Chapter 49
Alina
After three days of sailing followed by another two in the car, we’re back in Cleveland, walking through Raffaele’s front door.
My cast-bound arm hangs heavy at my side, a reminder of everything that’s changed since I last stood in this foyer. The scent of lemon polish and fresh flowers washes over me, strangely comforting despite the knowledge of what waits for me in the basement.
My sister. The woman who wanted me dead. But before I face that particular demon, there’s someone else I need to see first.
A blur of black fur streaks across the polished floor, accompanied by a frantic meow that shatters the mansion’s solemn quiet. My knees buckle instinctively, my good arm reaching out as Onyx launches himself toward me.
“Oh my God,” I gasp as his weight hits my chest. My injuries protest, but I couldn’t care less about the pain. “Oh, baby, I missed you.”
I drop to my knees, cradling him as best I can with one arm.
He’s heavier than I remember, his body vibrating with purrs so powerful I can feel them through my entire chest. His eyes stare into mine with an intensity that breaks something loose inside me—the last wall I’ve been holding up since leaving the island.
Tears spill down my cheeks as I bury my face in his soft fur, breathing in his familiar scent. I clutch him closer, careful not to squeeze too hard.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” I whisper against his ear. He responds by rubbing his face against mine, his whiskers tickling my tear-stained cheeks.
“He’s been impossible,” Susan says, appearing from the direction of the kitchen. Her voice is warm with affection as she watches our reunion. “Wouldn’t eat for three days after you left. Then he decided to make up for lost time.”
I look up at her through blurry eyes, still holding Onyx tight against me. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
She waves away my thanks with a flour-dusted hand.
“That little troublemaker has been sleeping on your pillow every night. And I may have slipped him a few extra treats to fatten him up.” Her expression softens as she looks at me, really looks at me, taking in the changes.
“It’s good to have you home, Mrs. Brewer-Russo. ”
“Susan,” Raffaele’s voice is soft but commanding. “A moment?”
She nods, giving me one last gentle smile before following Raffaele, leaving me alone with Onyx in the grand entryway. I struggle to my feet, wincing as my body protests the movement.
With Onyx nestled securely against my chest, I wander through the main floor of the mansion. Each room feels both familiar and strange, like revisiting a place from a dream. My baby purrs contentedly in my arms, occasionally stretching up to lick my chin.
My feet carry me to the library almost of their own accord. The room that became my refuge during those early days of captivity.
I settle into one of the chairs, adjusting Onyx in my lap so his weight doesn’t press on my cast. He kneads my thighs with his paws, staring up at me with an expression that seems to ask where I’ve been all this time.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I say, stroking his fur.
The quiet of the library envelops me like a blanket. Here, in this cocoon of books and silence, I can almost pretend that nothing has changed. That I don’t know my sister’s chained in the basement below my feet. That she didn’t conspire to have me killed.
Onyx meows softly, head-butting my hand when I pause in my petting. Always demanding, always insistent on his right to my attention. I smile despite everything, scratching under his chin the way he likes.
“She wanted me dead, Onyx,” I whisper, the words hanging in the still air of the library.
Onyx blinks up at me. I know he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. But that’s never stopped me from discussing life with him before.
The click of the door latch breaks my reverie. Raffaele stands in the doorway, his powerful frame silhouetted against the light from the hallway. His eyes find mine across the room, and I see the question in them before he speaks it.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice gentle but firm.
I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. Despite our conversation on the yacht, despite my insistence that I couldn’t condone what he planned to do, we both know this confrontation is inevitable. I need answers before Sabrina pays for her betrayal.
“I want to get it over with,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.
He nods once, holding out his hand to help me up. I rise from the chair, careful not to disturb Onyx too much, though he meows in protest when I stand.
“I’ll be back,” I promise, pressing a kiss to his furry head before walking to the door where Susan waits.
“He’ll be fine with me,” she assures me as I reluctantly hand him over. “Take all the time you need.”
Time.
Such a strange concept now. How much time does my sister have left? How much time do I have to make peace with what comes next?
The stairs to the basement seem to descend into another world entirely. Each step sends a jolt through my healing body, but it’s nothing compared to the tremors of dread rippling through me.
