Chapter 45
Present
My father’s penthouse was as cold as I remembered, with its marble floors and towering windows that showcased the New York City skyline. His office was no different. A heavy oak desk and leather-bound books.
Trevor’s hand was firm on the small of my back as we walked in, his silent support grounding me even as my chest tightened.
Paris was a dream.
We’d just gotten back from spending two weeks there. I didn’t want to be here, but it was time.
My father looked up from his chair, his sharp suit and calculating eyes a picture of composure, though I could see the faint flicker of unease when his gaze shifted to Trevor and he saw his hand touching me.
He cleared his throat. “ Cara . Trevor. What is this?”
“I know what you did,” I ignored his question, my voice low but steady, the anger barely contained. I needed to know why he turned Trevor against me all those years ago. “ How could you ?”
For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, he did something I never expected – he crumbled. His shoulders slumped, and he rubbed a trembling hand across his face, looking older than I’d ever seen him.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her, Natalia. You gotta understand…” He said, his voice cracking. “It was a mistake.”
“What?” My stomach turned with unease.
His voice shook as he continued. “Your mother…” He swallowed hard, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “You got to believe me, cara . I loved her.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I could feel Trevor tense beside me, his hand instinctively moving to my arm.
“What?” My voice came out in a whisper, trembling with disbelief.
“She told me she killed you,” He said, his eyes glistening with tears. “She’d always hit you. I’d always find you with bruises. We weren’t married. She wouldn’t marry into the Family. I couldn’t see you a lot, but when I did, you were covered in bruises.” His voice cracked as he looked at me, pleading. “And then, that day… When she told me she killed you… I– I– I lost it,” He sobbed. “I didn’t mean it.”
“What did you do?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“She told me she killed you. She wanted you away from the life, away from me …”
I felt the room spin as his words sank in. “ Dad …”
“I lost control. I believed her. I–”
“ What did you do .”
“God, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to, cara . Please, you have to understand–”
I shook my head, tears falling down my face. “You killed her?”
He buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled. “I lost control. We all do that. We’re human–”
“How did you do it?” I asked, my voice shaking as rage and heartbreak tangled inside me. I needed to know the entire truth.
He shook his head.
“ How .”
“I s– str–”
“You strangled her,” Trevor finished, his voice cold.
“I didn’t mean to. I just… I thought she’d taken you away forever.”
I stared at him, the weight of his confession crashing down on me. Everything I thought I knew – about my mother, about him, about myself – was just another lie .
Trevor’s voice was a quiet storm beside me. “And you let her believe it was an overdose all these years?”
My father’s face morphed into anger. “Stay out of it, Su.”
“Don’t you dare talk to him like that.” Wrapping my hand around my boyfriend’s arm – making our relationship clear – I stepped back, shaking my head. “I will never forgive you for this.”
“Natalia, please ,” He begged, standing up and reaching toward me.
Trevor stepped in front of me protectively.
“I don’t want anything to do with you,” I said, my voice breaking. “Not you, not the mafia, none of it. I’m done .”
Without another word, I ran out of the office, Trevor’s presence steady beside me as I held back the tears threatening to fall.
The moment the elevator doors closed behind us, I broke down.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” Trevor tried to comfort me, pressing my face into his chest.
I looked up at him, my vision blurred. “Why does it feel like I lost everything?”
“You didn’t lose everything.” He cupped my face, his hold on me steady and warm. “ You still have me .”
And with that, we left behind a world I wanted no part of anymore.
The lights in my apartment were dim, the faint hum of the city filtering through the windows as I stepped into the bedroom. Natalia lay curled on the bed, her back to the door, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of exhaustion.
A cup of tea steamed faintly in my hand as I walked toward her, placing it gently on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed.
She didn’t move at first, but when she finally rolled over to look at me, her eyes were glassy and raw, her voice hoarse from crying. “Trevor…”
I frowned, leaning closer. “Yeah?”
She swallowed hard before she forced the words out. “You were right.”
I frowned but kept quiet, letting her speak.
“I should’ve never taken the Omertà. I want out.” Her voice cracked on the last word, the admission breaking something inside her.
“Then you’re out,” I said, my tone firm and final.
She shook her head, her lips pressing into a trembling line. “It’s not that simple.”
I reached out, gripping her chin gently but firmly, tilting her face up so she couldn’t avoid me. Her skin was warm beneath my fingertips, her vulnerability cutting through the icy exterior she usually wore like armor. “It is. It’s my problem to deal with now.”
Her tear-filled eyes searched mine, the fight in her wavering as if she wanted to argue but didn’t have the strength.
“I mean it, Natalia,” I brushed my thumb lightly against her jaw. “I’ll handle it.”
For a moment, she stared at me, and I could feel the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. Trust. Fear. Relief .
Finally, she nodded, whispering, “Thank you.”
“Drink the tea,” I said, softening my tone. “And get some sleep. I’m here for you.”
She reached for the cup; holding the tea like it was the only thing keeping her together.
Whatever came next, I’d burn the world down before I let it touch her.
