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“You know what I think.” His voice drops, soft with a gentleness I don’t want.
“Say it anyway.”
“Alessa—“ The pity in his eyes cuts deeper than any knife.
“No!” I thrust a finger toward his face. “You don’t get to look at me like that! Not after saying my mother wasted her life for nothing. She may be disposable to you, but my world ended when she died. I’m here because she died. I’m running from the Commission because I don’t want to end up like her—dead.” My voice cracks. “Now fucking say it.”
“Fine.” His face hardens. “I think your father killed her, made it look like an accident, hid the evidence, but got sloppy. These discrepancies aren’t coincidences.”
“Why would he want her dead?” The question tears from me.
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know!” I scream, my voice shattering. Tears escape despite my best efforts, and I swipe at them with trembling fingers.
“Raise your voice at me one more time. See what happens.” His warning slices through the air, cold and certain.
I shrink back instinctively, hating myself for it. “You know what?” I grab a napkin to dab my mouth, pushing my chair back with a screech. “I don’t need this shit this early in the morning.”
“Alessa. Sit down.”
“If you think you’ll convince me to betray my father after this, you’re mistaken.”
“Sit. Down.”
His voice carries a weight that pins me in place. Despite the defiance burning in my chest, my body responds to the command. Slowly, reluctantly, I return to the chair, nostrils flaring as I stare daggers at him.
“I know you won’t tell me shit because of this.” He leans forward. “I just want you to understand that Marco Russo doesn’t give a fuck about you, just like he didn’t care about your mother. He’s not on your side.”
“And you are?” The question comes out bitter.
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
“For now.”
“That’s right—for now. If you don’t wake up, I hope Paolo’s the one to interrogate you. Pray he goes easy on family.”
“My father didn’t kill my mom.” The words sound hollow even to me.
“Believe what you want. I have my theories.”
“You should’ve seen how destroyed he was. He became a shell.”
“I bet he did.”
I open my mouth to argue, but his phone rings, cutting through the tension. He grimaces, fishing it from his pocket. After glancing at the screen, he shakes his head, jaw tightening before answering.
“Great. Now I have to go.”
“What? Where are you going?” I stare in disbelief. After dropping these bombs, he’s just leaving? “You’re just walking out?”
“You’re not nine, Alessa,” he says coolly, rising from his chair. “Besides, didn’t you just say you didn’t want to eat with me?”
He pockets his phone with casual indifference while I’m left reeling.
“I could escape again,” I challenge. “I did it once. This time I won’t stop.”
“I’d like to see you try.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “But heads up—I have dogs patrolling now. Not the kind you pet.” He pauses at the doorway. “And Alessa?”