Page 144 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

He reaches out, hesitates, then gently takes my hand. “The last time I saw you both was on your fifth birthday. We were in Hawaii. You were so happy, building sandcastles on the beach.”

I have a vague memory of warm sand, blue water, and laughter. Was that Hawaii? Was that my last day with both my parents?

“When I heard you and Naomi had been killed,” Orlando’s voice breaks, “it completely destroyed me. And then the war began. Those Irish bastards were crying out for blood—my blood.”

He takes a shuddering breath. “It wasn’t until two years ago, when Benjamin O’Shea came to negotiate peace that we realized you were alive. I wanted to reach out, to meet you, but . . .”

“But what?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Orlando’s eyes meet mine. “But you were his hostage. The moment he revealed you were alive, you became his willing hostage, and attempting to extract you could be seen as a hostile move. You could’ve been hurt or used as a pawn. So I bided my time and waited.”

I sit back, overwhelmed by the flood of information, the weight of eighteen years of secrets and longing.

“Is that why someone tried to kill me at the club?” I ask, the question trembling on my lips. “Because they thought you were trying to take me back?”

Orlando shrugs heavily. “That could be one of the many reasons. But whoever was behind that bomb knows who you really are. The weight of that remains a dark cloud over us. We have no clue who sent the Novaks after you.”

He pauses, his expression shifting from concern to deep regret. His voice drops to an agonized whisper. “I’m so sorry, Adele. I know I made mistakes, and it may be too late, but I want you to know . . . I’ve loved you every single day of your life. You and your mother . . . you were everything to me.”

His words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable. Despite the crushing weight of the past, there’s a small spark of warmth that begins to grow within me, knowing that I was never forgotten. Never unloved.

“Did Bianca know?” I ask, the question burning in the back of my mind.

Orlando shakes his head. “Not until recently.”

Eighteen years of being in the dark, married to a man who was desperately in love with someone else. I feel a pang of sympathy for Bianca. On the other side of the coin, there’s a woman who must need some closure too.

There’s so much to process, so many emotions swirling inside me. But as I look at Orlando, I feel an undeniable pull, a connection that transcends the years of separation. This is my father.

“Orlando,” I begin hesitantly, “is . . . is Adele my real name?”

Orlando takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s a moment of heavy silence before he slowly shakes his head. “No, cara mia. Your name is Valentina. Valentina De Luca.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with revelation. The weight of his words finally hits me, and I feel the room spin slightly. I stand abruptly, turning my back to Orlando as tears begin to fall.

Valentina. Not Adele.

Dear God. As if I needed final proof that everything I thought I knew about myself has been a carefully crafted facade.

I hear Orlando shift behind me, and after a moment, I feel his hesitant hand on my back. The gentle touch breaks something inside me. I turn and, surprising us both, throw my arms around him.

Orlando stiffens for a split second before his arms wrap around me, holding me tight. His body shakes with sobs that match my own. The embrace feels right in a way hugging Benjamin O’Shea never did.

It’s Val . . . not Addy.

The name resonates within me, filling a void I never knew existed.

As we hold each other, years of longing and loss pouring out in our tears, I feel a sense of homecoming.

And for the first time in my life, I know exactly who I am.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Dante

I pull into the driveway of my beachfront home, relishing the grounding weight of Addy’s hand on my thigh. I used to think I was the one who couldn’t keep my hands off her if she was within two feet of me, but now I’m not so sure which of us is guiltier. As I kill the engine, I catch her stifling a yawn.

“Tired?” I ask, reaching over to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

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