Page 60 of Sins of the Father
Bianca was quiet for a moment. Then, gently: “Then don’t.”
Mia’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Don’t love the man youthinkhe is,” Bianca said. “Love the one you see when no one’s watching.”
Mia blinked, stunned.
Bianca’s gaze didn’t waver. “The one who looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him human.”
Mia’s throat tightened. “It’s not that simple.”
“Nothing in this world is,” Bianca replied, her tone soft but certain. “But love? That’s the only part of it that ever makes sense.”
Mia stared down at the blanket twisted in her fists, struggling to breathe past the lump in her throat. She wanted to believe it—God, she wanted to—but she knew better than to think love alone could hold together a life built on blood.
Bianca reached across the bed and took her hand. “You don’t have to decide anything right now,” she said gently. “But stop trying to be the girl you were. She’s gone, Mia. Maybe for the better.”
Mia didn’t answer. Her eyes burned, and by the time she realized she was crying, the tears were already falling. Bianca said nothing—just squeezed her hand once before standing.
At the door, she paused. “He’s not perfect. He never will be. None of us are.” A faint smile ghosted across her lips. “The real question is—do you still want him anyway?”
When the door clicked shut behind her, silence wrapped the room like a shroud. Bianca’s words echoed in the stillness, slow and relentless, like a heartbeat she couldn’t ignore.
Mia sat motionless for a long time before finally swinging her legs off the bed. She padded barefoot to the bathroom, her reflection meeting her with swollen eyes and tangled hair. With a sigh, she reached for her toothbrush—then froze.
In the corner of the mirror, the small digital calendar blinked. She frowned. Leaned closer.
Sixteen days late.
For a moment, the world tilted. She gripped the counter, breath catching in her throat.How had she not noticed?
Mia’s trembling hands drifted to her stomach. Beneath her palm, her pulse fluttered violently. A vision flashed before her—a little girl with Luc’s silver eyes. A boy with his smile.
The truth struck her with brutal clarity.
She could never let him know.
Swallowing hard, she reached for the calendar and marked the day as if her period had started. The red line glared up at her, a small, desperate lie.
Her palm flattened over her belly. “I will protect you,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “With everything that I am.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Luc stood before the Commission with Matteo Bonino and his two sons bound and silent at his feet. Light from the high windows carved the men into harsh planes: blood darkening their collars, gags mute over their mouths. The room hummed with low murmurs from the Commission.
When the talking died, Luc spoke with the same flat authority he used on deals and men who crossed him.
“It seems the Boninos decided to go after my wife. For that, there is no forgiveness.”
The words landed like a verdict.
Matteo snarled into his gag, his eyes filled with rage. Luc nodded, and Antonio removed the gag.
“You speak nonsense. Why would I want to kill my own niece? Why would I invite the wrath of the Commission?”
Luc smiled without warmth. “Because you underestimate what I am capable of. Because you refuse to fall in line. Because somewhere behind that bravado, you convinced yourself you could take her life and that I would stand by and let your bloodline survive. You were wrong. Dead wrong.”
Matteo paled, a tic appearing at his eyes.
