Page 8 of My Sweetest Temptation

He looked away, and I followed his gaze to where Mom laid motionless on the ground. The sight sent a dagger of sorrow straight through my chest.

“Those men... they came in without warning and attacked us. They were speaking Italian. Your mother—” He paused, a shudder rippling through him. “She acted like she knew them. It’s as if she recognized their faces.”

“Dad, I need to get you out of here.”

When I reached behind him to untie his hands, his urgent plea halted my movements. “Baby, stop, stop, stop!”

I sunk back on my heels, eyes locked with his, silently begging him to give me the chance to ease his suffering. “But I need to get you out of here.”

“Find Malik. He will keep you safe,” he gasped out in ragged bursts.

“Dad, I don’t understand. Does Uncle Malik know what’s going on?”

“There isn’t much time,” he said. “They may still be in the house.”

“Dad, who?—”

“Baby, leave now!” he said, his tone urgent and commanding.

I shook my head, refusing to leave him. He still had a chance at surviving, and I wouldn’t let them take him away from me too.

“Gigi. These men are dangerous. They won’t hesitate to kill you. Please, baby, please,” he pleaded, making me cry harder. “Do this for me. I need you to stay alive.”

I was torn between leaving my father behind to die, or staying and facing a similar fate.

Suddenly, his eyes widened even further as he looked over my shoulder.

Before I could react, a figure appeared in my peripheral. “Well, well, well. Look who’s all grown up.”

I turned to see a tall man who oozed dominance, clad in a sleek black suit.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” I demanded. I rose to my feet, positioning myself in front of my father.

The man’s dark brown eyes bore into me, cold and calculating. That cruel smile widened.

“You’re just like your father. No sign of fear. I wonder what he’d say if he knew you existed.”

I stole a sideways glance at my father, his bright blue eyes now dimmed with sadness and regret.

“Not him. He’s not your real father.” The man chuckled.

I turned slowly back to him, a chill creeping up my spine. His presence was suffocating the room, sucking out all the goodness that once filled the space. I refused to give him the satisfaction of a response, locking my gaze onto his, determined not to show weakness.

When he seemed to realize I wouldn’t engage, he sighed heavily and pushed off the closet, taking a deliberate step closer. He flicked his eyes down to my mom’s lifeless body on the floor. “She almost got away with hiding you,” he said.

He tsk-tsked, the sound mockingly cheerful. “You see, your mother fucked up big time. She betrayed her own family and then gave birth to you—the spawn of the Devil himself.”

I furrowed my brows. What the hell was he babbling about?

“Ah, I see,” the man said. “She didn’t tell you the story, did she? Well, after she betrayed her family, she fled the country like a coward. And then she married him”—he pointed to my dad—“as if she was trying to hide your identity. She seemed to forget the consequences that would follow if she were found.”

I looked at my father. “That’s not true, is it?”

He remained silent, and his eyes squeezed shut. A deep sigh escaped him.

“Dad...please tell me it’s not true?” I pleaded, my voice cracking at the thought of my fear that my life was a lie.

He opened his eyes, tears streaming. “Yes, I knew you were not mine by blood, but it doesn’t matter. You are still my daughter. You are mine.”

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