My jaw clenches as silence falls between us.
Because what the fuck else is there to say?
My mind is spinning. Rage has me by the throat, but underneath it is this gut-twisting mix of disbelief and guilt that won’t let up. She sat there for weeks… months… years, raising my sons without me. And I didn’t even know they existed.
What the hell kind of man does that make me?
My eyes stay on her, searching for anything that’ll make this make sense. But she’s still. Unbothered. Her face is unreadable, lips pressed in that way that used to piss me off when we fought. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.
She just stares.
And that calm? That cold, calculating silence? It’s like she’s the one in control, not me. Not even close. My knuckles sting from the hit. My pulse pounds in my ears. But I keep waiting. Because if she doesn’t explain or say something real, I swear to God, I’ll burn everything down to get to the truth.
“FUCKING NONE. And you damn well know it, MissBarone.”
We stare each other down, my jaw tight, blood pounding. I would never put my hands on a woman—but right now, withhow she’s looking at me, cold and unreadable, detached, she’s pushing every limit I have. She inhales deeply, as if trying to pull herself together. The boy—my son—starts to speak, but she cuts him off with a raised hand.
“Let me tell you a story,” she says, voice glacial, and I swear I’m starting to hate that tone with a passion. Still, I force my expression neutral and nod once, sharp and curt.
“When I was ten, I was kidnapped. One of my father’s enemies took me because he wouldn’t do business with them. These men were involved in things our family refused to touch. While I was held…” Her voice falters, but she doesn’t look away. “They were brutal. I was tortured every day for weeks. I survived, but some days, I didn’t want to. At ten years old, I begged for death.”
She pauses, haunted eyes locked on mine, and even though I’m barely keeping it together, I listen. I owe her that much.
“One night, while they were starting in on me again, my father found me. His men killed every one of them.” Her voice lowers. “It took months to heal physically. Longer to repair what it did to my mind.”
Her hand rests on the table, and Malikai—my other son—reaches over and laces his fingers with hers. But it’s Sebastian who draws my focus. He gets up, moves to the back wall, and leans against it like he needs space. His head hangs low, fists flexing at his sides. The guy with them looks over, and they exchange a silent, knowing look. I feel a flare of irrational anger at the quiet exchange. I force myself to let it go for now.
Gabriella draws a breath, and I watch as every trace of emotion leaves her face. Ice settles over her again as Malikai tightens his grip on her hand.
“My father did everything he could to protect Sam and me. But he failed. My kidnapping was the wake-up call that haunted him for the rest of his life. After he got me back, he realized hiding me in plain sight wasn’t enough. So, he made a choice—to remove my mother and me from that world.”
She swallows hard. “He moved us here. Gave us new names. A quiet life. We weren’t supposed to be completely out of reach, just far enough to be safe. My name—Gabriella Sunters—was a twist on my mother’s maiden name. Rebecca Saunders. The plan was always for me to return one day. To take my place beside my brother as his consigliere.” Her lips twitch, not quite a smile. “And I would have. Until you.”
That last line hits like a punch. She keeps going.
“My father warned me not to get close to anyone. And I tried. Until you.” Her eyes burn into mine. “Until your little game. The one that made me fall for you. The one you played for two fucking years.”
A growl and a scoff erupt, both from the boys. I don’t even try to look at them. I know the hate in their eyes. And if my old man had done half the shit I did? I’d feel the same damn way. My mother? She’s gonna crucify me.
Gabriella watches me, and I can’t tell what the hell her expression means—before I can figure it out, the mask slams back down.
“Anyway. My father found out I was dating you. He was surprised. Conflicted. But he never told me to stop. I didn’t know then what I know now.”
She breathes in deep, voice turning quiet but steady.
“He didn’t object to us, but discouraged me from telling you who I was. He said he’d worked with your family for over twenty years. He believed your parents were good people. They wouldn't risk my safety even without knowing who I was.”
Her eyes drift past me, a soft smile curling her lips, so faint it might’ve never been there.
“He used to talk about his godson. Said you were a handful as a kid. I could hear the sadness in his voice, even when he tried to hide it. He hated he had to step back from your family after I was born. But he had to protect me.”
And then it clicks. Hard.
I stare at her.
Elijah Barone was my godfather. I remember him being around when I was little, but less and less as I got older. And then… he left. He was just gone.
Well, I’ll be damned.
