Epilogue
EMILIA
“You did well, Emily.” Stacey smiles at me from behind her desk. “We didn’t make any arrests, but we were able to put a stop to the child trafficking operation. That’s a great start for you.”
I nod numbly, gaze resting on a point beyond her shoulders. My brain is fuzzy, thoughts moving like molasses. I’m vaguely aware that I should feel something about this—pride, maybe? Relief? But The words ‘great start’ just echo hollowly in my mind. Great start to what? A life of lies and betrayal?
“There’s something you need to see” She continues, turning her laptop to me. “I debated if I should show you or not, but I think it’s for the best you know and?—”
The rest of her words dissolve into meaningless noise as the video starts playing. My entire world narrows to the screen in front of me, and suddenly my heart is trying to punch its way out of my chest.
It’s my dad.
Not the dad in my memories, the one forever preserved in the amber of the past. This is a dad that time didn’t forget—what I imagine he would look like if he had the chance to grow older. His hair, once purely brown, now carries strands of silver. New lines frame his mouth and eyes, telling stories of years I never got to witness.
My lips part as I lean closer, watching the video greedily, drinking in every pixel, every movement. “H–how?”
She sighs heavily, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. We found Tomassi’s body after his altercation with Alfonso Moretti and nursed him back to life. By then, the news about his death had already spread. I was little more than a rookie back then. He was put into witness protection and, well, you know what that means.”
I do know. God, I know all too well. New identity, new life, complete secrecy—witnesses are hidden from the world, from anyone dangerous. But I’m his daughter, for fuck’s sake. I should have been told.
But then I realize what she’s saying.
He’s alive. My dad is alive.
Sweet hope and happy disbelief soar through me. I’m already imagining our reunion, the questions I’ll ask, the things I’ll tell him—but as I move my gaze from the video to Stacey, ready to demand answers and beg for a reunion, her grim expression stops me cold.
“I was going to let you two meet each other and catch up after you completed your first mission, but…” She pauses, and I can see the weight of her next words. “Rafael Moretti got to him.”
The words drop like stones into the pit of my stomach.
“What?” I gasp. The hope in my chest curdles into something dark and awful. There’s no way. Rafael wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. But my brain conjures the cold fury in his eyes three nights ago when he came home with that jacket tied over his bleeding arm. The way he looked at me like I was a stranger. An enemy…
“I called Tomassi to the city when I saw how sad you were following your first mission. But Rafael got to him as soon as he arrived. Just like he got to you in your apartment the night you came back.” She watches me closely, studying my expression. “He killed your father, Emily.”
I shake my head slowly, my gaze drawn to the video on the screen where my father—my living, breathing father—is frozen in time once again. I can’t breathe. My brain is a tornado of thoughts, memories, emotions. Six years of grieving, of finally accepting his death—all undone in an instant. To find out he was alive all this time, only to lose him again… in the same breath? It’s beyond cruel.
“That family killed your father twice. First Alfonso, then his son. Are you going to let it slide?” Stacey continues, her mouth twitching a little like she enjoys watching my turmoil—but that doesn’t make sense.
I stand abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Then without a word, I turn and leave her office.
Rafael killed your father. Rafael killed your father. Rafael killed your father.
My brain plays those words on a loop, over and over, as I walk out of the federal office building. A gust of cold air slaps me across the face, but I’m already so numb, I barely feel it.
But as I walk and those damning words become louder and louder and louder in my head, my numb fog is finally pierced by an emotion.
Anger. No. Rage. Pure, unfiltered rage.
So, what, because I betrayed him, he decided to retaliate by killing my dad?
Hot tears spill down my cheeks, evaporating almost immediately in the frigid air. I sniffle, trying to breathe through the familiar ache in my chest. The ache that's been my constant companion since our fight three nights ago, before I shut it all off.
Killed my father.
How did he even find out Dad was alive in the first place? The tiny side of me still clinging to disbelief asks, and I pause for a moment. Maybe the same way he found you the very first night you got back into the city, my cynical side supplies.
But it doesn’t fucking matter how he found him. What matters is that Rafael killed my dad. Stacey has absolutely no reason to lie to me about that. And he had every reason to do it after I betrayed him.
My heart freezes and hardens against him.
Too bad his own father is already rotting in the ground, or I’d gladly return the favor.
I stop walking, surprised to find myself in front of my old condo. Stacey had me move out after what went down. It probably isn’t safe to be here now, since Rafael knows this address and might be lurking, ready for another round of revenge.
Let him try. My hand moves to my waist, touching my gun. I dare that bastard to show his face.
The doorman doesn’t get his usual greeting as I march past. In the elevator, I tap my foot impatiently the whole ride up, hand still on my weapon. When the doors finally slide open on the third floor, I draw my gun, prepared for an ambush. But the hallway is empty.
No… not entirely empty.
My heart skips when I spot something near my front door—a huge blue planter and a gift box. The sprout growing from the sand looks ridiculously small in comparison to the oversized pot.
I take a deep breath, holstering my gun before bending down to inspect the bizarre gifts. There’s a sticker on the planter. I tear it off and read the message.
Think of this as our baby together and nurture it with love.
No signature. It doesn’t need one.
An angry growl bursts from my chest when a jolt of something suspiciously like excitement zips through me, and I move my attention to the flat square box next to the planter.
I snatch it up and slide it open, gasping at the contents.
No fucking way…
It’s even worse than the red panties and lace gold bras.
How dare he.
I’m about to throw the box back to the floor when I notice another note inside. Reluctantly, I examine it.
You can run from me, amorina, but you’ll always be mine, betrayal or not. When the time is right, I’ll find you and I’ll take what’s rightfully mine.
“The audacity of this murderous bastard,” I seethe. In what twisted world does he think there might still be something between us? After he killed my dad? Does he think he was so smart with it that I wouldn’t find out?
My fingers crush the note. “You’ll find me? No, Rafael. When the time is right, I'll find you first. And you’ll die by my hands.”
I slam the box shut aggressively, not able to bear the sight of his ‘gifts’ any longer.
This isn’t over.
Not by a long fucking shot.