Chapter 41
SAbrINA
Something was wrong.
I could feel it—a prickle at the base of my spine.
Everything was too still, too perfect.
I ducked into the cafe next to the House of Diamanti headquarters.
It was alive with the buzz of morning chatter, the hiss of steaming espresso machines, and the clink of delicate porcelain cups against saucers.
I punched in the numbers that might take me away from all of this—the picture-perfect Italian setting and the dark underbelly it hid.
My palms itched as I stared at my phone, waiting for her to pick up.
It was time to tell my mother the truth.
Things had gotten out of control.
It was as if I were drowning—kicking and screaming as I splashed against the cold water, but nothing worked. I just kept slipping deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Part of me wanted to get on the next plane to New York.
Another part of me wanted to stay in Rome and get answers.
And then there was the part I didn’t even want to think about.
Sebastian.
He had some unnatural hold over me. I wanted to run away and run into his arms at the same time. It was that damn dark, gravitational pull of his. Mesmerized by the domineering aura around him, I kept staring and staring as he drew me in, closer and closer.
How could a person crave and detest someone all at once?
I wanted nothing more than to escape.
And yet the thought of never seeing him again, never hearing the deep rumble of his voice, never feeling the strength of his hand at my back…it filled me with despair.
But…I knew he was lying to me. Using me.
Last night...
Last night had been the most intense, fucked-up experience of my life. It was as if he had stolen a piece of my soul with every kiss, every touch, every thrust.
I moved my hand to my belly. I could almost still feel him inside of me.
He was everywhere.
Already haunting me, and I hadn’t even left Rome yet.
Even if I tried to leave, would he follow?
Did I want him to?
I was Eve taking a second bite of the poisonous apple.
My phone interrupted my thoughts.
“Sabrina. Finally.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You never answer your phone anymore. You barely text.”
A waiter stopped by my table, placing a cappuccino in front of me.
I thanked him softly, keeping my gaze on the foamy heart etched into the surface. “I’m just busy, that’s all.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I’m your mother, Sabrina. I can hear it in your voice. What’s wrong?”
“Well…there is something I need to tell you.”
“I’ll be right there. I’m talking to my daughter.”
Her tone sounded hurried, distracted. Movement rustled faintly, the sound of someone moving in the background.
“Who’s that?” I asked, a knot of unease forming in my stomach.
“Well, if you’d bothered to answer your phone more often…”
“Mom…” I warned.
She sighed, and then, almost casually, dropped the bombshell. “I’ve…met someone.”
I froze, the noise of the café receding into static. “You’ve what?”
“You heard me. I’ve met someone.”
“You’ve met someone? Who?”
“He’s handsome and cultured, and you’re not going to believe this, but…Italian.”
“You hate Italian men.”
“I know what I said.”
“You didn’t just say it, Mom. You drilled it into my head. My entire life you told me: ‘Never trust a man, but especially never trust an Italian man.’”
“Listen, Sabrina. You’re not a child. You’re old enough to know that sometimes parents make mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” I scoffed. “I wouldn’t call you warning me that Prince Charming was really a demon in disguise who’d ruin my life a mistake!”
“Sabrina, you’re upset—”
“Of course I’m upset! How did you meet this man?”
“It was the oddest thing,” she began. “A few weeks ago, I was at the theater in my usual subscription seats. You know how the Finklesteins have always sat next to me? Well, they weren’t there.
This man said he’d purchased their seats.
At first, I thought nothing of it, but then he was there for the next performance and the next.
He got me a glass of wine during intermission, and…
well, wine turned into dinner, and dinner turned into… ”
I tuned her out, my mind racing.
Her words felt wrong. Scripted, somehow.
Too coincidental.
She laughed softly, bringing me back. “It’s like he knows me, Sabrina. We like all the same things. It’s almost as if he can read my mind.”
“Mom. I need to ask you about your family. The Badalamentis. And…and why you left Italy.”
There was a long pause.
“Mom?”
Her voice came back, colder now. “Not now, Sabrina.”
“Mom, please. It’s important.”
“I can’t talk about this right now. You know I don’t like to talk about such things. And I really should go. He’s waiting for me, and we’re already late.”
“Mom, wait! I need to warn you—”
The line went dead.
I sat there, staring at the phone in my hand. Outside, the bells of a nearby church rang out.
Sebastian.
I didn’t know how, but I knew this was him.
Somehow, he’d found her.
And now, I had to figure out why.
Florian approached my table. His tailored suit looked crisp, unwrinkled, and flawless—something straight out of a Milan runway. He arched an elegant brow as he took in my outfit.
“Well,” he said, waving his hand dramatically. “This is…a choice.”
I tugged at the brim of my baseball cap, suddenly hyperaware of my casual jeans and oversized T-shirt. “I thought I’d bring a little American flair into the office today.”
“Flair is for a hem, cara, not an outfit,” Florian replied, sliding into the chair opposite me.
