24. LAYLA
24
LAYLA
Silvano Salvatore.
The name hits me like a freight train, knocking the breath from my lungs. It’s as if the world has suddenly tilted, shifting everything I thought I knew about myself.
I stare at my mother, my mind scrambling to make sense of her words. The weight of this revelation crushes me, pressing down on my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.
She’s always known.
The father I spent my entire life wondering about, the man whose face I could never place in my memories, was Silvano Salvatore, the man whose name is whispered with contempt, whose legacy is one of disgrace and ruin.
And she waited until now to tell me.
I should be furious. I should be screaming at her, demanding answers. But instead, all I feel is a sharp, bitter ache in my chest.
The doctor clears his throat, oblivious to the storm raging inside me.
“This is good news. There is a high likelihood that one of the grandparents could be a match. I would advise you to get him tested as soon as possible.”
He excuses himself, leaving me standing there in stunned silence.
Around me, the air feels heavy.
Valentino is stiff beside me, his expression tense, his jaw set like stone.
My mother keeps her eyes trained on the floor, avoiding my gaze entirely.
Silvano Salvatore.
A drunken wreck of a man, a cautionary tale in the business world, a name spoken in hushed tones, riddled with failure and regret.
And he is my father.
I force myself to swallow, though the nausea swirls in my stomach, threatening to pull me under.
How am I supposed to confront him?
He has never once acknowledged me. I have spent my entire life wondering about him, imagining scenarios where he might appear at my doorstep one day, where he might apologize, where he might look at me and actually see me as his daughter.
But he never came. He never cared.
So, why would he care now?
Because Vincent needs him.
That thought is all that matters. The anger, the rejection, the wounds of my past, they don’t matter right now.
Vincent’s life is hanging by a thread.
And I will do whatever it takes to save him.
I grab my purse and turn for the door, my pulse pounding with determination and dread.
I don’t care if Silvano Salvatore doesn’t want to see me. I don’t care if it means reopening old wounds that never truly healed.
I will face him.
I have to.
I barely make it down the hallway when my mother’s voice calls from behind me, frantic, pleading. “Layla, wait! You can’t just go like this!”
I keep walking, my legs moving on instinct. If I stop, if I turn back, I might break under the weight of everything she kept from me.
I reach the elevator doors, pressing the button with trembling hands.
She catches up to me, grabbing my arm and pulling me aside, forcing me to look at her.
“Layla, please. We need to talk about this.”
I yank my arm away, my voice sharp, cutting.
“Talk about what, Mom?” I spit, eyes burning. “How you lied to me my entire life? How you let me grow up without knowing who my father was?”
Her face twists with pain. “I did it to protect you.”
I laugh bitterly. “Protect me?” The words taste like acid in my mouth. “I deserved to know the truth! You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle.”
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them away.
I won’t cry in front of her. I won’t let her see how much this is tearing me apart.
“I know you’re going to find him.” Her voice trembles. “But please… you don’t have to do this alone.”
“Alone?” I scoff. “I’ve always been alone in this.”
Her lips part, but I don’t give her a chance to speak.
“I don’t need you protecting me anymore.”
The elevator dings open, and I step inside, watching as my mother’s face disappears behind the closing doors.
When I reach the parking lot, Valentino is already there, leaning against the passenger door of his car.
“Let’s go, I’ll drive.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it.
I stop in my tracks. “I don’t want you to come.”
“That’s not happening.” He holds out his hand. “You won’t get past his front gate without me. He knows me.”
I clench my teeth, glaring at him before getting into the passenger’s side
“Fine.”
The engine hums low beneath us, filling the silence between me and Valentino as he speeds down the dimly lit roads outside of the city.
I stare out of the passenger window, watching the blurred trees whip past us, my hands gripping my lap so tightly my nails dig into my palms.
The air inside the car is thick, weighted with everything unsaid, the betrayal, the confusion, the heartbreak.
But there’s something else, too.
Something unspoken that lingers between us like a frayed thread holding together what little remains of our relationship.
He should be furious with me. For robbing him of the chance to be there for his son. But he hasn’t lashed out, hasn’t raised his voice or accused me of anything.
Instead, he just… drives. His hands are tight on the wheel, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched.
I steal a glance at him.
The glow from the dashboard casts shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his features, the way his lips are pressed into a firm line.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
I don’t even know what I’d say if he asked me to explain myself.
So, I stay silent.
Minutes pass, stretching the tension between us like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap at any second.
Then, he finally speaks. "How are you holding up?"
His voice is softer than I expected, like he’s trying not to push too hard.
I blink, my fingers curling tighter into my lap.
“I don’t know.” My voice’s barely audible over the sound of the tires against the pavement.
It’s the truth. I don’t know how to feel about any of this.
Finding out that Silvano Salvatore is my father. The fact that I have to beg him to save my son’s life. The fact that the only person who understands even a fraction of what I’m going through right now is sitting next to me, and I don’t even know where we stand anymore because of what I did to him.
I chance another glance at him, expecting to see frustration or coldness in his expression. But instead, there’s something else.
Something almost like understanding.
His grip on the wheel loosens slightly. He exhales through his nose before flicking his gaze toward me briefly.
"This… is a lot to process." His voice is measured, calm.
I swallow hard. "Yeah. It is."
Silence settles between us again, but this time it feels different, not quite as suffocating.
I shift in my seat, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to keep my emotions in check.
The weight of it all, the fear, the guilt, the regret, presses down on me, making it hard to breathe.
"I should have told you sooner," I whisper.
His hands tighten slightly on the wheel, but his voice remains steady.
“Yeah, you should have.”
I flinch.
After a beat, he sighs, his voice softening. “But I get it.”
I turn to look at him, my brows furrowing. “You… do?”
