206

206
Emilia’s POV
I was seated across from Alonso in the dimly lit study of his villa, the journal clutched tightly in my hands. It felt strange to be here again, to look into the eyes of a man who had caused me so much pain and confusion, yet who claimed to have loved my birth mother more than life itself. He looked different today-not the powerful, untouchable mafia king, but a man weighed down by his own ghosts.
“I found this,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt as I placed the journal on the polished wooden table between us. “It was my mother’s.”
Alonso’s face softened, his gaze dropping to the worn leather cover. He didn’t reach for it. Instead, he leaned back, his expression shadowed with something I couldn’t quite name. Guilt? Pain? Regret?
“She kept it hidden,” I continued. “But it paints a picture I’m not sure I can reconcile. She loved you, Alonso. That much is clear. But she was also afraid of you, afraid of what this life would do to her-and to me.”
His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, I saw the man beneath the cold, bastardy facade he always had on. The one who had loved and lost and made too many mistakes to count. He took a shaky breath before meeting my eyes.
“Your mother,” he began, his voice low and rough, “was the only good thing in my life. I never deserved her. I knew that from the beginning. But I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t let her go.”
I folded my arms, trying to guard myself against the vulnerability in his voice. “She stayed because she loved you, Alonso. But love wasn’t enough, was it? You couldn’t protect her.”
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. Instead, he lowered his head, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “No,” he admitted. “I couldn’t protect her. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
I let the silence stretch, waiting for him to continue. When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“She was everything to me, Emilia. Everything. But I was blind. I thought I could keep her safe by keeping her close, by keeping her in my world. I didn’t see how much it was breaking her until it was too late.”
I felt a lump rising in my throat, but I swallowed it down. “She wrote about you,” I said, my voice trembling. “About how much she loved you, but also about how trapped she felt. Did you know that? Did you see what your choices were doing to her?”
Alonso’s head snapped up, his eyes glistening. “Do you think I don’t replay it every day? Every word I said, every decision I made that hurt her? I see it, Emilia. I see it every time I close my eyes.”
I shook my head, anger bubbling to the surface despite his obvious pain. “Then why didn’t you let her leave? Why didn’t you let her take me and start over somewhere far away from all of this?”
“Because I was selfish,” he said simply, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t lose her. I thought if I held on tight enough, if I gave her everything she wanted except freedom, she’d stay.”
The room felt unbearably heavy, the weight of his confession pressing down on me. I wanted to scream at him, to demand why my mother’s life had to be sacrificed for his mistakes. But instead, I took a deep breath and opened the journal to one of the entries I’d marked.
“She wrote this about you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “‘Alonso is my greatest love and my greatest fear. He holds my heart in one hand and a gun in the other. I don’t know which one will kill me first.'”
Alonso flinched as if I’d struck him. He closed his eyes, his face crumpling with grief. “I never wanted her to feel that way,” he said hoarsely. “I thought I was protecting her, Emilia. I thought I was protecting you.”
I leaned forward, anger and heartbreak making my chest hurt so bad. “But you weren’t. You were protecting yourself. And she paid the price for it.”
His silence was deafening. For the first time, he looked utterly defeated, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the floor.
“I’m not here to forgive you,” I said firmly, my voice cutting through the quiet. “I don’t know if I ever can. But I need answers, Alonso. I need to understand who my mother really was and why she stayed with you despite everything.”
He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. “She stayed because she loved me,” he said. “And because she believed she could survive this life. For you, Emilia. Everything she did was for you.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I thought of my mother’s sacrifices, her fear, her love-and how it had all ended in tragedy.
“I don’t know how to move forward with you,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “I don’t even know if I want to. But I can’t ignore what’s in that journal. And I can’t ignore the fact that you’re my father.”
Alonso’s breath hitched, and for a moment, I saw hope flicker in his eyes. “Emilia-”
“I’m not saying we’re going to be a family,” I interrupted. “I don’t know what we’re going to be. But if we’re going to try, it’s going to be on my terms. Not yours. Not Alaric’s. Mine.”
He nodded slowly, his expression solemn. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give, Emilia. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’ll do whatever it takes to prove myself to you.”
I studied him for a long moment, searching for any sign of manipulation or deceit. But all I saw was a broken man who had made too many mistakes and was now trying to pick up the pieces.
“I’m not making any promises,” I said finally. “But I’ll try.”
Alonso’s shoulders sagged with relief, and for the first time since I’d entered the room, I saw a faint smile on his lips. “That’s more than I deserve.”
I stood, clutching the journal tightly. “Don’t make me regret it.”
As I turned to leave, Alonso called out softly, “Thank you, Emilia. For giving me a chance.”
I didn’t respond, too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing, but for now, it felt like the only thing I could do. And I think…I think there was a tiny part of me that wanted to see if he and I could grow a father daughter bond.