Page 23 of Beautiful Vows

My chest tightens, like invisible hands are squeezing the air from me.

I know he wants me to worry, but it’ll take more than the threat of being kidnapped to stop me in my tracks.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “Jove. I want the details emailed within the next five minutes and access to my inheritance.”

And disconnect.

Chapter 8

Lia

I sit on the chair nestled in the corner of my father’s home—at least, the man who raised me.

Sunlight seeps through the blinds, filling the room with a soft, warm glow and creating intricate patterns on the floor. And it should soothe me, but nothing stops me from anxiously tapping my fingers on my thighs; the sound echoing through the quiet room as I impatiently wait for him to wake.

Finally, he turns on his side and then, like he feels my presence, his eyes flutter open and land on me. His tired eyes widen.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, wearily.

“Waiting for you to reveal who the hell you truly are,” I reply, as betrayal simmers within me.

Not only from him. I feel deceived by everyone.

My life is a tangled web of half-truths and hidden identities.

“I’m your father,” he responds, his voice tinged with exhaustion as he pushes himself into a sitting position on the bed.

I shake my head, my eyes locked on his, searching for the answers I desperately need. “No, that’s not what I mean. Who are you really? Why do you harbor such a vehement hatred for the Mafia? I’ve been told you were a mercenary who fell in love with my mother, but there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

He remains silent for a moment, his gaze searching my face while he locks his thoughts behind a guarded expression.

Then he turns the question back to me. I hate how his voice is so composed. “Who am I, Lia?” he asks, challenging me.

My heart pounds in my chest as the answer lingers on the tip of my tongue. Another piece of the puzzle slowly falling into place.

The silence between us speaks volumes. He thinks I don’t know, but I see it in his eyes, in the way he carries himself, in the secrets he guards so fiercely.

“You are...” I swallow as the word, “Mafia,” releases and the realization of who my dad is completes one gigantic puzzle.

His silence confirms it to me. The unspoken truth is so obvious in his eyes.

The room is suffocating, the air thick with tension as we both sit there, enveloped in a heavy silence before I speak again.

“Who are you?” I demand. Needing answers for the past that refused to stay buried. And the weight of who we really are hanging over us.

“Keep your voice down. Milly is here.”

“Why is she here?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “She was upset and wanted to get away. Maybe if you speak to her.”

“I will if you tell me who you are.”

Dad’s voice barely rises above a whisper as he responds, “I can’t tell you.”

“Then I’ll tell you.” My voice rising with every word.

“No,” he pleads, but I ignore him. I’m too driven by the need to uncover the truth that’s been hidden for far too long to pretend any longer.

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