44. Confrontation
Chapter forty-four
Confrontation
(Danica)
The view from my executive office never gets old.
Eight stories up, the entire harbor stretches before me, a playground of ships and containers that now dance to my tune.
I lean back in my leather chair—not the flimsy kind, but the substantial sort that costs more than my first car—and allow myself a moment of satisfaction.
Danica Fera, Managing Director.
The gold nameplate on my desk catches the afternoon light, winking at me like we share a secret.
In a way, we do. None of these port executives, city officials, or family Dons who've been parading through my office have any idea that the woman they're reluctantly respecting is the same one who ties up their fearsome Don when he begs for it.
Back home, I’m a different kind of MD, not Managing Director but Madame Danica.
My phone buzzes, the sound jarring me from my moment of smugness.
"Yes, Monica?" I answer, expecting another update about the German shipping contract that's been giving our logistics team headaches all week.
"Mrs. Fera, I have...visitors for you." Something in my PA's voice makes my skin tighten. "A Mr. and Mrs. Matthews. They say they're your parents."
My blood freezes in my veins. For a moment, I wonder if I misheard.
"They're insisting on seeing you," Monica continues, her voice dropping lower. "I told them you're in meetings all afternoon, but they won't leave. The woman is becoming quite...vocal."
Of course she is. That's my mother’s specialty.
"Send them in." My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
"Are you sure? I can have security—"
"Send them in." I stand, straightening my navy pencil skirt and adjusting my silk blouse. Appearance is everything in this new world I've built. "Thank you, Monica."
The thirty seconds between hanging up and the door opening stretch like taffy. My heart drums against my ribs, but I force my face to remain neutral, my posture perfect. This isn't their house with its whispered insults and muffled cries. This is my domain.
The door swings open, and suddenly, there they are—ghosts from a life I've tried so hard to bury.
My mother enters first, all fake pearls and indignation.
She's aged in the few months since I last saw her, more lines around her mouth that's already twisted in disapproval.
Behind her, my father follows like a shadow—quiet, unassuming, invisible until he's needed to reinforce her particular brand of cruelty.
"Danica!" My mother's voice pierces the air like a dentist's drill. "What have you done?"
I don't move from behind my desk. Don't rush to embrace them. Don't offer coffee like the dutiful daughter they tried to mold. I simply watch them, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably.
"Hello, Mother. Father." The words taste foreign on my tongue.
"Don't you 'hello' me!" She's already in full swing, her knock-off designer handbag clutched like a weapon. "What have you done to your brothers? Is this your idea of revenge?"
My father stands silently beside her, his eyes roaming the office, taking in the expensive furniture, the harbor view, the trappings of power. Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe. As if he never expected his disappointing daughter to amount to anything more than an embarrassment.
"I don't know what you're talking about." I sit back down, gesturing to the chairs across from my desk. "Please, take a seat."
"We will not sit! Marko has lost everything—his firm, his clients! They're investigating him for—" She stops herself, seemingly realizing she's saying too much. "And Filip! His company suddenly canceled his contract. They're saying he falsified signatures, compromised safety standards!"
Interesting. So that's what Dante found. I'll admit, I'm impressed. My husband has always had a talent for finding people's darkest secrets. I know I should be mad, that I told him to leave them alone, but actually, I just love him more. Fuck them. Fuck them all.
"And you think I had something to do with this?" I keep my voice level, professional. A voice that commands boardrooms now.
"We know you did! That...that criminal you married—"
"That would be Dante Fera," I correct her, enjoying the way her face pales at his name. "My husband."
"Filip is being audited by the IRS," my mother continues, face reddening. "Marko's wife left him! Took the children! Said she couldn't be married to someone under investigation for embezzlement and misconduct!"
I steeple my fingers, watching her unravel. "Sounds like they're finally facing consequences for their actions."
"This is your doing! Your revenge!"
"Revenge?" I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Is that what you call justice?"
My father finally speaks, his voice as bland as unseasoned food. "Danica, whatever grievance you think you have—"
"Think I have?" The words escape like steam from a pressure cooker. "Did you just say 'think,' Father?"
He blinks, startled by my tone. In their world, I never talked back. Never raised my voice. Never existed except as an inconvenience.
"You stood by and watched while your sons tortured your own flesh and blood." My voice is deadly calm now. "You watched while they locked me in a burning shed and pretended it was my own fault. While they hid my pain medication. While they broke me, piece by piece, and what did you do? Nothing.”
“Not this again. That was an accident," my mother dismisses with a wave of her hand. "Boys being boys. You always were so dramatic."
"An accident?" I stand so abruptly my chair rolls back and hits the window.
"Kingsly died in that fire! I still have the scars!
And you—" I turn to my father, who seems to be trying to blend into the wallpaper.
