Chapter 21 - Mara
Mara
My phone buzzes against my ribs just as Emilio defends me to his family. The sound slices through the tension in the hallway, and all the Rosetti eyes follow as I pull the phone from my pocket with shaky fingers.
The text message makes my stomach sink: Your sister misses you. Don't make her wait much longer. Chase isn't just pushing things; he's reminding me why I've been trapped for years, why I've given him information while hating every moment of it.
The phone shakes in my hands, the glass slick with sweat. The Rosetti family's gaze is sharp and cold as they wait for explanations I can't provide, their doubts confirmed by my clear fear at the message.
"Inside. Now." Emilio's voice cuts through my frozen state, low and commanding.
His hand rests on my back, fingers spreading against the silk that now feels too thin, too revealing, guiding me to his room with a protective touch that sends heat racing through me despite my fear.
The hallway empties as his siblings leave to handle their own crises, leaving us alone to face the truth that's shattered my calm.
The door closes with a soft hiss like a coffin sealing, locks clicking into place. We're alone in his fortress of steel and secrets, surrounded by surveillance equipment that could reveal all the truths I've been hiding.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence stretches between us as I struggle to find words for the secrets that have been consuming me. Emilio moves to his desk but doesn't sit, his body tense with patient waiting for explanations that will either save us or ruin everything we've built.
"Talk." His voice is barely above a whisper, with a deadly calm that makes even tough men confess. "And don't even think about lying. Not after what just happened. Not when you're shaking like that."
I am shaking. My hands, my voice, my whole body trembling under the weight of carrying this burden alone for so long. I walk to the windows overlooking the grounds, needing space and movement to organize my scattered thoughts.
"You want the truth?" The words taste desperate, metallic, and bitter. "The whole truth about why I left? About what I've been doing all this time?"
"I want everything." He doesn't move closer, but his focus on me is intense. "Every secret, every lie, every reason you've been running from what we had."
My phone buzzes again. Another message from Chase: Sarah's waiting for you to make the right choice. Don't disappoint her.
The familiar manipulation chills me, but also stirs a desperate need to finally tell someone the truth about the impossible choice that ruined my life.
"Years ago," I start, my voice steadier than I feel, "Chase approached me with an offer I couldn't refuse. Refusing meant watching someone I love die."
Emilio goes completely still, every muscle tense as if ready for a fight. "Who?"
"My sister." The words crack something inside me, a fracture spreading through my bones. "Sarah. She was twenty-two, fresh out of college, working at a nonprofit downtown. She had no idea about your family, about what you did, about the world I entered by loving you."
Something changes in his expression. "You never mentioned a sister."
"I kept her separate. Protected." My throat tightens with guilt. "I thought if she never knew about this world, she'd be safe from it. I was wrong."
"How did Chase know about her?"
"Chase makes it his business to know everything about the people he wants to control.
" I show the photo he sent that first night leaving her apartment, looking beautiful and lively, not knowing she was being watched.
"He had pictures of her leaving work, her apartment address, her daily routine.
Her favorite coffee shop, the subway stop she used, the friend she met for drinks every Thursday. "
Emilio's face hardens as he realizes how serious the surveillance was. "He tracked her every minute."
"Down to the second," I say, my voice cracking. "He showed me weeks of evidence. Proof he could get to her whenever he wanted. She was completely exposed."
"So you left me." His words are cold and sharp, cutting deeper than anger would.
"I left you to keep her alive." This difference is important, though I'm not sure he'll see it that way. "Chase gave me twenty-four hours to decide: leave you and work for him, or watch Sarah die slowly, knowing it was my fault."
The silence that follows is tense, the calm before a storm. Emilio processes this with careful thought, but I can see emotions building under his calm face: hurt, rage, and maybe a glimmer of understanding.
"You could have told me," he finally says, his words tense. "We could have protected her together."
"Could we?" I turn to face him, letting him see the years of guilt I carry. "Your family was already in a war with half of New York. Adding another target, another weakness..." I shake my head. "Chase would have killed her just to prove he could."
"So instead you destroyed yourself to save her." His voice is croaky, like his throat is dry. "You gave up everything to become his asset."
