I didn't cry.
I didn't scream, or break, or fall to my knees like some shattered porcelain doll. Instead, I sat frozen in that high-tech surveillance room, photo in my hand, Alessio's words echoing in my head like a bell tolling the death of everything I thought I knew.
Romano.
Bloodline.
Legacy.
Heir.
Words that didn't belong to me. Words that carried weight and blood and chains. Words that rewrote the quiet, invisible life I had scraped together with trembling hands and half-truths.
I was never supposed to matter.
And now, suddenly, I was the key to something ancient, dangerous, and hungry.
"Say something," Alessio said, his voice low.
I didn't look at him. I kept staring at the photo. My mother's eyes smiled up at me—warm and tired, like she knew the storm was coming. The baby in her arms had that same birthmark on her collarbone. I'd always hated it. I used to hide it under scarves and high necklines. Now it felt like a brand.
"Elena—"
"You knew this before you met me." I said it quietly, but it wasn't a question.
"I suspected."
"When? When did you start watching me?"
His silence was answer enough.
My breath caught. "You've been following me for years."
"I had to be sure," he said. "There were rumors she'd had a child. No one could find proof. But then you moved into that apartment… and someone flagged your background. When I saw you, I knew."
I finally looked at him.
Alessio stood across the room, tension rippling through his frame like a storm held in place by sheer force of will. His eyes weren't soft now. They were hard, watchful, haunted.
"You say you want to protect me," I said. "But you've been pulling strings behind my back for how long? A year? Two?"
He stepped forward. "You were in danger long before I found you. I didn't create that."
"But you kept me in the dark."
"I was trying to keep you alive."
I stood, heat flushing through my chest. "You don't get to make that choice for me."
His eyes narrowed. "You think I wanted this? That I wanted you to be part of this world?"
"You sure act like it. You've done everything except chain me to your damn bed."
His jaw ticked. "Don't tempt me."
The air snapped between us—charged and trembling. And suddenly I was too tired to argue. I sank back down into the chair, my hands shaking.
"I don't know who I am," I whispered. "I don't know what any of this means."
He came closer, crouching in front of me. His voice gentled.
"You're not your blood, Elena. You're not your mother's choices, or your grandfather's empire. You're you. And I will protect that with everything I have."
"But why?" I met his gaze. "You don't even know me."
"I do," he said. "From the moment I saw you, I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That you were mine."
My breath hitched.
He wasn't talking about mafia empires anymore.
He was talking about us.
Before I could respond, a sharp knock echoed from upstairs. Alessio rose instantly, tense and alert.
"Stay here."
But I didn't listen. I followed him out of the room and up the stairs. The main hall was dim now, late afternoon sunlight slanting through the high windows in gold bars. Three of his men stood at the front entrance, tense.
One of them turned to him. "It's her."
Alessio's brows pulled together. "Who?"
"The woman who raised her. Says her name is Ruth Delgado."
My stomach dropped.
Ruth. My last foster mom. The only one who ever tried to keep me.
I pushed past Alessio, ignoring his sharp "Wait—"
She stood just outside the door—older, thinner, but still Ruth. Her graying hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, and her expression was hard with worry until she saw me.
"Elena," she breathed, stepping forward. "Thank God you're alive."
I stumbled into her arms, everything breaking at once. Her hug was familiar, grounding, painful in its safety. I hadn't realized how much I missed being known by someone who didn't want something from me.
"I saw the news," she whispered. "The bookstore said you quit, then I heard about the shooting in your building, and I—"
She looked over my shoulder and froze.
Her eyes met Alessio's.
"Oh," she said sharply. "It's you."
I blinked. "You know him?"
"I know of him."
Alessio's voice was calm. "You weren't supposed to come here."
"I don't take orders from gangsters," she snapped. "Not when one of my girls is missing."
"I'm not missing," I said, stepping between them. "I'm… I'm safe."
"Is that what he told you?" she hissed. "Did he also tell you who you are?"
I swallowed. "Yes."
She nodded slowly. "Then I'm too late."
I stared at her. "You knew?"
Ruth closed her eyes. "I didn't want to believe it. Not when you were a baby. But she—your mother—she made me promise. Said if anything ever happened to her, I was to keep you away from the Rom—" she cut herself off, glancing at Alessio—"from them."
"You knew she was in hiding?"
"I didn't know the details. Just that she was scared. That someone would come for you one day."
She looked at Alessio, her voice sharp.
"And now he has."
Alessio's jaw tightened. "I'm not here to hurt her."
"But you will," Ruth said. "You can't help it. Your world eats girls like her alive."
"I won't let that happen," I said, surprising even myself.
Ruth turned to me, stricken. "Elena…"
"No. I need answers. I need the truth. I've been running my whole life and I didn't even know it. I'm done hiding."
Ruth touched my face gently. "Just remember who you are, baby. Don't let them make you forget."
I nodded, my throat thick.
"I won't."
After she left, the house felt colder. Quieter.
Alessio stood near the window, silent, unreadable.
"She hates me," he said.
"She's scared for me. So am I."
He turned. "But you're staying."
It wasn't a question.
I didn't answer right away. Then I looked at him, really looked.
"Yes," I said. "I am."
Something in his eyes darkened—but not with menace. With relief. And something else I couldn't name yet.
"I'll show you everything," he said. "Everything you were kept from. But if you stay, there's no going back."
"I know."
I didn't know what I was stepping into.
I only knew I wasn't alone anymore.
And that was more dangerous than anything else