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Rather than dissect why that was, I finally forced myself back to sleep. I should have been hazy the next morning from sleep deprivation, but adrenaline surged through my veins the second my eyes opened.
It was judgment day.
I spent extra time on my hair and makeup. Anything to delay the inevitable. Once I’d preened and primped as long as I dared, I reluctantly made my way downstairs. Dad sat at the dining table with his newspaper and coffee like he did most mornings. Sante scrolled on his phone, a wide smile on his face when I entered the room.
“Hey, Em!” He stilled in breathless anticipation.
I gave a shy smile. “Hey, Sante.”
“See, Dad! Told you. Isn’t it amazing?”
We both peered at our father, me with far less enthusiasm than my brother.
Dad’s stare cut me to the quick as he slowly lowered the paper to his lap. “It’s astounding. After all this time.”
I dropped my gaze and eased into my designated seat.
“We should have a party to celebrate,” my brother suggested.
“I think we’re already doing enough for the wedding,” I replied, praying he’d let it rest. The last thing I wanted was to bring more attention to myself.
“Well, we could at least go to dinner,” he countered.
“That’s a lovely idea,” Dad said, making the hair on the back of my neck stand tall. “Why don’t you find Umberto and tell him to clear my calendar? Then you can see about a reservation at Carbone.”
Sante winked at me, oblivious to the tension in the room. It was as though we lived in two separate parallel dimensions. In his, Dad was a tough but loving father who did his best to be strong for his family. In mine, we were both just puppets dancing to our father’s maniacal melody.
Of course, as the male heir, Sante had always received more of Dad’s attention. In a way, wehadgrown up in two very different realities. When I got the chance to tell him what I knew, I hoped he’d be willing to consider an alternate truth.
I reached for my water glass, hoping my tremble was too slight to notice. The table served as a barrier between my father and me. It was something, but I would have preferred several feet of reinforced concrete instead.
“Don’t think I can’t see beyond the coincidence in your voice returning right before you’re about to leave this family.” His softly spoken words snaked around my throat and squeezed.
If I played dumb or refuted him, I’d make myself a target. All I could do was play dead and hope he moved on quickly.
“Maybe you believe you hold some sort of power with them at your back.”
My head shook a fraction, desperate to keep him from getting angry.
My father lifted his phone and glanced at the screen. “I suppose that would be easy enough to fix, if it were the case. I could always remind you of the precariousness of your situation.” He typed out a short message, then set the phone down, his soulless stare returning to me.
I cleared the terror from my throat before speaking. “I love my family too much to ever put them at risk,” I offered softly. My words seemed to freeze in the arctic air around us and clatter to the floor. It meant nothing to a man who trusted so little.
A roaring curse sliced through the tension from down the hall, snatching my heart straight from my chest. I shot to my feet, recognizing Sante’s voice. The murmur of his continued curses coming closer was the only thing that kept a total meltdown of panic at bay.
“You okay?” I called out, hearing my brother enter the kitchen.
“Yeah, just my hand,” he grumbled back. “Umberto accidentally caught my fingers in the door. Just an accident, but it hurt like a bitch. May have broken a finger.”
The freezer door and rustling in the ice box drifted into the dining room. The entire time, Dad never moved a muscle. I glanced over at him, my eyes flicking to his phone and back at him in time to catch a glint of spite flash in his eyes.
He’d done this.
He’d hurt Sante—his son and heir—as a message to me.
I wanted to vomit all over the pristine white tablecloth. A part of me had hoped he wasn’t truly as ruthless as I suspected, but he successfully shattered that delusion. Fausto Mancini was a pure-blooded monster.
My jaw clenched against my rebelling stomach, and a sudden urge to hurl a stream of insults at my wretched father. I couldn’t let him see the defiance boiling up inside me. If he ever suspected I’d act against him, I couldn’t predict what he’d do.
