Sienna POV
I turned around. Dante was standing in the doorway of the empty room, his form seeming to fill the entire frame, a towering wall of bespoke tailoring and authority.
I held up the paper airplane, my fingers unsteady against the crisp folds. "Where is my mother?" I demanded. "And why is a child's toy in her room?"
Dante stepped inside and shut the door behind him, the latch clicking with a sound of finality. He smoothed his tie, his face settling into its familiar, unreadable mask. "Rosa required a quieter environment for her stroke recovery," he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. "Angelo was merely at the facility for a routine pediatric checkup. He must have wandered in."
His lies flowed like water—practiced and without flaw.
I crossed the space between us, forcing myself to look up into the face I had loved for four years. "Is Angelo your son?" I asked point-blank, the words like ash in my mouth.
Dante looked down at me, the silence stretching until he finally let out a slow, measured breath. "The boy was an accident," he admitted.
My chest heaved. "Was our dead daughter just an accident, too?" I spat. "Is that why you dragged me to Iceland in January, year after year—to celebrate your bastard's birthday while I lit candles for a child whose death you never even marked on the right day?"
Dante opened his mouth, but no words came out. The great Don of New York had nothing to say. The quality of the quiet in the room changed, becoming thick, as though the air itself had congealed around us, sealing the horrific truth.
I allowed the paper airplane to fall to the floor between us. "I'm going to the North Side facility to see my mother. Right now," I declared, turning on my heel.
Before I could take a step, Dante reached out and gripped my arm. His fingers dug into my skin, not enough to bruise, but more than enough to remind me who was in charge. "You have no car, no guards, and no money," he stated, and he did not raise his voice, but the resonance in his chest seemed to tighten the very air between us, pressing down even the white noise from the corridor's ventilation duct. "If you fight me on this, you will be the only one who suffers."
A vibration in my pocket broke the tension. I pulled the phone out with my free hand.
It was an encrypted file from Luca Romano. Luca was the son of my mother's oldest mafia ally, and a ruthless underworld lawyer.
I tapped the file open. The screen displayed four years of offshore wire transfers from Dante's accounts. Millions of dollars, all meticulously earmarked for Angelo's education, medical care, and private security.
Dante saw the illuminated screen, and his grip on my arm tightened painfully. An anger kindled in his dark eyes. "You're investigating the Don?" he accused, his composure slipping. "Family matters should never be dragged out to outsiders like Luca."
He released my arm and reached into his pocket, pulling out a white onyx rosary. It was the rosary he had claimed was blessed for Serafina's soul. With a sudden shift in tactics, he tried to press it into my palm.
I slapped his hand away. The rosary hit his chest and rattled against the buttons of his shirt. "I will never wear the leftover blessings of someone else," I hissed.
The heavy security door to the restricted underground corridor suddenly opened with a soft click.
Valentina stood in the doorway of the adjacent VIP suite, holding a little boy's hand. She had clearly not expected to find anyone in this private section. Angelo had Dante's unruly dark curls and those same intense eyes.
Angelo smiled brightly, pointing a finger straight at Dante. "Papa!" he called out with agonizing innocence.
Valentina brought a hand to her mouth, feigning a gasp. She looked at me with a sickeningly sweet smile, before bending down to the boy. "You need to be quiet, Angelo," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "The lady must be very sad because she doesn't have a baby of her own to hold."
My eyes dropped to Valentina's wrist, locking onto a thin red string bracelet. A cold weight settled in my stomach. It was identical to the crimson cord woven through Dante's white onyx rosary.
The realization was a physical blow. Dante had been playing protector to another family all along. He had given them the real blessings, and he had left me with nothing but ashes.
Slowly, I bent down and picked up the paper airplane from the floor. Straightening, I looked Valentina dead in the eye. Without breaking her gaze, I tore the paper in half and allowed the pieces to flutter down to rest at her designer heels.
At once, Angelo burst into loud, hysterical tears.
Dante rushed forward, stepping between me and his secret family like a shield. He glared at me, his voice harsh and filled with a sickening disappointment. "Are you really going to take your anger out on an innocent child?" he demanded.
I looked past him, straight at Valentina, and saw the faint, satisfied curl at the corner of her mouth. She had waited four years for this moment, and now she believed she had won. She had no idea that I had just received the first piece of evidence that would bury her.
