Page 52 of Unforgiving Queen

“How did you know I was back?” I asked. I’d only arrived late last night.

“Hiroshi mentioned it.” That was precisely the reason I had started to distance Hiroshi from my affairs. His loyalty to me was superseded by his loyalty to my mother. I was happy for her, but it didn’t mean I had to be happy about the man’s constant monitoring of my comings and goings.

All the fucking years of suffering and beatings. She could have stopped it by walking away. Angelo Leone wasn’t even my real father and she let him treat us like shit.

“Is there a reason for your visit?” I asked finally.

She heaved a sigh. “I don’t like this,” she murmured softly. “I want to fix it.”

“Can you turn back time?” I spat out bitterly.

“No, but—”

“Then you can’t fix this.”

Silence stretched, casting shadows and ghosts throughout. It fucking reeked of bitterness, and I didn’t know how to move past it. I’d fucked my half sister. And what was worse… I fucking loved her. The woman who could have stopped it all had held on to her secrets until it was too late.

“You never said she was important to you,” she said quietly. I turned around to stare out the window while silently cursing Marchetti and my brother for asking me to come back to Europe.

Rage clouded my vision and painted the world in crimson like a monster ready to attack, out for blood and murder.

“And you failed to mention—for twenty-three years, might I add—that Tomaso Romero is my biological father,” I said, glancing at her over my shoulder. My words were calm, flat, hiding the razored tension flowing through me.

“How many times can I say it?” she pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

The rage pulsed harder in my gut, expanding and sharpening its claws until it shattered any morals I might’ve had.

I needed her gone before I said or did anything there would be no coming back from.

“So am I.” For so many fucking things. But most importantly, the fact was that my relationship with my mother was broken and there was no repairing it.

Not in this lifetime.

19

REINA

On my way to the studio where I knew I’d find Maestro Andrea, I practiced my speech.

Maestro Andrea, stop being an asshole.I shook my head. No, that wouldn’t work.Maestro Andrea, please reconsider your dumb decision in regard to my sister.

Damn it. It was a good thing I didn’t study communications; I was terrible at it. I’d play it by ear, I decided.

Turning the corner, the building appeared in front of me. It was old, but it had been completely renovated and updated with top-notch security. As I made my way up the steps, I steeled my spine.

I just had to get my talk with him over with, and then I’d leave to meet Darius.

My steps echoed through the quiet hallway. Soft murmurs traveled through the air. I could hear another set of footsteps—or two—somewhere in the building, although I couldn’t see them.

Maestro Andrea, don’t be a dick and give my sister a part in the orchestra. Or else—

I really wanted to say that. Maybe even bring a baseball bat with me to emphasize my seriousness.French prison, here I come, I snickered to myself.

“Reina?” A familiar voice pulled me out of thoughts and I lifted my head, coming face-to-face with my father. I stopped. Stared. My papà stood with another man who towered over him.

“Papà, what are you doing here?” My gaze flicked to his friend who watched us curiously, his hands tucked in his pockets. His posture was relaxed, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all for show. He oozed ruthlessness and danger. “I didn’t know you were in Paris,” I remarked softly.

It didn’t surprise me that he wouldn’t let us know he was in the same city. After all, his underworld activities had always been discreet. Not discreet enough to have saved any of our fates, but this wasn’t the time to dig up old graves.