Chapter 51
The past week has been pure chaos.
Between dismantling what’s left of Salvatore’s empire, explaining to Gianna and Vera that Nico and Antonio are gone, and helping reunite the rescued girls with their families, there hasn’t been a second to breathe.
Gianna and Vera took the news without so much as a flinch—no grief, no shock, just a calculating silence. Their only real concern was practical, Where will we go? How will we afford to live?
Jonathan solved that within an hour, proposing they come to live here. A safe house—somewhere for those most affected by Antonio and Una’s actions to find their feet again. A place where no one would be left stranded because of someone else’s sins.
He offered the same to the rescued girls.
Most of them wanted to go home—to families who’d been searching, grieving, hoping—including Rosa, the girl whose file had first led me to suspect Antonio, even though she’ll never know the role she played.
But a handful—Alice and Niamh among them—had nowhere to return to.
No family, no country that felt like theirs, no safety beyond what we could give them.
So a women’s shelter was born.
In true Helen fashion, the plan took shape in less than a day. Ever since, Helen, Donna, Fiona, and Cora have been taking shifts, helping the new arrivals adjust—setting up bedrooms, teaching them how to ask for what they need, making meals, holding their hands through nightmares.
It’s messy, imperfect, and somehow the most hopeful thing I’ve ever seen.
Every day has blurred into the next—meetings, interrogations, transport runs, paperwork, lawyers, follow-ups, checks on the girls, debriefs with Jonathan, endless phone calls with Logan, looping him until he can get up here for the Table meeting due to take place this week, and then more fucking meetings.
But the worst part?
I haven’t really seen Lily.
Not properly.
Not long enough to look at her and believe she’s actually here. Alive, whole, and healing.
She had to go back to Lyon two days after Liverpool, something about exams, final submissions, and attendance requirements. I told her we’d sort it, that Jonathan could fix anything, that she deserved time to rest, to breathe, but Lily being Lily?
She insisted she needed to finish what she’d started.
So she went.
And I let her.
Mostly because if I tried to stop her, she’d have killed me.
We’ve been on the phone every night, but it’s not the same.
Hearing her breathing on the line instead of feeling it against my throat.
Looking at empty rooms and imagining her curled up on one of the sofas with Cora.
Watching her streams, knowing that behind the mask is my Lil’ and I can’t touch her, can’t hold her, can only watch, is hell.
But as of yesterday, she handed in her last piece of coursework, packed up her flat, and said her goodbyes to Jamie. Because she’s finally coming home, where she belongs.
And of course, that means everything else has to come to a head.
The moment the dust settled, Da started pushing for answers along with Uncle Bren. Jonathan and Helen have been circling the conversation like it might bite back, both of them knowing it has to happen, and both of them clearly terrified of what it will cost.
Because we can’t avoid the fact that Lily was kicked out of this family.
That she was cut loose and left to fend for herself in a world that already wanted to chew her up and spit her out. Branded a traitor. A liar. A threat.
When she was innocent.
No one says it out loud, but it’s there, in every pause, every glance that lingers too long, every conversation that stops the second she’s mentioned. It’s the thing none of us can outrun. The guilt hangs heavy, sour and suffocating, following us from room to room like a shadow we deserve.
The girls bite their tongues barely holding back the we told you so’s.
And I haven’t been alone in the same room as Da since the truth came out.
I scrub a hand down my face, trying to shake the pressure building behind my eyes. I haven’t slept in—Christ, I don’t even know how long. There’s too much damage to undo. Too many people watching to see how we handle the fallout.
The lift doors slide shut, and the higher we climb, the heavier the air gets. Like the building itself knows what’s coming.
When I step into Jonathan’s penthouse, the tension hits me like a wall.
Da is pacing, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to tear the thoughts out of his skull.
Uncle Bren’s leaning against a bookcase, muttering curses under his breath, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
Owen stands off to the side, quiet in that dangerous way that means he’s one wrong word away from snapping someone clean in half.
Jonathan sits on the sofa, rigid, jaw locked. Helen stands beside him, one hand braced against his shoulder, trying—and failing—to soothe him. Cora’s near the window, arms crossed as she glares around the room.
It’s a mess.
We’re all a fucking mess.
But we’re family.
And it’s long past time we started acting like it.
“Any word?” Da asks the second he sees me, his voice tight—strained—with something dangerously close to fear. His eyes flick past me, like if he looks hard enough, he might will her into existence.