The bathroom was warm, filled with the faint scent of vanilla and steam. Natalia sat in the oversized tub, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms loosely wrapped around them. Her head rested on her arms, her brown hair damp and clinging to her neck and shoulders. She hadn’t spoken much, but I didn’t push. She didn’t need words right now – she needed me.
I knelt beside the tub, the water lapping gently at the porcelain as I reached for the sponge floating near the edge. “Lean forward, amai ,” I said softly, my voice low enough to not startle her.
Her gaze flicked to me, her brown eyes glassy and unreadable, but she moved forward so her back was exposed.
The sponge was warm and soft against my hand as I dipped it in the water and squeezed it, letting the water cascade down her back. Her olive skin was smooth, her breathing steady but shallow, like she was trying not to think too hard about the moment.
I moved slowly, carefully, running the sponge over her back in gentle circles, rinsing away the weight of the day. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just let me take care of her.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded once, her hair shifting with the motion.
I reached for the small bottle of shampoo, pouring some into my hands and working it through her damp hair. It was something to show her I was here. My fingers worked carefully, the silky strands slipping through my hands like threads of gold. When I rinsed her hair, she let out a small sigh, but it was enough to tell me she was starting to feel lighter – even if just a little. I repeated with conditioner.
Setting the sprayer aside, I rested my forearms on the edge of the tub, my head tilting to catch her gaze. “You want to get out?”
She nodded, and I used a towel to help dry her off once she stepped out onto the fluffy white mat. Her eyes flicked to mine, soft and tired, but the corners of her mouth tugged upward in the faintest trace of a smile. “Thank you, baby,” She murmured, her voice raw but sincere.
I nodded, my chest tightening at the vulnerability in her tone. “ Always .”
Pulling her into me, I held her close, wishing I could feel the pain for her, so she wouldn’t have to.
The bedroom was dark, quiet shadows on the walls from the city behind the drawn curtains. Natalia lay curled into my side, her head resting on my chest, her breath warm and uneven against my skin. She felt fragile in my arms, like she might shatter if I held her too tightly.
Her forehead was still warm, the lingering heat from hours of crying. She hadn’t said much since the bath – just let me guide her to bed, where she sank into the covers like the weight of the world had finally pushed her down too far to fight it.
I brushed a strand of caramel hair off her face, my fingers barely grazing her skin. Her lashes were dark against her cheeks, her lips parted slightly as she fought to breathe evenly. She wasn’t asleep yet, but she was close. I could tell by the way her body softened against me, her muscles slowly surrendering.
The silence between us was intimate. Each breath she took, each beat of her heart, was right next to mine.
I adjusted my arm, pulling her a little closer, my other hand resting lightly on her back. She sighed softly, nestling deeper into me, her fingers clutching onto my chest. I brushed my lips to the top of her head. I let her feel my presence, my warmth, the steady rhythm of my heartbeat under her.
Minutes passed, her breaths growing steadier. Sleep finally claimed her, her grip on me loosening, her body melting into mine.
I stared at the ceiling, one hand tracing idle patterns on her back. I’d never let anything touch her – not now, not ever.
As her breaths evened out completely, my chest tightened with something I couldn’t put into words. Raw and consuming. I’d burn the world to protect my love.
Leaning down, I pressed a soft kiss to her temple, lingering for a moment.
Her scent, her warmth, her trust – they were all enough to ground me.
And as she lay there, completely at peace for the first time in hours, I vowed to keep it that way.
The morning was cold, a kind of sharp chill. Natalia took a step in front of me, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. In the quiet memorial park, the air smelled of damp earth and faintly of flowers, but it did nothing to soften the heaviness hanging over us.
I hadn’t told her how I found the location. She didn’t ask.
A modest headstone stood before us, the name etched into the granite – Anabella Ricci .
Natalia sank to her knees, her fingers brushing over the carved letters of her mother’s name.
I stayed a step back, giving her the space she needed, but ready to close the gap if she needed me.
Her voice was barely a whisper, “I don’t even know if I hate her anymore.”
I crouched down beside her, the cold from the ground seeping through my jeans. “You don’t have to decide that now.”
She shook her head, her hair falling forward in soft curls. “I spent so many years thinking about her. Wondering why she left. Wondering if she ever even loved me.” Her voice cracked, and she let out a bitter laugh. “And now I find out she didn’t really leave at all.”
“I wish I could say something to make this easier,” I said softly, my hand reaching out for hers. “But I can’t.”
She intertwined our fingers, gripping tightly, like I was her only anchor to the present. “After everything… Why does it still hurt so much?”
“Because she was your mother.”
She turned her head to look at me then, her soft brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. The vulnerability in her gaze hit me harder than any punch I’d ever taken.
I reached up, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with my thumb. “You’re allowed to feel this. All of it.”
“Thank you,” She murmured, her voice raw but steady. “I love you.”
I stood, offering her my hand. She hesitated for a heartbeat before taking it, letting me pull her to her feet.
As we walked away from the grave, her hand still in mine, I knew one thing for certain.
I’d never let her face anything alone again.