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"Do you really think a man like that would fall for a girl like you if your father weren't the Superintendent of Police?" My father eyes me, a strange mix of brutal honesty and pity in his gaze. "You're smarter than that, kid. He's using you to get to me."
"Not everything is about you."
"You don't know what you're dealing with."
"Maybe not, but I'd rather deal with him than you," I retort, telling him the truth. "At least he's honest about who and what he is. You wear your badge like a shield, pretending it makes you one of the good ones. You aren't. I'm not sure you ever were."
He flinches, the first real reaction he's given me since he appeared.
I brush hair away from my face, scrutinizing his expression, wondering how he got here. And realizing I don't really care to find out. He made his bed. He can lie in it.
"You should go," I say, turning away. And then, because I can't resist, I add, "Before Coda finds you here."
"Ask him about his parents," he calls softly as I walk away. "If you don't believe that he's using you like a pawn, ask him how our families are connected."
My steps falter before I force myself to keep walking. What does my father know about Coda's parents? Why does he want me to ask about them?
Anxiety churns through me, and even though I try like hell not to let him shake my faith in Coda, the first seeds of doubt creep in anyway.
The confrontation with my father leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and a heaviness in my chest. It presses down on me, making it hard to breathe.
I don't even remember the drive back to Coda's. All I see is the look on my father's face. All I hear are his words ringing in my ears.
Do you really think a man like that would fall for a girl like you if your father weren't the Superintendent of Police?
Until now, I never questioned it. I never had a reason. But doubt creeps in now, choking me. Why would he choose me? If what my father said is true, Coda is in the mafia. He could have anyone. He can have anything his heart desires.
Why me?
I huddle on the couch as the moon chases the sun from the sky, asking myself the same question. Hating my father for making me ask it.
Eventually, the doorknob rattles.
I glance up as Coda steps into the room, his eyes immediately finding mine in the dark. He's so damn beautiful, like a perfectly crafted sculpture, every angle and line of his face formed with breathtaking precision.
"Karina, what's wrong?" he asks as if sensing my turmoil.
"You're in the mafia."
He flinches when I say the word, as if just the sound of it on my lips is too much for him. Wariness filters through his expression, his usual confidence replaced with something far more vulnerable.
"Karina, I—"
"Please," I interrupt, pleading with him not to try to do what he's done for the last two weeks and steer me away from this conversation. "Just tell me the truth, Coda."
Tense silence stretches between us. I can feel the oppressive weight of secrets crowding close, threatening everything we've built.
"It's complicated, cara," he sighs.
"I deserve to know. Talk to me. Please." My voice breaks, my armor in pieces around me. If I had any to begin with. When it comes to him, I don't think I do.
"I'm not trying to lie to or forestall you, angioletta. I mean, the way you view the mafia is…simple. It's far more complicated than that. But if you're asking if I'm affiliated, the answer is yes." His confession cuts through the silence like a knife. "Deeply."
My heart races, but my loyalty to him doesn't falter—not over this. The Coda I know—the man I love—is more than the sum of his affiliations. Whether he's mafia or something else, he's still Coda.
"Okay," I whisper, my voice steady.
"Cristo," he breathes, staring at me as if I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "I'll never deserve you, cara."