“She’s minutes out,” I tell him.
Cora exhales like she’s been holding her breath for a week straight, Helen’s eyes soften, and Jonathan’s hand curls into a fist against the table, knuckles whitening.
“Good,” Bren mutters. “I’m fucking sick of all of us acting like ghosts.”
“We’re not acting like ghosts,” Da snaps, spinning toward his twin. “We’re—” His voice breaks, and he swallows down his emotions before continuing. “We’re grieving.”
Owen scoffs, shaking his head as he pushes off the wall he was leaning against, taking a single step towards my Da.
“For what?” he drawls, his voice calm, cold, razor-sharp. “For losing her? Or for being the ones who pushed her out in the first place?”
The room goes dead silent.
Jonathan drops his gaze to the coffee table like it might offer absolution. Helen closes her eyes, pain etched deep into her face. Da’s nostrils flare, his jaw working like he’s chewing on something poisonous.
No one argues.
Because there’s nothing left to defend.
And for the first time since this all began, it feels like they finally understand, Lily isn’t walking in here to be welcomed back.
She’s walking in to see whether this family is worth forgiving at all.
Before anyone can answer, the lift opens again, spitting Lily out into the room before any of us are remotely ready.
Hair pulled back in a loose braid, coat hanging open, cheeks flushed from the cold London air. She scans the room once, taking in every face, every tension, no doubt remembering the last time she was in this room, how it was us versus her with only Cora and Owen standing up for her.
My chest tightens painfully.
This is not the girl they sent away.
This is the woman they failed.
When her eyes meet mine, something softens, just for a heartbeat. Enough to remind me I still belong at her side.
Then she looks away as Da takes an unconscious step forward, stopping himself.
For the first time in my life, he hesitates.
“I’m okay,” she says softly, for my ears only. Then, clearing her throat, stronger, “I’m here. Let’s get this over with.”
The silence that follows is unbearable.
Jonathan steps forward, voice strained. “Lily—”
“No.” She lifts a hand again, and it’s not rude, it’s boundaries. Ones she’s earned. Ones we broke. “I should speak first.”
My stomach knots. I want to go to her, pull her close, shield her, apologise for every second she was alone, but this isn’t my moment. It’s hers. And we deserve whatever she has to say to us.
“Right,” she says, drawing in a breath. “So, let’s talk about the fact you threw me out.”
Bren flinches, Da goes red, Jonathan looks like he’s swallowing broken glass, and Helen’s eyes shine.
“You didn’t ask. You didn’t listen. You didn’t give me a chance.” Her voice stays level, but it shakes at the edges. “You thought the worst and you left me out there alone. I learnt how to survive because I had to, not because anyone here helped me.”
Every word lands like a blade between the ribs.
Lily swallows, then gestures to the room. “But what hurts most is that you all thought banishing me was justice. That it was the right thing to do. And none of you paused to consider the consequences if you were wrong.”
Jonathan collapses into a chair like his legs give out, Helen’s hand flies to her mouth, Bren shifts, clearly uncomfortable, and Owen watches her like he’s daring anyone to challenge her.
No one moves to touch her.
Da clears his throat. The sound is rough, strained.
“I—” His voice fails him. He drags a hand over his face, the weight of years pressing down on his shoulders. When he speaks again, it’s not the voice of a Mafia enforcer or a man blinded by hate.
It’s just a broken man.
“I owe you an apology,” he rasps.
The words land heavily but Lily doesn’t respond. Doesn’t fill the silence for him. She folds her arms loosely over her chest and waits.
“I was wrong,” Da continues, blunt and unvarnished. “About you, about everything.”
His jaw tightens and his eyes shine, but he doesn’t look away from Lily.
“I let my anger blind me. I let the betrayal I felt cloud my judgment when it came to those emails. I didn’t give you a chance. And when it mattered most…” His voice drops as he owns his every mistake. “I failed you.”
The room feels smaller in the wake of his admission.
“I convinced everyone you were a risk,” he continues. “That you were a liability. And instead of protecting you like we should have, we turned our backs on you.”
Lily’s fingers curl slightly into her sleeves, and it take every shred of restraint not to go to her.
“I sent you away,” Da says quietly. “Alone. Knowing exactly how dangerous the world could be. And I told myself it was necessary.”