I’ve never been in this part of the mansion before—this hidden underbelly. Only, it doesn’t look like I expected. I was sure I’d find the basement to be dark and dank, but it’s bright and expansive with multiple doors.
As we walk, Raffaele shows me the gym and the security room. “Are you certain you want to do this?” he asks when we stop in front of the last door.
I nod, not trusting my voice. The truth is, I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to look into the eyes of the woman who shares my blood but wanted me dead. But I need to. I need answers.
Raffaele unlocks the door with a code rather than a key. The lock turns with an ominous click that echoes. He pushes it open, and cold, sterile light spills out to where we’re standing.
“Remember,” he says, his fingers tightening slightly against my back. “You’re safe. She can’t hurt you anymore.”
The interrogation room is exactly what I expected, and nothing like I imagined. Bare concrete walls. A drain in the center of the floor whose purpose I don’t want to contemplate.
Bright, unforgiving lights that leave no shadows to hide in. And in the center, bolted to the floor, a metal chair where my sister sits.
Sabrina’s head jerks up at our entrance, her eyes wild and red-rimmed. Her usually perfect hair hangs in limp strands around her face. Her designer blouse is wrinkled and stained, her makeup smeared across her cheeks like war paint gone wrong.
Metal chains secure her wrists to the arms of the chair, her ankles to its legs. She looks broken. Defeated. Until she sees me.
“Well, well,” she sneers, her voice hoarse but still dripping with contempt. “If it isn’t little Miss Perfect.”
The words hit like physical blows, but I hold my ground. Raffaele tenses beside me, his entire body coiling like a predator preparing to strike.
“You always were pathetic,” Sabrina continues, her lips curling into a grotesque parody of a smile. “Mom’s precious angel. Everyone’s favorite. So sweet. So perfect. So fucking worthless.”
The crack of Raffaele’s hand against her cheek silences her instantly. Her head snaps to the side from the force of the blow, a red mark blooming across her skin. My stomach lurches, but I don’t flinch. Don’t look away.
“You will speak to my wife with respect,” Raffaele says, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Or you won’t speak at all.”
The quiet that follows is absolute. I can hear the ragged edge of Sabrina’s breathing, see the rapid pulse at her throat. For all her bravado, she’s terrified. As she should be.
I step forward, my broken arm hanging heavy at my side. My footsteps echo on the concrete floor, each one punctuating the silence. When I’m standing directly in front of her, close enough to see the mascara clumped on her lashes, I ask the question that’s been haunting me.
“Why?”
One word. So simple. So impossible to answer.
Sabrina’s eyes lock with mine, hatred burning in their depths. “You killed my dad,” she spits, each word precise and venomous.
I nod slowly, having expected this answer after days of reflection on the yacht. It’s what she said in those texts to Andrea. It’s the only thing that makes sense of her hatred.
“We don’t have the same dad, do we?” I ask, the question falling from my lips with surprising steadiness.
Sabrina’s eyes widen briefly—a flicker of shock that she quickly masks. But it’s enough to confirm what I’ve begun to suspect since reading those messages.
“Finally figured it out, did you?” she snarls. “Took you long enough.”
My heart pounds against my ribs so hard I’m sure they can both hear it. The room seems to tilt slightly, and I struggle to keep my balance.
“Tell me,” I demand, my voice stronger than I feel. “Tell me everything.”
Something dark and satisfied flashes across Sabrina’s face. She wants to hurt me. Has always wanted to hurt me. And now she has the perfect weapon.
“Mom was a whore,” she says, the words exploding from her like bullets. “She cheated on Dad with some random guy passing through town. Got herself knocked up. With you.” She practically spits the last word. “No one knew for years. Dad raised you as his own. Loved you like his own.”
Each word lands like a physical blow, but I force myself to remain standing, to keep my expression neutral even as my world crumbles around me.
“And then what?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Then he found out.” Sabrina’s lips curve into a cruel smile. “Found some old letters Mom had kept. Realized his precious little Alina wasn’t his at all.”
The room spins faster. Johnny wasn’t my father. The man whose face I can barely remember, whose photos I’ve treasured, whose death I’ve mourned—he wasn’t my blood.
“That’s why he killed himself,” Sabrina continues, twisting the knife. “Finding out you weren’t his destroyed him. He couldn’t live with the lie. With Mom’s betrayal. With you.”