Page 83 of Blood Heir

I push open the car door and step out. The cold wind whips at my legs as I walk briskly toward the side entrance, slipping through a small door that leads directly to Brother Stefano’s office. My fingers tremble as I knock gently and turn the handle.

He is seated at his desk, his back straight, his eyes already lifted toward me as if he had been expecting this moment.

“Child,” he breathes softly. His eyes scan me—searching, seeing far more than I say. “You’ve remembered.”

I close the door behind me and press my back against it for a moment, breathing in the scent of candle wax, old books, and something deeply familiar.

“There’s no time,” he says gently, already rising from his chair and gesturing me forward.

I step closer, my hands still clasped together as if to hold my nerves in place. “Tell me.”

He exhales deeply. “They moved quickly since your accident. With your absence, they’ve been consolidating power, approaching the remaining family heads—particularly those loyal to your estate.”

He moves toward the wall, pulling open a locked cabinet. Inside are neatly filed documents, ledgers, and a map with red markings. His fingers glide across them with practiced care as he speaks.

“She’s convinced most of them you are too fragile to return. Some believe you dead, others that you’re incapable of leadership.” His voice hardens slightly. “She’s frozen certain accounts. Shifted routes. Broken contracts.”

I stare at the map, my gaze darting across names I recognize from my studies, names my father whispered when he still lived. Names of old Families, old debts. The arteries of Melbourne’s underworld.

“Already?” I whisper.

“They always had a plan,” he answers gravely. “And now, with you out of the picture—”

“I’m not out,” I cut in sharply. My voice is steadier than I feel.

He studies me for a moment and nods approvingly. “Then you must start reclaiming ground before she secures all her alliances. Quietly, strategically. We’ll need to reach the minor Families first. The ones who only followed them out of fear or convenience.”

I glance at him. “The weak links.”

He smiles faintly. “Precisely. And once they bend, others will follow.”

I clench my jaw, swallowing down the rush of fury that bubbles inside me. Then, softly, I ask him the question that’s gnawed at my insides for weeks. “You know then. Who I really am.”

His expression grows heavier, but his voice remains gentle. “The daughter of Matteo Accardi,” he says softly, speaking the name of Serevin’s adoptive father—the man who orchestrated this game before either of us could walk.

I lower my head and whisper, “My father told you?”

“Long ago,” he confirms. “Before your marriage was arranged. Before you even returned to Melbourne.”

I hesitate before daring to ask the next question. “Did my father even love me?”

Plunging me into this game blindsided.

Stefano pauses. He breathes deeply, as if weighing not what to say, but how much I am ready to hear.

“Men in this world live and die by greed,” he says quietly. “Your mother sold you to the highest bidder. And your father—perhaps he loved you as much as a man like him could love anything. But he had his goals, child. That love was never pure. Nothing in this world is.”

The bitterness tastes like iron on my tongue. I nod slowly. My hands tremble slightly.

“And you?” I whisper, raising my eyes to him now, searching for one—just one—person without an agenda. “What about you, Brother Stefano? What’s in it for you?”

He smiles, warm and patient, reaching out to touch my hand gently.

“Your hefty donations keep many children fed,” he says softly. “And your smile gives peace to an old man’s heart.” His eyes glisten as he adds, “I have always seen the girl behind the bloodlines, Fioretta. And if you let me, I will help you reclaim what is yours.”

For the first time in days, my chest loosens slightly. My jaw unclenches. I manage a small smile, even as my head continues to pound from all I’ve learned.

“Then let’s begin.”

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