"I became his weapon," I confess, the words feeling bitter. "I gave him information about your operations, your weaknesses, your family. Helped him plan attacks that hurt people close to you, even though I hated every moment of it."
Emilio suddenly moves to his custom computer setup with determination. "Show me," he demands, typing quickly with practiced skill. "Everything he has on her. Every threat, every piece of leverage he's used against you."
My hands tremble as I pull out my phone, scrolling through months of messages that have haunted me. Each text is a reminder of the danger hanging over Sarah, each photo proof that Chase could reach her whenever he wanted.
"He sends updates," I say, my voice gaining strength as I finally share the burden I've been carrying alone. "Photos of her at work, descriptions of her routine, reminders that her safety relies on my cooperation."
I read the messages aloud, years of mental torment turned into digital cruelty: Sarah looked lovely at lunch today.
Would hate for anything to happen to that pretty face.
Your sister's working late again. So many dangers in the city at night.
Hope Sarah's feeling better. Would be awful if her cold got worse.
"Look," I say, pulling up my latest proof that is okay. "Just yesterday, she sent me this photo from her morning run. See? She's wearing the fitness tracker I gave her for Christmas. That's Central Park behind her."
I show him the image with desperate hope, holding onto proof that Chase's threats are real because the alternative is unthinkable.
Emilio examines the photo closely. His fingers fly over the keyboard, and multiple screens light up around us, data flowing in digital streams as he accesses secret systems.
"This photo," he says slowly, "when exactly did you get it?"
"Yesterday morning. Around eight," I reply, my voice firm but starting to falter. "She always runs early, before work."
"Mara," he says, his tone now very careful. "Look at the metadata."
He brings up technical details that I can't grasp, timestamp information that makes my stomach churn. The numbers blur before my eyes, but I see enough to know they don't match what I thought was true.
"That's... that's not right," I say, my voice shaky. "There must be a mistake. Chase wouldn't... he couldn't..."
But even as I speak, I feel a wave of nausea. My mouth goes dry, and the room seems to tilt slightly.
"Sarah Voss," Emilio reads quietly from a screen filled with personal data. "Twenty-five years old, sociology major from Columbia, worked at Hope Shelter downtown until—"
He stops and goes completely still. The color drains from his face as he stares at whatever he's found.
"No." The word slips out before I can stop it. "No, don't say it. Whatever you're about to say, don't."
"Mara," he says, with a gentleness I've never heard before, the kind of voice used to deliver terrible news. "When did you last speak to her directly? Not texts from Chase, not his updates about her. When did you last hear her voice?"
The question feels like ice water in my veins. I start to answer, then stop. I count back through months of carefully managed communication. "She's been busy," I say weakly. "Chase said direct contact was too dangerous."
"How long, Mara?"
"Eight months," I whisper. "Maybe more."
The admission hangs in the air like a death knell. My legs suddenly feel weak, and I have to hold onto the edge of his desk to keep from swaying.
"Show me more recent proof," Emilio says softly. "Everything you've got that shows she's alive."
With trembling hands, I scroll through my phone, showing text conversations, photos, the birthday message I got just last week. Each piece of evidence feels less convincing as I present it, my confidence crumbling.
Emilio looks at each item carefully, his expression growing darker.
"This text thread," he says, "the language patterns are off. Sarah studied sociology, but these messages use business terms she wouldn't know."
"She's been learning," I say, desperate. "Chase said she was taking courses—"
"This photo from her birthday dinner." He zooms in on the details. "The restaurant in the background. That place closed six months ago."
My heart races. The room feels like it's spinning. "There has to be an explanation."
"There is." His hands shake as he turns another screen toward me, clearly affected by what he's about to show. "You need to see this."
The screen shows an internal message between Chase and one of his lieutenants. But it's not just about logistics. It's worse.
The Voss girl is dead, like you requested. Car 'accident' last night. What do we do about her sister?
Nothing changes. M doesn't need to know. Keep sending the usual threats. Dead leverage works just as well as live leverage if the asset believes the lie.
How long do we maintain the deception?