Chapter 9 – THE SINS OF THE FATHER

The balcony spun.

I gripped the railing to keep from collapsing. “That’s impossible. I applied for the maid position through an agency. I interviewed with your housekeeper.”

“The agency was a front,” Matteo explained, his voice gentle but firm. “We looked into the records this morning. Your father owns the shell company that runs it.”

“Why?” I gasped, looking at the photo of my ten-year-old self. “Why would he put me in your house?”

Isabella took my hand. “Because he knew Matteo wouldn’t suspect a young, innocent girl. You were supposed to be his eyes and ears, Emma. Without even knowing it.”

I felt sick. Everything I thought was my own choice—my job, my life, my connection to Oliver—was orchestrated by a man who had left my mother to die in poverty.

“He used me,” I whispered.

“He did,” Matteo agreed. “And now that Carlo is gone, your father is stepping up to take his place on the Commission. He wants you back, Emma. He thinks because you shot Serena, you’re ready to join the family business.”

“I am not a criminal!” I cried.

“We know that,” Isabella said fiercely. “We trust you completely.”

“He sent a message,” Matteo said, pointing to the back of the photograph.

I flipped it over. Written in black ink were four words:

Bring her to me.

“If I don’t go, he’ll keep coming after you,” I realized, the horror washing over me. “He’ll target Oliver. He’ll target the twins.”

“I have enough men to start a war,” Matteo said darkly.

“No more wars,” I said, my voice hardening. “My father wants me? Fine. I’ll go to him.”

“Absolutely not,” Isabella protested.

“I’m not going to surrender,” I clarified, looking Matteo directly in the eyes. “I’m going to finish what you started. If my father is the last head of the hydra, we cut him off.”

Matteo stared at me. The mafia boss, who had terrified me for ten months, looked at me with profound respect.

“What do you need?” Matteo asked.

“I need to know where he is.”

Matteo nodded. “He requested a meeting at the old cathedral downtown. Tonight. Midnight. Neutral ground.”

“Then we go to church,” I said.

At 11:30 PM, the black SUV pulled up to the imposing gothic cathedral in the center of the city. The rain was pouring down, slicking the cobblestone streets.

Matteo and I stepped out. Isabella stayed behind at the penthouse with Elena and the children, guarded by thirty armed men.

The heavy wooden doors of the cathedral groaned as Matteo pushed them open.

Inside, the church was lit only by hundreds of flickering candles.

Standing at the altar, wearing a tailored black coat, was Detective Thomas Parker. My father.

He smiled as I walked down the aisle.

“Emma,” my father said, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. “Look at you. You’ve grown into a beautiful, ruthless woman. I’m so proud.”

“You don’t get to call me by my name,” I spat, stopping twenty feet from the altar.

My father sighed. “I know you’re angry. I had to leave to protect you and your mother. This life is dangerous.”

“You didn’t protect me!” I yelled. “You used me! You put me in a house with a woman who poisoned a six-year-old child!”

“Collateral damage,” my father dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Serena was reckless. That’s why I let you take her out. You did the Syndicate a favor, Emma. Now, come here. Take your rightful place by my side.”

“I’d rather die,” I said.

My father’s smile vanished. “Don’t be dramatic. Matteo, tell the girl how this works. She comes with me, or I make sure your new babies don’t see their first birthday.”

Matteo didn’t speak. He just stood beside me, perfectly still.

“I’m not leaving with you,” I said.

My father snapped his fingers.

From the shadows of the choir loft, six men stepped out, aiming rifles directly at us.

Reversal. It was an ambush. Neutral ground was a lie.

“I didn’t want to do it this way, Emma,” my father said, drawing his own gun. “But you leave me no choice. Kill the Ricci boss. Bring the girl to the car.”

“Wait,” Matteo said, finally speaking. His voice echoed through the church, cold and commanding.

Matteo reached into his jacket.

My father raised his gun. “Don’t try it, Matteo.”

Matteo slowly pulled out his hand. He wasn’t holding a weapon.

He was holding a small, silver flash drive.

“You think you’re the first corrupt cop I’ve dealt with, Thomas?” Matteo asked.

“What is that?” my father demanded.

“You wanted to know how I found Isabella,” Matteo said smoothly. “Serena didn’t just record Isabella in the nursery. Isabella recorded Serena.”

Matteo tossed the flash drive onto the stone floor.

“That drive contains audio of Serena confessing that her father, Carlo, wasn’t the mastermind behind the bombing,” Matteo said. “It was you, Thomas.”

My father’s face went white.

“And ten minutes ago,” Matteo continued, “I sent that audio to Carlo DeLuca’s most loyal lieutenants.”

My father took a step back. “You’re lying.”

Suddenly, the heavy doors of the cathedral burst open again.

But it wasn’t the police.

It was Carlo DeLuca’s men. And they were looking directly at my father.

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