Chapter 7 The Don’s Daughter
She answered on the third ring.
“Come.”
The line went dead.
Gia kept the phone at her ear for a second longer than necessary. Listening. Like something might still be there. Then she lowered it slowly.
Her eyes moved to the monitor.
Empty.
His study sat vacant, chair pushed back just slightly, like he had stood up in the middle of something and never came back. No papers out of place. No sign of urgency. Just… absence.
“He moved,” she said under her breath.
Luca was already shaking his head behind her. “Of course he moved.”
“He knew I was watching.”
“He always knows.”
She exhaled through her nose. Slow. Controlled.
“Gia.” Luca stepped closer. “Don’t.”
She didn’t look at him. “Don’t what.”
“Don’t go in there alone.”
“I’m not a child.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what you meant.”
“Gia—”
She turned just enough to look at him. “If I don’t go, what happens?”
He didn’t answer.
Her jaw tightened. “Exactly.”
“Then let me come with you.”
“No.”
“That’s not a request.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” She paused, then softer, “If he wants you there, he’ll say it.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you already know why.”
Luca swore under his breath. “This is a setup.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still going.”
“Yes.”
He stared at her. Searching for something in her face. “If something feels off—”
“It already does.”
“Gia.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
She held his gaze for a beat. “I don’t need to know it.”
Then she turned and walked.
The estate felt wrong.
She noticed it halfway down the first corridor. Not loud. Not obvious. Just… off.
Too quiet.
Her heels clicked against the marble, sharp, controlled. The sound carried further than it should have. Echoed.
She slowed slightly.
Marco’s team stood at their posts.
Every position filled.
Every stance perfect.
Eyes forward.
Not one of them looked at her.
Her chest tightened just a fraction.
“That’s new,” she muttered.
Normally, they tracked her. Subtle shifts. Glances. Acknowledgment without disrespect.
Now—nothing.
Like she wasn’t there.
Or like they’d been told not to see her.
She stopped in front of one of them. Close enough that he should have reacted.
“Look at me,” she said.
No response.
Not even a flicker.
Her fingers curled at her side. “You hear me?”
Nothing.
She huffed out a quiet breath. “Right.”
She stepped back.
Kept walking.
The closer she got, the quieter it felt. Like the house itself was holding its breath.
By the time she reached the study door, her pulse had picked up just enough for her to notice it.
The door was open.
Of course it was.
She stepped inside.
Don Enzo Lombardi sat behind his desk.
Waiting.
He looked at her the way he always did. Calm. Measured. Like she was something on a scale he hadn’t finished balancing yet.
“Sit,” he said.
She didn’t hesitate.
She pulled the chair out and sat down, spine straight, chin level.
He watched the entire movement.
“Good,” he murmured.
She ignored that. “You called.”
“And you came.”
“You expected me to.”
“I expect many things.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Then let’s not waste time.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Approval, maybe. Or amusement.
He opened the file in front of him. Turned it.
“Look.”
She did.
Photos.
Marco. Outside the estate. Different days. Different angles.
Documents.
Transfers. Accounts. Numbers she recognized.
Logs.
Dates.
Months of them.
Her stomach dropped. Hard. Fast.
She didn’t let it show.
“It’s thorough,” she said.
“It is.”
“You’ve had this for a while.”
“Yes.”
“How long.”
“Long enough.”
Her throat felt tight. She swallowed it down. “So Luca’s tip—”
“Confirmed it.”
She let out a slow breath. “You already knew.”
“I suspected.”
“And you let him continue.”
“I observed.”
“Observed,” she repeated. “That’s what we’re calling it.”
“What would you call it.”
“Waiting.”
“Yes.”
“For what.”
“For him to decide who he is.”
Her fingers pressed together. “And?”
“And now I know.”
She nodded once. Small. Controlled.
“And me?” she asked.
His gaze sharpened slightly. “You.”
“Yes.”
“You were always part of the equation.”
“I figured.”
“Did you.”
“Don’t do that,” she said quietly.
“Do what.”
“Pretend this isn’t a test.”
He leaned back slightly. “Everything is a test.”
Her jaw flexed. “And if I fail.”
“Then you fail.”
She let out a short breath. “Clear.”
He reached for a paper. Slid it toward her.
She looked at it.
Didn’t touch it.
“Your escape fund,” he said.
She didn’t react.
“The Milan studio.”
Still nothing.
“The accounts.”
Her fingers twitched.
“You dissolve everything,” he continued. “You take your place here. Fully. Publicly.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “And Marco.”
“He walks out of the gatehouse tonight.”
Her heart kicked. Hard enough she felt it in her throat.
Alive.
Unharmed.
She kept her face still.
“That’s the offer,” he said.
“Offer,” she echoed.
“Yes.”
She reached for the pen.
It felt heavier than it should have.
Her fingers tightened around it.
“You’re asking me to give up everything,” she said.
“I am asking you to choose.”
“I already did.”
“Did you.”
Her grip tightened further. “Don’t.”
“Then prove it.”
Silence stretched.
She flipped the paper.
Blank.
Her lips almost curved.
Of course.
She didn’t look down again.
Her eyes stayed on his face.
“You’re watching me,” she said.
“I always am.”
“Good.”
Her hand moved.
Ink scratched across the page. Slow. Deliberate.
Her name.
Clean.
Controlled.
Meaningless.
She capped the pen. Slid the paper back.
Face down.
“Done,” she said.
He didn’t check it.
Didn’t even glance at it.
Just reached for his phone.
Dialed.
“Release him.”
Two words.
That was it.
He ended the call.
She stood.
Her legs felt steady. Good.
She turned.
Walked to the door.
Her hand touched the frame.
And stopped.
Her breath caught. Just slightly.
She hadn’t planned to stop.
But the question—
It was there.
It had been there.
Since Sofia’s sitting room.
Since before that.
Years.
Fifteen years of not asking.
Of knowing better.
Of staying quiet.
Her fingers tightened against the wood.
“Why did you keep her alive?”
The words came out steady.
Too steady.
The room went still.
Not quiet.
Still.
She felt it.
Like the air had thickened.
Like something had shifted.
She turned.
Slowly.
Her father hadn’t moved.
But something was different.
Not the usual stillness.
Not the controlled, deliberate kind.
This—
This was something else.
It flickered across his face.
Fast.
Sharp.
Gone.
But she saw it.
Her chest tightened.
“What,” she said, softer now, “was she to you?”
He didn’t answer.
His hands rested flat on the desk.
Too flat.
Too still.
She took a step back into the room. “You could have ended it.”
Silence.
“You end everything else.”
“Why not her.”
Her voice cracked just slightly. She swallowed it down.
“Say something.”
He looked at her.
And for a second—just one—she thought that something real might come out of his mouth.
Something uncalculated.
Something human.
But then—
Nothing.
Just that same measured gaze.
That same controlled face.
“I asked you a question,” she said.
“And I heard it.”
“Then answer it.”
He held her gaze.
Seconds passed.
Her pulse started to climb again. Fast. Uneven.
“Was it weakness,” she pressed. “Or was it choice.”
Still nothing.
“Which one.”
Silence.
Her chest felt tight now. Hard to breathe properly.
“Fifteen years,” she said quietly. “I never asked.”
He didn’t move.
“I’m asking now.”
Nothing.
Her fingers curled. “Why.”
The word hung there.
Heavy.
Final.
He looked at her across the desk.
And said nothing.