179

179
Emilia’s POV
The maid, Rosetta, moved around the room like a ghost, her steps light and deliberate. She set down a tray on the table near the bed-a steaming bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a neatly folded napkin. I stayed perched on the edge of the armchair by the window, as far from her and the bed as I could manage without leaving the room entirely.
“You should eat something,” she said gently, her voice thick with an accent I couldn’t place.
“I’m not hungry,” I muttered, keeping my arms crossed over my chest.
She hesitated, her dark eyes flicking to me with a mixture of pity and concern. “You’ve been through a lot, signorina. It will help.”
I didn’t respond, staring out at the sprawling villa grounds instead. Perfectly trimmed hedges, a fountain bubbling softly in the center of the courtyard, and beyond that, a stone wall that loomed like a fortress. It was beautiful in a way that made my skin crawl.
The maid left without another word, and the silence in the room settled over me like a heavy blanket. I knew I should eat. I knew I should sleep. But my body refused to cooperate. My mind was too loud, replaying every moment of the last few hours on an endless loop.
Alessandra. Daughter. Birthmark.
The door opened again, and this time it wasn’t the maid. Alonso stepped inside, his presence commanding the space like he’d been born to it. Maybe he had.
“May I come in?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer before closing the door behind him.
I shot him a look, my defenses snapping into place. “Do I have a choice?”
He ignored the jab, pulling out the chair at the small table and sitting down with an ease that made me clench my fists.
“Eat,” he said, gesturing to the untouched tray.
“I’m not hungry,” I said, my voice flat.
He leaned back, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Stubborn, just like your mother.”
That was it. The crack in my resolve. I stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as I glared at him. “Don’t talk about my mother,” I snapped. “You don’t get to-”
“She wasn’t your mother,” he interrupted, his voice calm but firm.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I sank back into the chair, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “The woman who raised you. The man you called your father. They weren’t your real parents.”
“That’s a lie,” I said, my voice trembling.
“It’s the truth,” he said, his gaze steady. “Your name is Alessandra Cruz. You are my daughter.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, you’re wrong.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Instead, he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the mark on his forearm-the same star-shaped birthmark that I had hidden for as long as I could remember.
My stomach churned.
“Do you know what this means?” he asked, his voice softer now.
I couldn’t speak. My throat felt like it had closed up entirely.
“It’s a mark of the Cruz bloodline,” he continued. “A legacy passed down through generations. It’s rare, Alessandra. Unique. It proves who you are.”
My hand instinctively went to the inside of my thigh, where the same mark had lived my entire life. My parents-no, not my parents-had always told me it was just a birthmark, nothing special.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I demanded, my voice cracking.
“Because the people who raised you … well I don’t know who they were. I never met them. But the people who stole you from me…” he said, his tone darkening. “They took you to keep you hidden, to keep you away from your true family.”
I stared at him, my chest heaving. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would they do that?”
Alonso’s jaw tightened. “Because they were afraid. Of me, of what you represent. You’re not just my daughter, Alessandra. You’re a symbol. A threat.”
“A threat to what?” I asked, my voice rising in frustration.
“To everyone who stands against the Cruz family,” he said simply.
I laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. This sounded like something straight out of a novel. “So what, I’m supposed to believe I’m some kind of… mafia princess?”
“You don’t have to believe me now,” he said. “But it’s the truth.”
I stood up, pacing the room as my thoughts spiraled. “This is insane,” I muttered. “I had a life. A family. You can’t just show up and-”
“They weren’t your family,” Alonso said sharply, cutting me off. “They lied to you your entire life. Everything you thought you knew was a lie.”
I stopped, turning to face him. “And you expect me to just believe you? After everything?”
“I expect you to listen,” he said, his tone softening again. “I know this is a lot, Alessandra. But I swear to you, I’m telling the truth.”
I shook my head, my eyes stinging with tears I refused to shed. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
He stood then, his movements slow and deliberate. “I’ll give you time to process,” he said. “But we will talk again. And you will see that this is where you belong.”
He walked to the door, pausing before he left. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. Sorry for what you’ve been through, and sorry for how this has to be. But I won’t lose you again. I won’t let anyone take you away from me again.”
The door closed behind him, and I was alone once again.
I sank onto the bed and ran a hand through my hair, releasing a shaky breath. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions-anger, confusion, betrayal. The birthmark on my thigh burned in my thoughts. It stood for everything I didn’t know.
Who was I? Alessandra Cruz, or Emilia? I couldn’t believe my life had taken such a drastic turn in just a few days, that I didn’t know who I was anymore.