200

200
Emilia’s POV
The air inside the car felt heavy and suffocating as though the stupidity of my decision pressed down on every passenger. The convoy surrounding us-a caravan of SUVs loaded with Alaric’s men-only heightened my anxiety. Outside the tinted windows, the world passed by in muted colors, but my focus was on the knot in my stomach that tightened with every passing second.
“I still think this is a mistake,” Alaric’s voice crackled through the small earpiece I wore, his tone as sharp as the blade he always carried.
“I know,” I replied quietly, glancing at the driver, who kept his eyes locked on the road. “But I need to do this.”
He sighed audibly. “We’ll be right outside. If anything feels wrong, anything at all-”
“I know,” I interrupted. “You’ll storm the place. Just… trust me, Alaric.”
The line went quiet, but I could sense his frustration. He hated this, hated the idea of me walking into Alonso’s villa even with his men stationed at every entrance and exit. Still, he’d agreed-reluctantly-to let me confront Alonso on my own terms.
The car came to a smooth stop, and the driver turned to me. “We’re here, ma’am. The guards will escort you inside.”
My heart thudded in my chest as the door opened. Two men in black suits stepped forward, their expressions stoic but alert. As I stepped out, the grand facade of Alonso’s villa stood tall before me, its stone walls and tall windows reflecting the late afternoon sun.
The guards flanked me as we walked up the steps, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the silence. The heavy front door swung open, and a man I recognized from Alonso’s previous visits greeted us with a curt nod.
“This way,” he said, gesturing for me to follow.
Inside, the villa was as intimidating as its owner. Opulent and cold, every detail carefully curated to convey power and wealth. My guards stayed close, and I should be feeling safe with them around but I couldn’t shake the feeling of walking into a lion’s den.
Alonso was waiting for me in a study lined with dark wood shelves and leather-bound books. He stood as I entered, his posture rigid, though his expression softened when his eyes met mine.
“Emilia,” he said, his voice low and almost hesitant. “Thank you for coming.”
I didn’t respond immediately, taking in the room, the man, and the faint hint of vulnerability in his demeanor. Finally, I nodded. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”
He gestured to a chair across from his desk. “Please, sit.”
“I’ll stand,” I said firmly.
Alonso pressed his lips together but didn’t argue. He looked older than the last time I’d seen him, the lines on his face deeper, his shoulders slightly hunched. But his eyes were still very piercing and sharp and still held the wisdom and cunning of a man who had seen too much.
“I know you have questions about your mother,” he began, his hands clasped in front of him. “And I owe you answers. It’s the least I can do.”
I crossed my arms, my gaze unwavering. “Then start with the truth. All of it.”
He exhaled slowly, nodding. “Her name was Isabella, as you already know. She was the most courageous, stubborn woman I’ve ever known. She was… everything to me.”
His voice faltered, and for a moment, I saw something raw and unguarded beneath his composed exterior.
“What happened to her?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. “What really happened? I want to know everything not just the breadcrumbs you’re giving me.”
“She died protecting you,” he said, the words heavy with pain. “I wasn’t around that day. I was barely ever around. It was just you and her at home and he came. She tried to protect you, I know she did. He raped her, killed her and took you. God, that bastard. I trusted him.”
I clenched my fists, the ache in my chest growing. “Who killed her?”
Alonso’s jaw tightened, and he looked away. “The truth is… complicated. There were many forces at play, and I failed to protect her. That failure haunts me every day.”
“That’s not an answer,” I said, my voice rising. “Who killed her, Alonso?”
He met my gaze then, his eyes filled with regret. “I can’t give you that name. Not yet. But know this-her death was not meaningless. She died to ensure you had a future, and I’ve spent every moment since trying to honor her sacrifice.”
I shook my head, the frustration bubbling over. “You can’t just dangle bits of information in front of me and expect me to be satisfied. I deserve to know the full story.”
“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But there are truths that could destroy you, Emilia. I’m trying to protect you from that.”
“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t protect me. Don’t patronize me. If you truly cared, you’d give me the truth, no matter how ugly it is.”
Alonso’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, he looked… small. Defeated. “You remind me so much of her,” he said softly. “The fire in your eyes, the way you stand your ground-it’s like seeing her all over again.”
I swallowed hard, the anger in me wavering. “Then honor her by being honest with me.”
He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze distant as though lost in a memory. “Your mother was brave,” he said finally. “But she was also hunted. She knew the risks of being with me, but she refused to leave. She believed in me, even when I didn’t deserve it. And when the time came, she chose to save you instead of herself.”
The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over us like a shroud.
“Why now?” I asked, my voice quieter. “Why tell me this now?”
“Because you deserve to know where you come from,” he said. “And because… I need you to understand that I’m not your enemy, Emilia. I never have been.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to let the regret in his voice soften the edges of my anger. But a part of me held back, wary of the man who had kept so much from me for so long.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I said honestly.
He nodded, as though he’d expected that. “I don’t blame you. But trust isn’t built overnight. It’s earned. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn yours.”
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, but I didn’t let it show. “We’ll see,” I said, my tone guarded.
Alonso’s lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “You’re more like her than you know.”
Before I could respond, one of my guards stepped into the room. “Miss, it’s time.”
I nodded, stepping back toward the door. Alonso watched me go, his expression unreadable.
As I walked away, my thoughts swirled in a storm of confusion and conflicting emotions. Alonso’s regret felt genuine, but so did the walls he continued to build around the truth.
And while part of me wanted to hate him, another part-a quieter, more uncertain part-wondered if he was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t my enemy.