Page 88 of Unforgiving Queen
So here I was in Trieste, Italy, in front of Miramare Castle.
This fucking place had never been home.
I had never felt safe or comfortable in this hellhole. Not only because it was meant to be a fucking museum but because my supposed father made it hell on earth for Dante and me. My mother didn’t have it easy here either, which made me question her motive for staying here even after his death.
Sitting on the edge of a seaside cliff, Miramare Castle was built in the nineteenth century on the Gulf of Trieste. It was surrounded by lush gardens on three sides, and the grounds were a national gem, revered by experts around the world through what limited access they’d had to the property over the years.
Not me.
All I saw when I looked at this place was years of sadistic torture and confinement at the hand of the man who called himself our father.
Though here I was. At the doorstep of the castle that shouldn’t even belong to the Leone family. It should have remained a museum, for people to visit, enjoy, and then leave.
I made my way into the castle foyer—the lion’s den—with ghosts at my back. The tension-filled atmosphere still lingered in this hellhole. The Chinese and Japanese drawing room with oriental furnishing was where I found my mother. It was her favorite room in the whole castle.
Her eyes lifted from her sewing work and met mine with surprise.
“Amon!” She shot to her feet and rushed my way, her feet shuffling along the thick rugs. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
She was wearing one of her pink kimonos with embroidered yellow flowers. I was shocked at how the color didn’t piss me off. Illias Konstantin had given me reason to hope, to snatch what I wanted and hold on to it this time.
“Is it true, Mother?” I asked with a cool façade while my insides fumed with coiled anger.
Her smile faltered and she watched me hesitantly. “Is what true,musuko?”
I reached inside my suit jacket for the copy of the marriage certificate and my birth certificate, then handed it to her.
“This,” I gritted, clutching the documents with white knuckles.
Her eyes flickered to them but she didn’t move. Instead, she lifted her eyes and met my gaze. “You found them?”
A sardonic breath left me. “Something like that.”
“You must be angry,” she finally said, emotion heavy in her voice. I didn’t comment, holding her gaze. The woman I’d protected my whole life had kept life-altering secrets from me. “You must have questions.”
I hadn’t seen her since the day I demanded she left my place. I was still furious, although somehow it didn’t surprise me that she kept another secret from me. I suspected she probably had even more.
“Something like that,” I repeated, this time with a scoff. I pushed my balled fist into my pocket. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I had no evidence to show we were married,” she finally said, twisting her hands.
“I wouldn’t have asked for any,” I deadpanned.
“It had to remain a secret until I had proof.” Her tone was colored with desperation. Excuses. “To protect us. To protect you.”
“Illegitimate son was a worse position to be in than a legitimate son,” I announced. “Although I must question your taste in men.”
“Don’t be insolent,” she spat out. “I’m still your mother.”
A snicker left me. “Are you?” I questioned. “At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if that changes too.”
Pain flashed in her eyes, and I instantly regretted my words. I hated seeing her hurt. But she had made so many bad fucking decisions. She’d left me in the dark.
“I had to let Angelo believe you were his son to protect you.” Her tone was soft but unapologetic. “Tomaso expedited an annulment, but he didn’t know that I had put a hit on his lawyer and falsified the paperwork to make it seem like it went through. To protect the two of us.”
A hit. Falsified papers. Did I know this woman at all?
I studied the woman who gave birth to me. She had been there for Dante and me our whole lives. This anger I felt toward her might be justified, but it didn’t erase the years of pain she had to endure. The years of humiliation knowing she made the wrong move.
