192

192
Emilia’s POV
My heart was pounding so hard in my chest due to anticipation and guilt of what I was about to do. I slipped out of the house quietly, my heart pounding as I tiptoed past Francesca’s room. The faint hum of Alaric’s voice from his study sent a pang through me, but I kept moving.
This was something I had to do-alone.
I hailed a cab at the edge of the property, pulling my coat tighter around me as the cold air bit at my skin. The driver didn’t ask questions, and I didn’t offer any. My mind too tangled in the possibilities of the outcome of this meeting. And if Alaric was right and I never came back…I just hoped he and Francesca would find it in their hearts to forgive me someday. But I had to do this.
When we reached the cafe where Alonso had asked to meet, I hesitated outside. I could see him sitting in a booth near the back, his posture rigid yet somehow resigned.
I stepped inside, the chime of the door breaking the quiet hum of conversation. Alonso’s eyes found me immediately, and for a moment, I considered turning around and walking back out. But I forced myself forward. I was here now. I couldn’t back out.
“Emilia,” he greeted, standing as I approached.
Finally he had stuck to calling me my name, not Alessandra as his was hell bent on calling me at first. He gestured to the seat across from him, and I sat down, my hands folding tightly in my lap.
“You shouldn’t have contacted me,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “This could’ve gone through Alaric.”
He leaned back, his eyes searching mine. “And you think he would’ve let us talk? He’s too blinded by his hatred for me to see what you deserve-what you need to hear.”
I bristled at the way he dismissed Alaric so easily. “He’s trying to protect me.”
“And I’m trying to make amends,” Alonso said, his tone quieter now. “For the mistakes I’ve made. For the ones I couldn’t stop.”
I didn’t respond immediately. Sitting across from him right now, I didn’t know what to feel. “Let’s just go straight to the point. No need for the sentimental bullshit,” I murmured with a frown.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph, sliding it across the table toward me.
It was a picture of a woman-her dark hair falling in waves, her smile soft but full of life.
“That’s your mother,” Alonso said, his voice tinged with something I couldn’t quite place.
I picked up the photo, my fingers trembling. “She’s beautiful,” I whispered, tracing the outline of her face.
“She was,” he said, his gaze distant. “Your mother was… everything to me. Strong, compassionate, fierce. She had this way of lighting up a room without even trying.”
“What happened to her?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he sighed, his shoulders sagging.
“She was taken from me,” he said finally. “By people I should’ve been able to protect her from.”
His words hung heavily between us, and I felt a knot form in my stomach. “Taken how?”
“There’s no gentle way to say it,” he admitted. “She was… attacked. Killed. By a rival family.”
He had told. me about that before but that didn’t stop the words from hitting me like a punch to the gut, and I clutched the photo tighter. “What rival family?” I demanded.
He didn’t say anything, he just clenched his fists and looked away. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” I demanded. “Why are you so intent on hiding it?”
“Because it’s not an easy thing to talk about,” he said, his voice hardening slightly. “And because I don’t want you to see the ugliness of this life-not until I had no other choice.”
I stared at him, the confession settling over me. “You think that makes it better? That keeping me in the dark is protecting me?”
“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I thought I was doing what was best for you.”
His vulnerability was unsettling, the cracks in his composed exterior was revealing to me a man who was haunted by his own choices. And rightly so.
“Why now?” I asked. “Why tell me all of this now?”
“Because you deserve to know where you come from,” he said simply. “You deserve to know that your mother loved you more than anything. That her sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see me cry. “And what about you?” I asked. “What do you want from me?”
His expression softened, and for the first time, I saw a glimmer of regret in his eyes. “I want a chance to make things right,” he said. “To be the father I couldn’t be before.”
I shook my head, the meaning of his words threatening to crush me. “You think you can just show up now and fix everything? After everything you’ve done?”
“I don’t expect forgiveness,” he said quietly. “But I hoped for understanding.”
I looked down at the photo again, my emotions a swirling mess. Part of me wanted to believe him, to let him in and hear more about the mother I never knew. But another part of me, the part shaped by Alaric and Francesca and everything I’d been through, screamed at me to run.
“Alaric will never accept this,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m not asking for his approval,” Alonso said firmly. “This is about you, not him.”
The mention of Alaric sent a pang through me. God. He’d be so furious at me when he finds out I’d gone even after he told me not to.
“I have to go,” I said abruptly, standing and clutching the photo to my chest.
“Emilia, wait,” he said, reaching for my arm, but I stepped back.
“I can’t do this right now,” I said, my voice trembling. “I need time.”
He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “Take all the time you need,” he said. “But know that my door is always open.”
I turned and walked out of the cafe, the cold night air hitting me like a slap. As I hailed another cab, my mind raced with everything Alonso had told me.
I wasn’t sure who to believe.