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I raise my hand in the air to stop her. “It’s all right. You can leave us.”

She bites down on her lip, looking like a scared pup. She nods and closes the door as she steps out, leaving me with my son and Valerio. The tension in the air is thick and fills the gap that sits between us.

“Daniele,” I say. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Daniele doesn’t speak, he looks between Valerio and me. “Can’t a son come and spend time with his own father?”

“Oh, I’m your father again?”

“No.” His fists curl tightly at his sides, shoulders twitching like he’s barely holding it together. His shirt is half-untucked, wrinkled like he slept in it, and there’s a faint tremor in his hands—whether from anger or lack of sleep, I can’t tell. Dark shadows bruise the skin beneath his bloodshot eyes, and a faint sheen of sweat clings to his brow despite the cool air of the room. “Leave, Valerio. This is a family affair.”

“Nice to see you too, dear nephew. How have you been? Me? I have been fine.” Valerio picks up his mug again and tips in the direction of my son. “Where are your manners, child?”

“I am not a boy. And I need you out, I have much to discuss with Mr. Davacalli.” Daniele steps into the office. “I’m sure there is some errand you can go do. How about picking up my stepmom’s dry cleaning?”

“Why, you?—”

“Valerio, it’s okay. Leave us. I need a word with my son.”

Valerio looks like he wants to argue, but he nods and gets up from his chair. “I will handle our issue. Call if you need me, boss.”

Valerio walks to the door but not before bumping shoulders with Daniele. The two make a show of sizing each other up before he walks out of the office.

Daniele stands in front of me, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might snap. His suit hangs off him like an afterthought, tie undone and collar askew, as if getting dressed was a battle he barely won. His expression is a storm I can’t name—rage, pain, maybe both—but whatever it is, it’s brewing fast.

We haven’t spoken to each other properly in weeks. It has been hatred-filled stares and almost-brawls every time we have come in contact. This time, I’m hoping we can be a little more productive.

“I fucking hate you,” he says. “I really fucking hate you, Matteo Davacalli.”

The words cut through me like a blade. I don’t react. I don’t let it show. Instead, I just hold my nerve, and I hold his stare.

Ticking bomb… ticking bomb…

I need to handle this with care. I need to choose my words carefully and try to bridge this gap between us.

Instead, I exhale slowly, placing my pen down with precision. “Son, I want you to know how deeply sorry I am that I had to lie to you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Daniele lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Hurt me? You didn’t hurt me, Matteo. You awakened me to who I truly am. You showed me my true birthright—my true bloodline.”

My stomach turns.

I rise slowly, rounding the desk to stand in front of him. “Daniele, whatever Giacomo is feeding you, he is lying. He cannot be trusted. The man is a fraud and a psychopath.”

His nostrils flare. “No, he’s not. He told me everything. Everything!”

His neck flushes crimson, the veins in his temple bulging as rage blazes through his eyes.

“You killed my mother. That poison story? A lie. She wanted to go back to him—and you stopped her. Because you needed to control her.”

The air leaves my lungs. The world tilts for a split second, like the floor’s been yanked from beneath me.

My breath catches.

I take a step forward, my voice low, disbelieving. “What did you just say?”

Daniele stalks forward. “I know what you did. He showed me the true toxicology report. She died of an overdose—it was never poison.”

Damn you, Giacomo.