Page 37 of Make Me Your Hitta

“I’m in love with him, Daddy,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper but steady as steel. “I’m in love with Adonis Cardelo.”

My confession hung in the air, heavy and dangerous. I watched my father’s face with my heart wedged in my throat. For a moment, he was perfectly still. Then his eyes narrowed, and he leaned back in his chair with a creak of leather.

“Nobi,” he said, his voice a mix of concern and authority that made me feel like a little girl again. “You don’t understand the consequences of what you’re saying. A relationship with Adonis… it’s not just dangerous; it’s impossible.”

I felt my jaw clench. “Why? Because he’s Toussaint’s son?”

His palm slammed against the desk, making me jump. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was Toussaint’s son?”

“Because he’s been trained to kill, to protect this family at all costs, and I didn’t want to compromise you. We all have roles, Xenobia. Do you think he can simply put his duty aside? Do you think his father would hesitate to use this against us? It’s maddening that you’d even come to me with this shit. I knew bringing him back here was a fucking mistake. Pick somebody else.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” I protested, my head high. “Yeah, I know I initially kicked and screamed about it, but bringing Adonis back was the best thing you could’ve ever done for me. He’s someone you know well. Someone who’s pledged and proven his loyalty to our family time after time. Who could be a better choice for me?”

“Since you know who his father is, you know why I cannot grant your request, Nobi. There are too many risks.”

I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “I know the risks, Daddy. But Adonis, he makes me feel safe. Whole. Like I’m more than just the scars on my skin or the price on my head.” I paused to take a deep breath. “He’s not a danger to me in any sense of the word and never has been. But you knew that, didn’t you? How many times did I ask you about him after Mom and Santodied? Huh? How many times, Daddy? You knew all along he was Toussaint’s son, and you still broke my fucking heart.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but his voice remained steady. “Love isn’t enough in our world, Xenobia. It can be a weakness or a vulnerability. And in this case, it could destroy everything we’ve built.”

I felt my heart breaking, but I couldn’t back down. Not now. Not when Adonis’s future—our future—hung in the balance. I gulped down a steadying breath as I hardened my gaze. The shadows in the office seemed to deepen, mirroring the darkness I felt creeping into my heart. But I wouldn’t let it win.

“Daddy, I’m sorry, but you’re wrong,” I said, my voice low but fierce. “Love isn’t our weakness. It’s our strength. The scars I bear? They taught me how to survive. But Adonis? He’s teaching me how to live.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “Survive? You think you know about survival?” His voice rose, filling the room. “I’ve kept this family alive for decades through blood, bullets, and fire. You have no idea the sacrifices I’ve made!”

I flinched but held my ground. “You’re right, I don’t. But I know what I want. No, what I need.”

My father scoffed. “What you need is to remember who the fuck you are. A Hawthorne. My daughter. The future of this family!”

“And this baby is the future of our family!” I confessed, my palm against my flat stomach.

The silence that followed my confession was deafening. The words hit him like bullets, each one tearing through the fragile hope I’d been nurturing that I wasn’t going to mention the baby to him, but I refused to leave without his blessing. I studied my father’s face, searching for any sign of understanding. His jaw clenched, and the vein in his temple pulsated. I’d seen that look before—usually right before someone disappeared forever. But Iwasn’t just anyone. I was his blood, and the baby inside me was his grandchild. That had to count for something, right?

He remained silent, weighing his thoughts carefully. “Y-you’re pregnant, Nobi?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes. And before you ask, Adonis doesn’t know yet. So, he doesn’t know that I’m asking you to call off this war, Daddy. He doesn’t know I’m asking you to pay for Adonis’s freedom if it comes down to it. He doesn’t know that I’m asking you to put marriage on the table to join our families and stop the bloodshed.”

The heaviness of my family’s legacy and the dangerous world I would inhabit the reigns to one day loomed in the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t help but worry about what my pregnancy would mean for my safety and the safety of my unborn child. I could only hope the news of a grandchild would help him find it in his heart to find a way to call off the war with the Toussaints before it was too late.

My father finally spoke up again. “This is not a decision to be taken lightly, Xenobia. You know the life we lead, the dangers we face every day. Are you sure this baby is what you want?”

I nodded firmly. “Yes, Daddy. I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. Adonis has always protected me. I love him, and that doesn’t make me less loyal to this family. It makes me stronger. I’m ready to face whatever challenges come our way, as long as I have him. Adonis sees me, Daddy. Not as the fragile princess you’ve tried to safeguard, but for who I really am,” I announced, my voice steadier than I felt.

My father’s eyes narrowed, but I saw a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. “And who exactly is that, Xenobia?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

I swallowed hard. “Someone who’s not afraid to fight for what she wants. Someone who understands the weight of our name but refuses to be crushed under its weight. Someone whoplans to afford my heir the same luxuries and safeguards as you’ve shown me, in addition to an overflowing amount of love.”

The silence stretched on as he studied me. All I heard was my heartbeat thundering recklessly in my ears.

Finally, he responded. “You sound like your mother,” he said, his voice rough with an emotion somewhere between nostalgia and grief.

I blinked, thrown off guard. Henevertalked about her. Not since the night she and Santo were killed. I learned then that the grieving process was different for everyone. As the surviving parent, my father completely closed himself off to me, pacifying me with the art studio so that he’d have a reason to ignore me. We didn’t celebrate their birthdays or my parents’ wedding anniversary. It was almost as if they never existed. But again, everybody had their way of coping. I couldn’t judge.

“She was… passionate and defiant, just like you,” he described as a ghost of a smile touched his lips. “It was what drew me to her and what got her killed. She was my only love. Your mother,she was everything to me. When she died, it almost broke me.”

The words hit me like a slap to the face. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

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