So I have been kept in the dark for 21! Years by my dear mother. Why? Only God knows. It's frustrating and annoying to know that I've been in a shadow for years, for my own good?!
Bianca! My mother.
She was in the garden studio, painting something that looked like a woman burning in flames. Her brush moved like it was slicing the canvas, not caressing it. Maybe it was guilt she was trying to smear away in color.
I stepped inside. No knocking.
She glanced up. "Something wrong?"
I held up the letter.
Her eyes widened before she even saw the wax seal.
For a moment, she gave silence that screamed.
"You found it," she said, quietly.
"No apology? No denial?"
She set the brush down with her trembling fingers.
"That letter was hidden for a reason."
"Care to explain your wonderful reason?" I snapped. "Or you just wanted to keep me in the dark for your own benefit?"
"Mia—"
"No," I cut her off. "I deserve to know the truth and your little hide and seek game. And who he is? What the fuck kind of agreement says I either 'live free' or I don't live at all? What kind of a father writes that?"
Bianca looked at me, tired. She has been looking more stressed out lately.
"You wouldn't understand—"
"You wanna try that shit with me again?! Just start talking." I said through gritted teeth.
A pause. Her lips pressed together.
Then finally, she whispered, "He's dangerous."
"So are you," I shot back. "You've lied to me every day of my life."
Bianca sat slowly on the bench, exhausted.
"I didn't lie to hurt you. I lied to protect you."
"From who? My real father? My real family?"
Bianca flinched, and that's when I saw it — the faint outline of a tattoo beneath her sleeve. Something inked years ago, now faded but still there.
A black rose… in flames.
"What is that?" I asked.
She tried to hide it, but I was already kneeling beside her, pushing up her sleeve.
There it was — a black rose burning in flames. The same rose from the wax seal. The same one I'd drawn obsessively in my notebooks for years without knowing why.
"It's a mark," Bianca said. "An old one. From when I was his."
The silence between us sharpened.
"You were his… What?!"
Bianca hesitated, then spoke in a slow, pained breath. "His wife. His secret. His obsession. Santino De Luca wasn't just your father, Mia. He was… a goddamn king. The kind of man who makes other men disappear with a phone call."
My skin turned cold.
"He runs things in the underworld. Even from Italy, he can ruin someone's life. That mark… it meant I was untouchable and I belonged to him."
I backed away slightly. "And you left him?"
"I escaped," she corrected. "With you in my belly. And Isaiah—he helped me disappear."
I stared. "So he's not my father?"
Bianca shook her head. "No. He's not even my husband."
The words dropped like a bomb.
"You're not… married?" I repeated, stunned.
"No," she said. "We faked it. For your safety. For protection. He was my friend in art school. He still is."
"And Erica?"
Bianca exhaled. "She was a mistake. A beautiful one. Isaiah and I... got caught up in a moment."
I blinked.
So everything I knew about my family—my identity—was nothing but a freaking lie!.
My mother was the secret lover of a mafia boss. My fake "father"was just her best friend. My stepsister was born out of a mistake. And I'd been raised like a goddamn ghost, hidden away from the world that flow in my blood.
"I need to meet him," I said. "Santino."
Bianca stood, panic rising. "No. Absolutely not. That wasn't part of the plan—"
"I don't care about your plan."
Her voice dropped to a pleading tone. "Mia, you have no idea what you're walking into. That man—he doesn't love the way we do. He controls. He manipulates. You think he'll welcome you with open arms? He might lock you in a cage and call it protection."
"Then I'll find the fucking key," I said, lips trembling.
I turned to leave.
Her voice cracked behind me. "He has sons, Mia. Your brothers. They were raised in that world. They're not like you."
"I'm not like me anymore," I whispered.
As I stepped into the hallway, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.
I looked like a stormy mess. I feel very faint and angry at everyone and everything.
De Luca, I thought.
No wonder Erica hated me.
Even I barely recognized the girl in the mirror anymore.
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