive, covered in a thin layer of dust. It whirs to life after she plugs it in, slow and glitchy, but finally, the screen flickers on.
I plug in the drive.
A single file appears.
PLAY ME.
Bria lets out a low whistle. "Damn. Your dad was dramatic."
I shoot her a look. But deep down, I know she’s right.
I press PLAY.
The screen blinks, and my father’s face fills the screen.
I suck in a breath so fast it hurts.
He looks… different than I imagined with movement. Kinder. More tired. His hair is graying at the temples, his strong jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the camera like he’s making sure no one else is listening.
And then, he speaks.
"Maria, if you're seeing this, it means things have gone exactly the way I feared."
His voice is lower than I expected. Urgent. Weighted.
Maria.
My mother.
I tighten my grip on the desk. I was meant to come to this house, but this wasn’t meant for me. He’s talking to her, not me. He never thought I would be the one watching this.
"I don’t know how much time I have or if I’ll even make it back to you.” He looks down, his shoulders slumping like he already knows the answer. “But listen to me carefully. Everything we thought we knew, everything we’ve been fighting for, was a lie."
Bria mutters under her breath. "Always a damn lie."
I ignore her. I can’t look away from the screen.
"For years, I believed the Donati’s were our greatest threat. That every move against us came from them. I was wrong."
I stop breathing as Bria grabs my hand in surprise, hearing her last name.
No. No, no, no.
"It was never the Donati’s. Never them. We were always fighting the wrong war. And now, I see it too late."
Bria swears loudly.
The words crash into me like a train.
My father exhales, dragging a hand through his graying hair. His mask cracks, just for a moment.
"The Caputo family," he says. "They have been playing both sides, pitting us against each other. Manipulating, twisting, turning us into enemies while they sat back and waited for us to kill each other."
My stomach drops as I pause it. “How was my mom supposed to get this address? From you?”
Eleanor frowns, “It was urgent, once he recorded this he left instructions for me to overnight ship it, I never saw him again.” She’s thinking, decades have passed since she saw the mailing address. “The Donati name sounds familiar. May have been them.”
Bria and I stare at each other in horror, knowing that this information should have been discovered long ago, but somehow, and I suspect the Caputo’s had something to do with it, interfered.
The truth settles into my skin like ice, spreading, freezing every inch of me.
Zeik’s family wanted the war to continue. Because the longer we fought, the weaker we both became.
And now?
They’re in the perfect position to wipe us all out.
My father’s face is strained, his voice rough. "I don’t know if I can stop them. But I know one thing, if anything happens to me, you cannot trust anyone. The moment you start looking for answers, they will come for you too."
My throat closes.
I want to reach through the screen. To warn him. To tell him we already know how his story ends.
But then, something moves in the background. A woman steps into the frame.
Bria gasps so loudly that I flinch.
I whip my head toward her. "What?"
Bria’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide, wild, disbelieving.
She knows this woman.
I turn back to the screen, my pulse hammering.
And then I see her.
The woman leans down beside my father, her expression tense. Her dark hair is swept into an elegant knot, her lips pressed together in frustration. She glances at him, then at the camera, her voice sharp.
"You need to stop recording and move. We don’t have time."
My father shakes his head. “We have to warn them.”
I barely register the sound of the chair scraping against the floor as Bria stumbles away, shaking her head violently. "No. No, no, no."
It’s her.
Bria’s mother.
I slam my hand against the keyboard, stopping the video.
For a long, long moment, no one speaks as the realization hits her that her mother was working with my father, against the Caputo’s. The real enemies, the ones who killed both of our parents.
Bria is still staring at the screen, her body rigid, her hands shaking.
I take a step toward her, my pulse racing. "Bria…"
She snaps toward me.
"They killed her, Magnolia."
I go cold.
She’s right.
Bria’s mother is dead. My father is dead.
And now, we know why.
Bria continues, “The Caputo’s killed her, and we dine with them, we share information…” She chokes. “I celebrate Christmas with these fucking people!”
Zeik’s family silenced them before they could reveal the truth.
Bria runs a hand through her hair, breathing hard.
"That’s it. That’s the proof. We don’t need anything else. We take this back to Cameron, and we end this."
She’s right.
This is it.
The final piece.
I exhale shakily, my fingers curling into fists. "Then we go back."
Bria nods once. “And this time?”
I meet her eyes, my voice steady. "We finish what they started."