Chapter 29

Chapter 29
“You’ve certainly done your research,” Pietro says with a low chuckle. “For a second there, I wondered if you recognized me. Matteo’s always been the golden boy—handling Don Antonio’s operations like he was born to do it.”

Pietro extends his hand, a confident smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. I don’t return the gesture. I’m listening, but I don’t trust a damn word yet.

“Nice to finally meet you, Santino. Heard a lot of things.”
“And what exactly do you want from me?”
He slowly draws his hand back and leans into the chair. “Let’s just say, I’ve got what you’ve been looking for.”

I narrow my gaze. There’s no way I’m letting my guard down—not after everything.

“Then why don’t you stop playing games and spit it out?”

His black hair is slicked back into a low ponytail. He pulls a cigar case from his suit, places one between his lips, and holds it out to me. I shake my head.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters, lighting it.

Pietro exhales slowly, his grin never fading. “I came here with information. Something you’ll want to hear.”

“What kind of information?” I ask, my tone sharp. In our world, intel isn’t handed over without a hidden blade behind it.

“About Colina Rosetti.”
That makes my blood run cold.

“She’s living in my brother’s villa now. Can you believe that? Shame he got to her first.”

My teeth grind together. I had her first.

But I keep calm. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fury. “Go on.”

“My brother’s planning a wedding. He’s about to marry her.”

Every muscle in my body tenses.

“And…” He draws on his cigar again, dragging the pause out like a cruel game.
“…he’s also going to be the father of your child. Little Isabella.”

My stomach drops.
“What did you just say?” I growl, stepping closer.
He just nods. “That’s right. Colina’s daughter—Isabella—is yours.”

I stare at him, heart pounding in my chest.
No. That can’t be true.
But the look on Pietro’s face tells me he believes it.

“She’s got your eyes,” he continues. “Same brown shade. The same fire.”

My fists clench.

“The reports didn’t lie,” I mutter under my breath. “She had a child… but mine?”

He nods again, serious now. “You’ve got more than blood in common. I had someone dig—deep. All roads lead to you.”

Pietro slides his phone across the table. “Here.”

The screen lights up with a photo.

She’s smiling, those big brown eyes full of mischief. Blonde hair. Soft cheeks. She looks like Colina—but there’s something unmistakable in her face.

Me.

It’s like staring at a mirror from another life.

I’m frozen, heart hammering against my ribs.
This can’t be real.
How could Colina keep this from me?

“She’s yours,” Pietro says firmly.

No. This doesn’t prove anything.

“You’re making assumptions off looks,” I mutter. “That’s not evidence.”

Pietro shakes his head, reaching beside him. He pulls out a plastic bag and tosses it onto the table. Inside are strands of hair.

“Taken from the maid who cared for the girl. Do the test. Confirm it yourself.”

Damn it.

“I already did,” he adds. “But you’ll want your own proof.”

I don’t even respond. I just storm out, bag in hand.

⸻

Later, at the Rosetti estate…

I’m pacing my office floor. The walls feel like they’re closing in. Vito returns with an envelope in hand.

“It’s here, Boss.”

My fingers tear it open before he even finishes the sentence. My eyes scan the paper.

Positive.

I have a daughter.
My knees nearly buckle. I grip the edge of the desk, breath shallow.

“That bastard,” I mutter under my breath. “She kept this from me.”

Vito doesn’t speak. He knows better.

“Get out. I need time.”

As the door closes behind him, my fists slam against the desk.

How could she hide my child from me?

⸻

Colina
I hold Isabella tight against my chest. Even though I’ve been back home for days, I can’t let go of her for even a moment.

The house is crawling with guards. Matteo brought me back, but only after I agreed to consider the marriage deal. I have two days left. After that, I either sign or watch my family’s alliance with the Carusos fall apart.

Santino’s back—and taking over. If war breaks out, we won’t survive without Caruso’s men.

But all I can think about is protecting Isabella. From him.

Maria Rosetti sits by the fireplace, draped in black. Her face is solemn, lips thin, but her eyes are hard—stone-cold like always. Her husband, Don Antonio, is gone. And with him, our last line of peace.

“Chiamami domani,” she tells one of the men overseeing the cremation.

When the man leaves, she downs her wine, takes off her veil, and lights a cigar.
“We need those papers signed. Today.”

“I still have time,” I say, gently rocking Isabella in my arms.

“No. We don’t.” She slams her glass on the table. “War doesn’t wait.”

I glare at her. “Mateo gave me time to decide.”

Maria scoffs. “You think time is your friend right now? Luca’s men are crawling all over Via Santa Lucia. We need Caruso’s support now.”

“I won’t let you force me—”

The door swings open. Matteo Rosetti enters, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“She’s trying to delay this marriage and ruin everything,” Maria snaps.

I bite back a scream. “You have no idea what he did to me.”

Maria rolls her eyes. “Then explain why you’re still alive. He had you. He could’ve killed you. But didn’t.”

“Enough,” Matteo says, holding up a hand. “We don’t need this right now. Father is gone, and Santino’s out for blood. We need to strike first—and that means an alliance.”

He turns to me, voice quieter. “Sign the contract, Colina. Not just for us—but for Isabella.”

That breaks me.

I look down at my daughter. Peaceful. Innocent.

“…Fine,” I say quietly. “I’ll sign it today.”

Matteo nods. “I’ll have a car ready for you.”

I rise from the chair and whisper into Isabella’s hair. “Let’s go get something sweet to celebrate our doomed fairytale.”

⸻

At the store…
Dorothy walks beside me while Isabella toddles along, holding her hand. I grip the cart tighter, trying to focus. Aisle after aisle, I pick snacks and cereal, trying to hold onto some kind of normal.

Then I see her.

Lucia Romano.

My heart drops. If she’s here… Santino might be nearby.

“I wouldn’t run or scream if I were you,” she says, her tone low but calm.

I reach back for Dorothy’s arm, trying to silently signal her.

“Colina,” she says again.

“Don’t come near me.”

I let the basket fall. My hand slides into my coat, gripping the cold steel of my pistol.

Lucia lifts her hands slowly. “Relax.”

“How did you find me?” I whisper.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks past me.

Her face changes—shock. “Madonna… is that…?”

She tries to step forward. I lift the gun higher.

“She looks just like him…”