196
Emilia’s POV
The library was quiet except for the soft rustling of papers as I flipped through the pages of yet another thick book. The words blurred together after hours of reading, but I couldn’t stop. Not yet. A part of me felt like if I didn’t keep looking, the answers would slip further away, buried in the cracks of time and silence.
The truth about my mother and who she really was, wasn’t just something Alonso or Alaric could tell me-I had to find it myself. I needed facts, not their filtered versions of what happened.
Alaric had protested, of course. “You’re digging into the past of a man who would rather kill you than let you find out his secrets,” he’d said the first time I brought up the idea. But when he realized I wouldn’t back down, he reluctantly offered his resources and, surprisingly, his presence.
“Find anything yet?” Alaric’s voice broke through my thoughts. He stood in the doorway of the small study, leaning casually against the frame, though his expression betrayed his unease.
“Not yet,” I admitted, pushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. “But I’m getting closer.”
He stepped inside, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. “You’ve been at this for hours. Take a break.”
“I don’t have time to take a break,” I snapped, regretting the sharpness in my tone immediately. “Sorry. It’s just… I need to know.”
Alaric sighed, crossing the room and pulling out a chair to sit across from me. “And what happens when you do? What’s the plan after that?”
I stared at him, unable to answer right away. What was my plan? Would knowing the truth bring me peace, or would it only stir up more chaos? “I’ll figure it out when I get there,” I said finally, avoiding his gaze.
His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he picked up one of the books I’d left open and began skimming the pages.
“Don’t act like you’re not curious,” I said after a moment, watching him. “You want to know too.”
“I’m curious about a lot of things,” he replied, not looking up. “But some truths aren’t worth the pain they bring.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” My voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. “You didn’t grow up with half your life missing.”
His eyes finally met mine, dark and intense. “No, but I grew up knowing too much. And I’m telling you, Emilia, once you open that door, it’s not easy to close.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t change the fact that I needed to do this.
The hours dragged on as we combed through old documents, family records, and news clippings. Alaric remained by my side, his quiet presence both comforting and frustrating. I could feel his disapproval in the way he moved and the way he sighed every time I uncovered another piece of the puzzle that led us absolutely nowhere at all.
Finally, I found something. It was an old newspaper article, the edges yellowed and fragile. The headline read: Mysterious Death of Prominent Cruz Family Member Sparks Feud.
My heart pounded as I read the first few lines, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut.
“‘The wife of Alonso Cruz, a woman of immense beauty and grace, met a tragic end last night in an act of violence that has shaken the city,'” I read aloud, my voice trembling. “‘Witnesses describe a brutal attack, though details remain scarce.'”
Alaric leaned closer, his brows furrowed. “Let me see that.”
I handed him the article, my hands shaking. He scanned it quickly, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t say much,” he muttered. “Just speculation about rival families.”
“Keep reading,” I urged, pointing to a specific paragraph.
He frowned but complied. “‘An anonymous source claims the attacker was a man of power, someone untouchable in our society. This has led to whispers of involvement from one of the city’s most feared families.'”
He stopped, his grip on the paper tightening. I didn’t have to ask why-the implication was clear.
“Jonas,” I said softly, my voice barely audible. “Your father.”
Alaric didn’t respond immediately. He set the article down carefully, his expression unreadable. “It’s just speculation,” he said finally, though his tone lacked conviction.
“It makes sense,” I pressed, my chest tightening with a mix of anger and fear. “Alonso’s hatred for your family, his obsession with me-it all ties back to this.”
Alaric stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. “You don’t know that,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You keep forgetting that my father isn’t the only Mafia here. You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Am I?” I shot back, rising to my feet. “Because it feels like I’m finally getting somewhere.”
He turned to me, his eyes blazing. “And what happens if you’re right, huh? What then? You think knowing will fix anything? It’ll only make things worse.”
“Worse than not knowing?” I challenged, my voice rising. “I’ve spent my whole life in the dark, Alaric. I deserve the truth, no matter how ugly it is.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “And what about Francesca? Have you thought about how this will affect her?”
His words stopped me in my tracks. Francesca.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “But I can’t stop now.”
Alaric sighed heavily, his anger giving way to something softer-something almost like resignation. “If this is what you want, I’ll help you. But I’m telling you, Emilia, once you find out the truth, there’s no going back.”
I nodded, my resolve hardening. “I know.”
We spent the next few hours digging deeper, though my thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions. Every piece of information we saw brought me closer to the truth and also closer to a reality I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. If it was indeed Alaric’s father that killed my mother…
By the time we stopped, the room was filled with stacks of papers, old photographs, and the heavy weight of unspoken fears. Alaric sat across from me, looking very very weary and tired.
“You should get some rest,” he said quietly.
“I can’t,” I replied, my eyes fixed on a photograph of my mother. She looked so young, so full of life. The thought of what had been taken from her-and from me-was almost too much to bear.
“Emilia,” Alaric said, his voice softer now. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”
I looked at him, my chest tightening at the sincerity in his eyes. Despite everything, he was here, helping me when he didn’t have to.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he stood and left the room.