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Two men stood outside my uncle’s suite, and both ignored me as Julius knocked on the door. I held my breath, pulse-pounding against my eardrums as I waited. I couldn’t just shoot him if I wanted to survive, and despite knowing the odds weren’t great either way, I wasn’t suicidal. I needed to be inside, away from his men and their guns.
When the door finally opened, I stilled, a mix of horror and disappointment punching me in the chest. It wasn’t Sergio. My father stood in the doorway, a frown marring his face as he took me in.
“Emilia?” Then his eyes widened. “What are you doing here?” His gaze shifted behind me before he grabbed my arm and dragged me inside, slamming the door behind us.
For a moment, I thought he might be worried about my uncle finding me here or Gio.
“Is Uncle Sergio here?”
He frowned. “No. Why do you want to see him?” When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my arm tighter. “Did you run away?”
“Yes.” Kind of.
He shook his head, a frown cutting across his aging features. “You have to go back.”
I tried to smother the jab of pain in my chest, the crippling disappointment that I should have known to expect whenever my father was concerned. “Aren’t you even going to ask me why I ran?”
He paced in front of me, raking a hand through his graying hair. “You can’t be here. We cannot afford any dissension between Guerra and us right now.” He stopped and half pushed me back toward the door. “If he thinks I helped you—”
I pulled away from him, the hurt worsening as though he were literally twisting a knife in my heart. “What? He might think you’re a loving father? What a lie that would be.”
He glared at me. “That’s not—”
“Not true? Oh, but it is.” That blade burrowed deeper with each passing second. “Do you even care if he hurts me or rapes me?”
The words felt like ash in my mouth because Gio would never do either, but he could have. He could have been every bit as bad as Matteo, and my own father would happily send me back to him, as long as his precious alliance held up.
He stepped toward me. “Emilia, I love you.”
I backed away, an eery cold settling over me even as rage permeated every inch of my being. “Is that what you said to Chiara? That you loved her?” I shoved him in the chest, wanting a reaction from a man who had never done anything of note in his worthless life. “Did she come to you like this? Did she ask for help, only for you to send her right back to the very fucking monster who hurt her and raped her, over and over?” My voice was rising and breaking at the same time. I shoved him again, harder this time.
He stumbled slightly and folded his arms over his chest, his bulk straining against his suit jacket. “Your sister was ill.”
“She wasn’t fucking ill! She needed your help.”
He’d shown time and time again that he didn’t care, but I guess I always hoped that one day he would stand up to my uncle. If not for me, then for her.
“You were her father.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re my father.”
“You need to go back to Guerra, Emilia.” His expression shuttered, and my heart broke. “You’ll either be dragged back to him or sent to Matteo. You know those are your only options.”
Yes, because he would never fight for me, the same way he hadn’t fought for Chiara.
“You might as well have killed her,” I whispered, more to myself than him.
He did nothing. He would always do nothing.
A strange sense of peace washed over me, an acceptance of sorts. I could not control other people’s actions, only my own. I could not make this man better than he was, only pass judgment on his failings. It was like all my emotions just switched off as I realized what I had to do.
Turning away from him, I quietly latched the door, slipping the deadbolt in place.
“What are you doing?”
I turned to face him and removed the gun from the back of my jeans.
He stumbled back, eyes widening. “Emilia, I’m your father. You can’t—”
“Matteo killed her.” I flipped off the safety. “But you, her father, let him.” I lifted the gun, and he started rambling, trying to reason with me, but I was beyond reason. I wanted blood. I wanted justice. “And that makes you just as guilty, if not more.”
I pulled the trigger, the bang exploding around the room. So easy, a single moment to end a life. For a second, it was like the world paused. And then, like a burst bubble, time resumed, my own thrumming pulse, my father’s staggered breath. A small red patch started on his shirt and spread, creeping down the pale-blue material like lightning trying to find earth. He fell to the floor, clutching at his chest as though he could put all that blood back into his body.