He nods slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the road.
“You were scared. You were protecting Vincent. Protecting yourself. I might not like that you kept it from me, but… I understand why you did.”
His words knock the air from my lungs.
I expected anger. I expected resentment.
But understanding?
I bite my lip, my throat tightening. “I should have trusted you.”
His grip on the wheel tightens again, but his voice remains level. “Yeah. You should have.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I’m sorry, Valentino.”
He doesn’t respond right away. But then, he exhales deeply, as if letting go of something heavy.
"We can’t change the past, Layla."
His words settle between us, sinking into the space that had been filled with so much uncertainty.
I nod, staring at my hands. “No, we can’t.”
Valentino takes another deep breath before speaking again, his voice filled with a quiet, unwavering determination.
“No matter what’s happened between us, I want you to know this, I will do anything for our son.”
His words send a shiver down my spine.
There’s no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Just pure, undeniable resolve.
I turn to face him fully now, taking in the hard set of his jaw, the intensity burning in his eyes.
He means every word.
My heart clenches.
Not just because of what he’s saying, but because a part of me believes him.
A part of me feels safe knowing that, despite everything, despite our mistakes, despite the brokenness of whatever we were before, he is here.
He is Vincent’s father. And he isn’t going anywhere.
I swallow hard, my voice small. “Thank you.”
His jaw tics, as if he’s holding something back. His fingers flex on the wheel, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something else, something more.
But then, he just nods. “Always.”
The word lingers between us, filled with so much more than just a promise.
It’s not forgiveness.
It’s not a declaration.
But it’s something.
Something that tells me that maybe this isn’t the end for us.
Another silence stretches between us, but this time, it feels... lighter. Like we’re no longer standing on opposite sides of an invisible wall. Like maybe… there’s still something left to salvage.
The road stretches ahead, dark and uncertain, but as we drive toward the one man who might be able to save our son, I realize that, for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel completely alone.
The estate looms dark and foreboding as we approach, the iron gates standing tall and unwelcoming.
A butler in a black suit greets us, stiff and formal.
“Mr. Marchetti,” he acknowledges Valentino before his gaze lingers on me, curiosity flickering across his face.
“Where is Silvano?” Valentino’s voice is demanding, firm.
The butler hesitates. “This is… his time to relax. He does not like to be disturbed.”
“He’ll make an exception.”
A beat of silence, then the butler nods and leads us toward a dimly lit den.
The air is thick with the scent of aged whiskey, stale cigar smoke, and dust. The grand entrance, once a statement of wealth and power, now bears the marks of neglect.
The hallway leading into the main den is lined with old, dusty paintings, their frames cracked with time, portraying a history that now feels like a ghost of the past.
Inside, Silvano Salvatore sits slouched in a leather chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring into the fireplace.
He looks… older. Worn down.
But as soon as he sees Valentino, his bloodshot eyes darken.
“What the hell are you doing here, Marchetti?”
I take a step back, stunned by the venom in his voice, but Valentino holds his ground, his own eyes narrowing in response.
“We need to talk.”
“Who’s this?” Silvano’s gaze flicks to me, suspicious, wary. “Tell me, girl.”
In his eyes, I only see suspicion. No fatherly love to speak of.
“What have the Marchettis convinced you to do for them now? Are you another one of Enzo’s young things, like the last one he married. Are you here to stake claims on my family’s land?”
“That is enough.” Valentino shoves him slightly.
“Oh,” Silvano stumbles back a bit, his drunken stupor giving his balance no favors.
“You will speak to her with respect.”
“Is this how you want to do it, eh? You want to fight with me? I would take you down and your whole family with just—”
“Stop! Stop it, both of you!” I step in, frantic. “Silvano… we are not here to fight with you. I just…”
My throat begins to close on me, and I have to muster together all of the strength that I have to complete the sentence.
I promised myself on the way here that I was not going to cry in front of this man, but now in the heat of the moment, it feels impossible not to.
I step forward, my hands clenching into fists.
This is it. The moment I have been waiting for my entire life.
My voice comes out steadier than I expect. “I’m your daughter.”
Silence.
Then, he laughs. A cruel, bitter laugh. Like I just told him the funniest joke in the world.
“My daughter?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “You think you can walk in here and claim to be my blood? What do you want? Money? Land? This some Marchetti scam?”
The rejection slams into me, sharp and unforgiving.
I should have known. I should have known he wouldn’t care.
The man whose approval I have always discreetly longed for is standing in front of me, and he does not even want to consider the possibility of being my father. He sees me as an opportunist.
My knees buckle, the ground slipping from beneath me, but I force myself to stay upright.
I won’t show any weakness in front of him, no matter how much his words cut into me.
I force my voice not to shake. “I don’t want anything from you. My son, your grandson, is sick. He needs a bone marrow transplant. I’m asking you to get tested.”
A flicker of hesitation.
Then, his face hardens.
“I’m done giving people what’s mine,” he spits, his voice filled with disdain.
“All anyone ever wants from me is money or something that belongs to me. I don’t care about your son or your pleas. You need to leave. Now.”
I realize now that I’m getting nowhere with him, that nothing I say will reach him.
The father I imagined in my mind, the reunion I dreamed of, it’s all shattered.
The fight has been drained out of me. I cannot beg a man who refuses to even see me as human.
Fighting back my tears, I turn my back to him and make a beeline for the door.
Valentino is right behind me, trying to catch up to me.
The final blow. The hope inside me shatters.
I turn, blinking back tears.
“Wait.” A voice. Not Silvano’s. Not Valentino’s.
I whirl around and find myself face-to-face with a stranger. A man with my eyes.
He hesitates before saying, “I’m Mattia. Your half-brother. And I want to help.”