Page 147 of Flawed

Pain fills her so much, it hurts me. Hot tears stream down her cheeks.

I soften my tone, questioning, "Why?"

"You know why," she answers.

Several moments pass, both of us breathing hard, trying to decipher what we've done and how to get past it.

"You could have trusted me," she asserts.

I close my eyes then glance above her head. My pulse pounds loudly between my ears.

She adds, "Would you have subjected your daughter to an Abruzzo?"

It's a knife digging at an old wound and letting fresh blood pool. I can't lie and answer, "No. But you didn't give me a chance to change things."

"How would I know you would change things? Men don't leave the Abruzzos because they knock a woman up!" she points out.

My chest tightens. I shake my head. "I would have blown my cover. I would have taken my rightful position in the Marino family."

She shakes her head, and more tears fall. She sobs, "How would I have known that?"

It's a fair question. And that's our problem. There's no right in this situation.

The entire situation is wrong.

Her actions.

My actions.

All of it is a mixture of one secret after another. There's no clear answer about what decision was right.

And the power of her close to me is too much. She's all I've ever wanted. Yet now, everything is more complicated than I could ever anticipate.

I step back and claim, "I won't stay away from my daughter."

She squeezes her eyes shut.

I add, "I'll pick both of you up for the wedding tomorrow."

She opens her eyes. "What?"

I firmly state, "Let me be very clear. I will not be absent in her life anymore, Chanel. I'm going to get to know my daughter. So you can join us or not, but I'm spending the day with my daughter."

She tilts her head. An ocean of tears falls off her chin. "Luca—"

"And tell your parents to stay out of this. They can either get past this or not. Their choice. But they won't stop me, either," I warn, then leave the bathroom.

"Luca!" she calls out, trailing behind me.

I go into the main room, beelining toward Zara. I pull out my phone. "What's your phone number?"

Her eyes widen.

Sophia rises. "You don't have the right—"

"Stay out of it, Mom," Chanel interjects.

I glance at her, but it's still too painful. I hate that she's hurting and there's nothing I can do about it right now. I refocus on Zara and ask in a softer tone, "Can I have your phone number?"

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