Michael

Michael
I smooth Hope's hair; she has been sleeping like a rock for two days, waking only to eat. The flood of emotions from telling the truth about her past hit her harder than I had imagined. Gaining her trust marked a new turning point in our lives. Her secret is not something that could be mentioned lightly—it could destroy the Bonnarros and prevent us from being together.

I am grateful she trusted me, but there are still things that need clarification. Details that Hope may not know or never asked about, afraid of upsetting her parents. Yesterday, I called Bartolomeu and Black to come to my office. I will have a serious conversation with both of them. Now that Hope is under my protection, no one will be able to harm her, including her family.

I have finally found a home. Not just a house to return to, but someone who loves me, knows every piece of my dark soul, accepts me, welcomes me with a smile every day, and has made my life a glimpse of paradise. My untouchable wife will be even more forbidden to the world and freer than ever before.

I kiss her head and leave the room, buttoning my suit as I head to my office. My guests have already arrived and are waiting for me. I enter and find Black and Bartolomeu; the resemblance between them is striking, just like Hope, who inherited her father’s eyes. If she hadn’t told me the truth, I would never have imagined she isn’t Bartolomeu’s daughter, especially considering the care her father shows her—a care my own father never knew.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." I sit in the chair at the center of the table; both are on the sofa to my right.

"Good afternoon, Boss. What’s the reason we’re here?" Bartolomeu asks.

"Did something happen to Hope?" Black leans forward, resting his arm on his knee.

"You truly love her and did everything to protect her." I lean forward, grabbing the whiskey bottle and pouring three glasses. "I am grateful you took care of my wife all this time, but things are going to change now."

"What are you referring to?" Bartolomeu asks suspiciously, not touching his drink. I gesture with my glass, indicating he should drink.

I wait until the liquid goes down their throats, take a long sip myself, and then face them, ready for the difficult conversation ahead.

"Hope told me that you are not her biological father."

I had never seen fear on Bartolomeu Bonnarro’s face—until this moment. His eyes widen, his skin pales as the whiskey glass slips through his fingers and falls to the carpet. Black mirrors his father’s expression; they never believed Hope could betray them, but I’m here to clarify the situation.

"My wife never betrayed her family. On the contrary, by telling me the truth, she and I solidified our commitment as a family. You are not only my father-in-law and brother-in-law—you are part of my family. From today on, all your secrets belong to me and are under my protection. You have nothing to worry about; nothing will happen to either of you. But I have many questions, and I expect answers to all of them."

"You—" Bartolomeu swallows hard—"aren’t angry with us?"

"If I could, I would punch your face for the years you let Hope suffer to the point that she tried to kill herself." I tighten my grip on the glass, holding back my rage. "Drink a little; we’re going to be here for a long time."

"Our situation was difficult," Black speaks. "You wouldn’t understand."

"Difficult?" I stare directly at Bartolomeu Bonnarro, who is motionless before me. "Your wife was raped and suffered from PTSD, she tried to kill your daughter on every birthday and terrorized a child’s life. And what were you doing? Trying to stop it by letting her roam freely around the house, without using restraints or medication to keep her sedated. You allowed the abuse to happen, and even if Hope doesn’t see it, I see it clearly."

"You don’t know anything!" Black stands, pointing a finger at me. "It’s my family, my mother. You have no idea what it was like to watch my mother being raped by that bastard while I couldn’t do anything! She was alive and still suffering, I couldn’t hurt her, cause more pain." His voice shakes, anger bubbling like a volcano. "We may have made mistakes, but we always tried to protect both of them."

I stand, one step from punching Black in the face.

"Don’t talk about pain in front of me, kid." I clench my fist, digging my nails into my palm. "I watched my father rape my mother for years, I saw him dismember her in front of me. So shut the hell up when you speak of things you don’t understand. We can be friends, but this situation is different, and I won’t hesitate to break your face if you keep spouting nonsense!"

"You two, stop." Bartolomeu steps between us. "Let’s talk calmly. It was a shock to learn that Hope told you what happened in our family. We’re not here to measure who hurt her mother more. Both Kennedy and Hannah suffered at the hands of terrible men, and yet they were capable of loving their children. If you want to understand what was going on in my wife’s mind, I can explain, but stay calm."

