Page 2 of Sins of the Father
“But—”
“Mia, do not protest. You must obey my words on this.” His voice cut through her protest like a knife. “Do you understand?”
She nodded quickly, tears stinging her eyes. “Yes, Papa.”
For a moment, he studied her, his silence more intimidating than his words. Then he stood, smoothing his jacket.
“Go to your room,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Mia fled, her small feet padding against the hardwood floors as she ran upstairs. She paused at the top of the staircase, peeking down just in time to see her father step inside the office, leaving the door open behind him. Mia waited, canting her head to listen, hoping he did not shout at Donata.
“What did I say about keeping her out of here?” His voice was firm but not cruel.
“I—I tried. She was just playing,” Donata said softly.
Her father let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I know, Donata. Just… be more careful next time, please. She is my only child, and I could not bear it if anything happened to her. She is already in this life because of me… I want her protected from it at all costs. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” her nanny replied.
Mia thought she sounded afraid. She slipped away to her room, her head spinning with questions she couldn’t yet shape into words. That was the day she began to understand—her father’s “work” wasn’t just business; it was something far darker.
She didn’t fully grasp the meaning of the gun or what it stood for, but Donata’s fear and her father’s hard voice left a mark. It wasn’t until weeks later, when the men came, that she truly understood just how different her family was.
The cars arrived just after midnight—sleek, black, and silent as they slid up to the curb like shadows given form. Mia watched from her bedroom window, her small fingers pressing against the cold glass as men in dark suits stepped out, their faces carved from stone.
She had seen visitors like this before. Her cousins, Maria and Gio, had mentioned them in passing—“Oh, just some of Papa’s friends”—with the same casual indifference they used when talking about the extra bodyguards that sometimes lingered outside their homes. But something about tonight felt different. The air in the house had thickened, like the moment before a storm broke.
Curiosity gnawed at Mia. She waited until the quiet murmurs from downstairs faded into her father’s study before slipping out of bed, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. She just wanted water, she told herself. That was all.
But as she passed the study, the low, tense voices stopped her cold.
The door was slightly ajar. That was strange. Her fatherneverleft it open during meetings. Heart pounding, she edged closer, pressing herself against the wall as she peered through the narrow gap. From her spot, she had a clear view of everyone inside.
Her father stood behind his desk, his broad frame rigid, his face unreadable. Two men she didn’t recognize loomed across from him, their expressions sharp as knives. One of them—taller, with a scar cutting through his eyebrow—leaned forward slightly, his voice a quiet threat.
“You think you can walk away from this, Bonino?”
Her father didn’t flinch. “I thought,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, “that we had an agreement.”
The second man—shorter, with cold, empty eyes—let out a humorless laugh. “Agreements change. Especially when secrets are involved.”
Mia’s stomach twisted.Secrets?
Her father’s hands flexed, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the edge of the desk. “The files stay with me until everything is transferred. That was the deal.”
The taller man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And if we decide the deal isn’t good enough?”
For the first time, Mia saw something flicker across her father’s face—something dark and dangerous. “Then you’ll regret it.”
“Oh?”
The air in the room turned to ice.
“I’ll kill every last one of you,” her father said, his voice edged with ruthless certainty.
Mia’s breath hitched. She had never heard her father sound like that. Except for that day when she played with the gun, he was always warm with her, his voice firm but kind. Now he wanted tokillpeople. Mia knew what that meant fromthe movies she had secretly watched with her cousins. Her lips quivered. Dread—and something she couldn’t yet name—unfolded in her chest. She shifted, and the floorboard creaked beneath her.
Her father’s gaze snapped toward the door, locking onto hers for a split second before he turned back to the men, his expression smoothing into cold indifference. She didn’t wait to see if he’d call her out. She ran up the stairs, heart hammering, her bare feet slipping on the polished wood. Once she reached her bedroom, Mia rushed under her blankets, pulling them tight around her as if they could shield her from the truth settling like lead in her chest.
