205
Emilia’s POV
I sat at the edge of the couch, clutching my mother’s journal like it was my lifeline. It had this emotional weight to it that I hated, pressing against my chest like a phantom ache and making me feel suffocated. Alaric paced the room, his sharp movements punctuated by the occasional clenched fist. I’d just finished reading him the most damning entries, and the fire in his eyes made me question whether I should’ve shared them at all.
“She loved him,” I said quietly, breaking the tense silence. “That much is clear. But she was scared, too. Scared of what his world meant for her-and for me.”
Alaric stopped mid-step, turning to face me. His jaw tightened, and his eyes were colder than I’d seen them in a long time. “She was scared because Alonso dragged her into hell. He promised her safety, and instead, he handed her over to a life she couldn’t escape.”
His words cut deep, and not because they were wrong. The journal painted a picture of a man who loved my mother but couldn’t shield her from the dangers of his world. It was a familiar pattern, one I feared repeating.
“I don’t think he meant to hurt her,” I said, almost to myself. “He loved her.”
Alaric’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Love? If that’s love, Emilia, then I’d rather you hate me. Because no man who truly loves a woman lets her live in fear. He didn’t protect her-he failed her.”
I bristled at his tone, my grip tightening on the journal. “And what would you have done, Alaric? Dragged her away against her will? She stayed because she wanted to, even if it scared her. Isn’t that what love is-choosing to stay even when it’s hard?”
“Love,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous, “is keeping the people you care about safe. Even if it means doing things they hate you for. Alonso didn’t love your mother enough to make those sacrifices. He was too wrapped up in his own power.”
The room felt stifling, his really boiling anger and my confusion filling every corner. I wanted to defend Alonso-partly because of the journal, but also because I needed to believe that my mother’s choices weren’t all for nothing. But Alaric’s words rang true in a way I couldn’t ignore. Alonso had failed her. He hadn’t been enough.
Before I could respond, a small voice cut through the tension. “Why are you mad?”
Both of us turned toward the doorway, where Francesca stood clutching a stuffed bunny to her chest. Her wide eyes darted between us, her face a mix of curiosity and worry.
I forced a smile, my heart sinking. “We’re not mad, sweetheart. Just… talking.”
Francesca tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. “But Daddy looks mad. And you look sad.”
Alaric sighed, running a hand through his hair. He crouched down to her level, his expression softening in a way that always amazed me. “Sometimes adults argue, Francesca. But it doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”
She studied him for a moment before nodding solemnly. “Okay. Can we have cookies now? Cookies make everyone happy.”
Alaric gave a small laugh, ruffling her hair. “Maybe later, cara. Go play for now, okay?”
Francesca hesitated, glancing at me. “Are you okay, Mommy?”
Her concern nearly broke me. I knelt beside her, pulling her into a hug. “I’m okay, sweetie. Promise.”
She pulled back, her gaze still wary, before scampering off. The room felt quieter without her presence and the tension between Alaric and me remained, like an invisible wall.
“I have to talk to him,” I said after a long pause.
Alaric straightened, his eyes narrowing. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m not asking for your permission,” I said, meeting his gaze. “This isn’t just about you or your feud with Alonso. It’s about my mother-and me. I need answers.”
“Answers?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You think Alonso will give you anything but lies? He’s been manipulating you from the moment he found out who you are.”
I stood, clutching the journal to my chest like a shield. “Maybe. But this isn’t your decision to make, Alaric. It’s mine. You don’t get to dictate how I deal with my past.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he’d argue further. But then he sighed, rubbing his temples. “You don’t know what you’re walking into. He’s dangerous, Emilia. More than you realize. I keep telling you that but it’s like you don’t want to listen to me.”
“I know exactly what he is,” I said firmly. “And I’m not going alone. I’ll take your men if that makes you feel better, but I have to do this. For me.”
He stared at me, his eyes searching mine for something-maybe a way to convince me, or maybe a sign that I wasn’t as determined as I seemed. But I didn’t waver. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But if anything happens-”
“It won’t,” I cut in. “I’ll be careful.”
Alaric stepped closer, his expression softening despite the tension between us. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks. “I can’t lose you, Emilia. Not to him. Not to anyone.”
“You won’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “But I can’t keep running from this. I need to know who my mother really was, and why everything happened the way it did.”
He nodded reluctantly, his forehead resting against mine. For a moment, the world outside the room faded away, leaving only the two of us and these unspoken promises and complicated shit that held us together.
When he finally stepped back, his gaze was heavy with worry. “If you’re going to do this, you do it on my terms. My men will go with you, and you’ll follow their instructions to the letter. No risks. No heroics.”
I nodded, clutching the journal tighter. “Okay.”
As much as I hated his overprotectiveness, I understood it. And maybe, just this once, I needed it. Because confronting Alonso wouldn’t just be about my mother-it would be about everything I’d been taken and hidden away from my whole life. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answers I’d find.