"You were supposed to protect me. You were my father!
But you were too much of a coward to stand up to your wife or your precious sons. "
All semblance of composure dissipates. So much anger. So much pain. Years of holding it all in. But no more. I’m done.
My mother's face twists with rage. "How dare you speak to us like this? After everything we did for you—"
"What exactly did you do for me?" I laugh, but it's a bitter sound. "Feed me? Clothe me? The bare minimum required by law? Or was it the part where you blamed me for my own abuse? Where you made me feel worthless? Where you taught me that I deserved to be hurt?"
"We gave you everything!" she spits.
"You gave me nothing!" My palm slams against the desk. "You made me believe I was unworthy of love! That I was defective! That I deserved pain!"
My father takes half a step forward. "Now, Danica—"
"No!" I point at him, and he actually flinches. "You don't get to 'now, Danica' me! Not anymore! You lost that right when you chose to protect your criminal sons instead of your innocent daughter. When you let them turn me into a punching bag because it was easier than being a parent."
"This is ridiculous," my mother huffs. "We're not here to rehash childhood squabbles. We're here because you've destroyed your brothers' lives!"
"Childhood squabbles?" The words come out so softly, so dangerously, that both my parents take an instinctive step back. "Is that what you call it when your sons tied up their sister and left her to burn alive?"
My father looks away, and for once, I see something that might be shame cross his face.
"My husband didn't touch your precious sons." I settle back into my chair, suddenly exhausted but refusing to show weakness. "He didn't need to. Their own corruption, their own cruelty—that's what destroyed them. All he did was shine a light on who they really are."
"You've ruined our family," my mother accuses, tears gathering in her eyes. Crocodile tears, the kind she's always used to manipulate.
"No, Mother. You did that long ago." I smooth my skirt, finding calm in the familiar gesture. "You ruined us when you decided that two of your children mattered and one didn't. When you taught Marko and Filip that they could do anything—hurt anyone—and face no consequences."
"We never—"
"You did. Every time you looked the other way. Every time you made excuses. Every time you chose them over me."
My mother's face hardens. "They were good boys until you turned them against us! Until you married that monster and decided to destroy everything we've built!"
"That monster is the only person who's ever truly seen me." My voice cracks slightly, but I push on. "The only person who looked at the broken pieces you left me in and thought I was worth saving."
"He's a criminal, Danica!"
"And what does that make you?" I ask quietly.
My father finally cracks, his voice so soft I almost miss it. "We didn't know how bad it was."
"Bullshit." The curse tastes like freedom on my tongue. "You knew. You just didn't care."
My mother grabs her purse, clutching it like a lifeline. "We're done here. Clearly, you've lost your mind. When you're ready to apologize—"
"Apologize?" I laugh, a real laugh this time. "I'm not the one who needs to apologize. “Get out.”
I press the intercom, ignoring my mother’s dramatic huff. "Monica, could you have security escort Mr. and Mrs. Matthews out, please?"
"Right away, Mrs. Fera."
My mother's face turns an ugly shade of purple. "You can't do this! We're your parents!"
"No," I say, standing tall, feeling every inch La Donna Fera. "You're not my parents. You're just the people who failed at the job. I have a real family now—people who love me, who protect me, who would burn down the world rather than let anyone hurt me."
The door opens, and two security guards step in, looking expectantly at me.
"Please show them out," I instruct calmly.
As they're led toward the door, my father pauses, turning back. For a moment, something like regret passes across his face. "Danica—"
"It's Mrs. Fera," I correct him, my voice like ice. "And this is the last time you'll ever see me. Don't call. Don't write. Don't think for a second that you have any claim on my life or my heart. You lost that right a long time ago."
He opens his mouth, then closes it, seemingly at a loss for words.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Matthews. Give my regards to your sons. I hope they enjoy the consequences of their actions as much as I'm enjoying mine."
The door closes behind them with a satisfying click, and suddenly, I'm alone again. My legs wobble, and I sink into my chair, the adrenaline leaving my body in a rush that makes me dizzy.
I did it. After all these years, I finally stood up to them. Finally spoke the truth that has been burning inside me since I was nine years old.
For a moment, I just breathe, letting the silence of my office wash over me. Then I reach for my phone.
"Monica, I'm taking the rest of the day off. Please reschedule my appointments."
"Of course, Mrs. Fera. Is everything alright?"
I look out at the harbor, at the empire I've built from the ashes of who I used to be. "Yes," I say, meaning it for perhaps the first time in my life. "Everything is perfect."
It's time to go home.
To my real family.
To Dante, who saw me when no one else did.
Who believed in me when I couldn't believe in myself.
Who helped me become the Queen I was always meant to be.
The Queen the world never saw coming.