Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
ENRICO FERRARA
The bold letters on the paper in front of me were clear. Objective. Unquestionable.
And still, I read them again and again, as if repetition could change the meaning.
Compatible. Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
Clara Muniz was my daughter.
My daughter.
Something inside my chest ached, a strange, devastating sensation spreading through me, consuming me like dry brush catching fire.
I couldn’t name exactly what I felt, but the emptiness that had haunted me for the last forty-eight hours turned unbearable now that the confirmation sat there—cold and final—on paper.
Clara.
I drew in a slow breath, trying to hold the internal storm back as my eyes drifted over the desk.
Photos.
Old photos—pulled from the detailed investigation I’d ordered into Valentina’s life over the last five years—were spread across the surface.
Valentina, pregnant, holding her rounded belly with a soft, protective expression.
Valentina with a newborn, tiny and fragile in her arms.
And more—dozens more—tracking the growth of the little girl I hadn’t even known existed until two days ago.
The girl with my face.
My eyes.
My blood.
I tightened my grip around my whiskey glass until my knuckles turned white, the amber liquid trembling near the rim as fury rose again—hot and bitter, scorching every part of me.
“Enrico.” André’s voice cut through the heavy silence of the office, yanking me back. He stood across from my desk, worry in his eyes. “What are you going to do now?”
I lifted my head and met his gaze.
“Get revenge for my daughter,” I said coldly. “And bring her where she belongs—by my side. Where she should’ve been from the start, if Valentina hadn’t decided to steal her from me.”
André exhaled, gaze flicking to the photographs.
“Steal her from you…” he repeated, serious, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t you think you’re being a little—”
He stopped when my look turned sharper, and instead changed direction.
“And Dreamland?” he asked. “Are you going to back off or at least put that on hold for now?”
A cold smile curved my mouth—bitter and relentless.
“No,” I said, quiet and cutting. “Dreamland is part of this. When I’m finished, there won’t be anything left of Valentina—nor the pathetic resistance she’s built. Then Dreamland can finally move forward without obstacles.”
André hesitated, uncomfortable. He stepped closer and braced his hands on the desk.
“And Nonna—”
“She’ll understand,” I said flatly. “And she’ll accept it. Clara is her great-granddaughter as much as she is my daughter.”
André let out another long breath.
I looked down at the photographs again, my chest tightening with something raw I refused to name.
My daughter. My little girl.
Because of Valentina, I had missed everything—pregnancy, the first ultrasound, the first smile, the first words, the first steps. Five full years I would never get back. Moments stolen from me by lies and betrayal.
I inhaled again, feeling rage grow sharper, feeding me, making me merciless.
If Valentina thought I’d been cruel before, she had no idea what was coming.
I would destroy everything she loved.
Her bakery. Her fake sense of safety in that insignificant town. Her pathetic little resistance against Dreamland.
But above all…
I would take from her the only treasure that actually mattered.
Clara would be mine.
And Valentina would pay for every second she stole from both of us.
Yes—this was a promise.
And I had never failed to keep my promises.
“Enrico…” André began carefully, warning threaded through his voice. “Are you absolutely sure you want to go down this road? Some things… you can’t undo.”
I stared at him for a long moment, my gaze hard as steel. I knew exactly what he meant.
But all I felt was the crushing weight of everything I had already lost because of that woman.
And that was something I would never forgive.
“The only thing I don’t have anymore, André,” I said, rotating the whiskey glass slowly in my hand, “is time to waste.”
My voice went colder.
“So let’s begin.”