My lips twitched, but I couldn’t shake the heat creeping up my neck. It was my only win of the morning—refusing to change into a more “appropriate” outfit after Sebastian’s disapproving glare over breakfast.
Sebastian had stormed inside without a word.
I stayed behind, slipping into the café next door.
Not that I was truly alone.
The moment I took a seat, I caught the reflection of one of Sebastian’s security guards in the glossy screen.
He wasn’t being subtle, either. He hovered near the café door, his eyes flicking toward me. Even when he wasn’t in the room, Sebastian was watching.
Always watching.
The waiter delivered an espresso to Florian, who gave him a small nod of approval before turning his attention back to me.
“You know,” he said, taking a delicate sip of his coffee, “I think I see what you’re trying to do here. A little rebellion? A statement, perhaps?”
“It’s not that deep,” I muttered, stirring my cappuccino. “I just didn’t feel like playing dress-up today. My plan is to hide in my office all day and avoid everyone.”
Florian chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “A good plan. Perhaps the only sensible one. Though…” He paused, tilting his head as if considering. “Avoiding Sebastian is rarely a strategy that ends well.”
The guard at the door shifted, and I darted my gaze toward him.
The knot of tension in my stomach twisted tighter.
Florian caught my glance and waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just there to make sure you don’t slip out the back. You know how he gets when he thinks you might vanish.”
I scowled. “I’m not going to disappear. I just needed a minute.”
Florian arched a brow but said nothing, draining the last of his espresso and setting the cup back on its saucer with a soft clink. He stood, smoothing his jacket.
“I’ll see you in the office,” he said lightly, his gaze flicking to the security guard before returning to me. “Try not to get into too much trouble before then, hmm?”
I didn’t reply, watching him stride out of the café with the same effortless elegance he always carried.
The guard stayed put, his sharp gaze now fixed solely on me.
Sighing, I shut my laptop and reached for my coffee again. The cappuccino had gone cold.
Sebastian.
He wasn’t here, but his presence suffocated me nonetheless.
I stared out the café window at the sprawling chaos of Rome—the blur of Vespas zipping through the narrow streets, the morning sunlight filtering around the buildings.
With renewed determination, I opened my laptop.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Sebastian had tapped into my phone—every call, every text, monitored. I could only hope he hadn’t done the same to my personal laptop.
The café around me buzzed with the murmur of conversations, the clang of dishes, and the hiss of the espresso machine, but it all faded into the background.
My focus tunneled to the screen in front of me.
For the first time, I typed my father’s name into the search bar.
Judge Delluci.
Images populated the screen, and there he was—the man I'd seen last night. Handsome, distinguished…powerful.
Although most of the information was in Italian, fragments in English jumped out at me. President of the Constitutional Court of Italy.
The medal I’d seen gleaming on his chest was the Grand Cross of the Order of Merit of the Italian Republic—the highest-ranking honor in Italy. My father was a freaking knight.
I skimmed the words.
A polarizing figure, it seemed.
Whispers of corruption and mafia ties littered the pages, casting shadows over his regal image.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat.
I needed more.
With shaking hands, I typed in Sebastian’s name alongside my father’s.
Nothing.
Not a single connection—at least, not on the surface.
Finally, I entered my mother’s name alongside his. Again, nothing conclusive. Just obscure articles with her family’s name, Badalamenti, interwoven with legal jargon—official court documents, all in Italian.
I slammed my laptop shut, the sound startling the elderly couple at the next table. The guard at the door shifted.
This was getting me nowhere.
I glanced down at my cup, tracing the dark, swirling remnants clinging stubbornly to the porcelain. I inhaled deeply, the rich aroma of coffee doing little to calm my nerves.
I knew what I had to do.
I wouldn't run away to New York.
I would stay in Rome.
The realization settled over me with the weight of inevitability. If Sebastian refused to answer my questions, then I knew someone who might.
My father.
My heart pounded with a mixture of fear and fierce resolve.
I stared at the swirling patterns in my cup once more, as if the dregs could offer some prophetic insight. The air around me thickened, the café’s lively atmosphere pressing in, suffocating and invigorating all at once.
This was no longer about secrets whispered in the dark or questions dodged with skillful evasion.
This was about finding the truth—my truth.
The café door swung open, letting in a gust of cool morning air that brushed against my flushed cheeks. I squared my shoulders, feeling a surge of defiance.
Rome wasn’t just a backdrop—it was a battleground, and I was ready to fight for answers.
With one last glance at the faded patterns in my cup, I stood, the chair scraping softly against the tiled floor.
Time to confront the past.
And my father was the only one who could give me the answers I craved. Answers that had haunted me for years, lurking in the shadows of my past, poisoning every moment of my present.
But I also knew one thing with bone-deep certainty—Sebastian wouldn’t want me anywhere near him.
Whatever secrets my father held, whatever truth lay buried beneath years of silence, Sebastian had fought to keep it from me.