Page 45

MATTEO

S omething is off. I can feel it in my chest. My wife has been…

different these past few days. After the gala, I noticed a shift in her behavior.

She tells me she’s fine, but I know her better than most—and I can feel that she’s not.

Something’s on her mind—and every instinct points to Giacomo.

The thorn that never stops digging deeper.

“I’m sure you’re overthinking it.” Valerio sits on the opposite side of my desk sipping a coffee. “Maybe she is just shaken up by what happened and then seeing Giacomo. Her head is probably all the way fucked.”

I shake my head and lean further into my chair. “No, it’s not that. She would tell me if it was. There is something else.”

“Maybe—but until she does, there’s no use worrying yourself over it.

Just be there for her. Focus on what’s in front of you.

” He sets his mug down and throws me the file he walked in with.

“We know when the next shipment is for his trafficking ring. They are coming in from Western Africa, about fifty women—ten of them underage.”

My lips curl up in disgust. “That ass has no moral code.”

The men in this industry are far from saints, but we live by a code. We stand by the rules set out in order to keep all of us in check and from turning into absolute devils. The first and most important rule is that we don’t touch women or children.

“He will be gone soon enough.” Valerio adds, “We should have it intercepted by midnight before the ship officially docks. Dario lent us some of his men to make the bust.”

I nod. “Never in my years did I think that I would ever align myself with Dario, of all people.”

“Life has a crazy way of bringing the most unlikely people together. But we need to stay on high alert. I added three more guards to the penthouse, as you requested. We don’t need another person slipping through the cracks.”

I open my mouth to respond, but the shouting from outside stops me.

“You can’t go in there, he’s in a meeting!” I hear my receptionist call. “Please, just wait?—”

Then the door swings open without warning. Valerio looks over his shoulder, and we both look to the only one who could make it into this building without issue.

Daniele.

“I am so sorry, sir,” my secretary says. “I tried to stop him, but he?—”

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.

He’s been poisoning the boy’s mind—feeding him lies like scripture.

No wonder he looks cracked at the seams—like he’s barely holding himself together.

He truly believes I killed his mother.

The woman I once loved.

I grit my teeth. “I would never hurt Beatrice, and you know that. I loved your mother.”

“Liar!” he roars.

“Daniele, calm yourself.” I watch his movements carefully. I can’t see a weapon on him, and that gives me some relief. “I am telling you the truth, I would never have hurt your mother. How could I? She gave me one of the greatest gifts in my life—you.”

Daniele steps closer, his eyes burning into mine. “You took her away from him. You took her—and when she finally wanted out, she died. And you think I’m just supposed to believe that was a coincidence?”

His voice shakes now, fury laced with something more fragile. “She was trying to tell me something. I could see it in her eyes that night—like the truth was clawing at her throat. But she was scared. Of what, I don’t know. Of you? Of him? Of both of you?”

He presses a trembling hand to his chest. “And then the next morning… she was gone. Just like that.”

His jaw clenches, but his eyes are wild, haunted. “I’ve played that night over and over in my head, trying to figure out what I missed. What I didn’t see. And now I know—she was silenced.”

I stare at him, my pulse hammering beneath the surface. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then tell me, what happened?” His voice cracks slightly, the pain beneath his fury bleeding through. “Because I spent my whole life wondering why I never felt like I belonged. Why I always felt… out of step with you.”

I clench my fists at my sides. “I raised you as my own. I watched you take your first breath, first steps. I am the one who taught you how to hold a gun. Yes, we may not be blood. But you are my son. My. Son.”

“You lied to me—pretending I was your own.” His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths. “All my life, I was the shadow of something you didn’t want to claim. The son you tolerated because you had to.”

My stomach twists violently. “That’s not true. I love you, Daniele.”

Daniele lets out another sharp laugh, but it’s hollow. Empty. His voice lowers into something more venomous. “Isn’t it? You never looked at me the way a father looks at his son. I saw it in your eyes—pity, obligation. And now I know why.”

I take a step forward, holding my hands out to show him I’m not a threat. “That’s not true, and you know that. He’s been feeding you poison and trying to fully turn you. I am your dad, Daniele. I gave you your name. I love you, and I loved your mother with everything I had inside of me.”

Something inside me fractures. The silence between us stretches, heavy with words neither of us can take back. Then, Daniele exhales, his expression hardening into something distant. Something unreadable.

“For the rest of my life,” he says, voice like stone, “I will hate you.”

I inhale sharply, my chest tightening. “If you hate me so much as you claim to, Daniele, why are you here? Why are you standing in this office with no weapon on you, only your anger?” No gun. No backup. Just fury and grief. That tells me everything.

Silence. He stands there with tension riddled all over his body.

“Because you don’t actually hate me, do you?” I move closer toward him, but only by a step. “You’re angry. Your mind is confused, and your heart hurts, and you are trying to make sense of the truth.