"You’re right; Hope wouldn’t want us to kill each other." I sit back down. "Today, I am not here as the head of the Bianchi Mafia, but as your daughter’s husband."

"Sorry for what I said." Black’s eyes are fixed on the floor. "I didn’t know what you had been through."

"Every family has its secrets."

"Yes," Bartolomeu says. "And as for Benjamin, you already know he was declared dead in a confrontation with criminal organizations in Argentina. But that’s what I said to justify his death. When that bastard raped my Kennedy, I was on a mission. I returned home, and he had already fled, leaving Black to care for a traumatized mother. Steve, who was still a child, couldn’t understand what was happening. Benjamin, while abusing Kennedy, messed with her mind, using pain to torment her and make her hate me. He injected hallucinogenic drugs into her; it took us nearly six months to bring her back to her senses."

"He didn’t do it just because he wanted her," I remark.

"He always wanted to destroy me and take everything that was mine. When I became Capo, his hatred peaked, he plotted to destroy my family and fled. Kennedy only returned to normal when she learned of the pregnancy, realizing the baby could be mine. At the time, we were trying to conceive again. And for four years, that’s what kept her sane. I should have taken her to a psychologist, but you know how hard it is to access such doctors in our circles, so I believed that Hope being mine was enough."

"You never wanted to find out the truth about her paternity? Through a test or something?"

"Benjamin and I were identical twins—same DNA, but different fingerprints and a tiny mark the size of a needle tip on the left eye, visible only when you lift the eyelid. When I found him in Argentina, I faked his death and took him to my basement, the only place I could deal with him undetected. Kennedy went down to the basement and found him. Like a robot, she lifted his left eyelid, saw the mark, and all he had done came back to her mind. I didn’t know it, but he had made her believe that if she had a child, the child would be his reincarnation."

"What the hell." We look at each other. Black has his hand on his head, feeling guilty.

"I didn’t remember that," he says. "He whispered things into her ear, and I didn’t hear. I didn’t know he manipulated her mind to associate a baby with him."

"No one is to blame," Bartolomeu says. "It was like a key turned in Kennedy’s mind. By coincidence, it was the night of Hope’s birthday. She went upstairs, touched her eye, and found the same mark, almost as if she already knew the connection between them. On my daughter’s fourth birthday, Kennedy changed, tried to kill Hope, but in the following days, she acted as if nothing had happened. I wanted to believe it was just a psychotic episode."

"But it wasn’t."

"It repeated, every year. If we tried to prevent it with more invasive methods like handcuffs or medication, it was worse; her outbursts doubled, or she hid days in advance to ambush Hope. Sometimes she planned ahead, having secret passages built that I didn’t know about. That bastard messed with Kennedy’s mind in ways I didn’t know how to reverse. After Hope turned twelve, I found a psychologist for Kennedy and took her to sessions. It was difficult; it had to be hidden in Los Angeles under another name, without mentioning our organization, only her trauma."

"And that solved it?"

"We’re seeing better results now. The drugs caused brainwashing and powerful hallucinations in Kennedy’s mind. She wasn’t conscious of it, but couldn’t stop. When Hope turned nineteen, the attacks stopped; at twenty, no new attempts. But Hope remains hurt, traumatized, doesn’t believe her mother is better, always expecting the worst."

"Steve and I tried to do something on her birthday, but her mother always interrupted or Hope didn’t have the energy to celebrate with us. My sister can’t celebrate her birthday or believe our mother is improving, escaping the hell in her mind. I know our situation was messed up, and you have no reason to believe we were trying to protect both, but that’s what we did these past years."

"All right." I calm their torment. "We all have traumas; I just needed the big picture. But things will be different now, at least this year. Don’t let your wife come to New York or call Hope. I’m giving my wife a real birthday, and I don’t want either of you around."

"I understand," Bartolomeu replies reluctantly. "Maybe next year?"

"If your wife is truly well and Hope agrees, we’ll do it. I want my beloved to be happy, so you’ll be included in all our celebrations. Despite everything, she loves family, and I won’t break that bond."

"Thank you," Bartolomeu says, "for loving my daughter."

"I’m the lucky one." I pour another shot of whiskey for us.

The office door opens, and my wife enters, rubbing her eye. She’s surprised to see her father and brother and looks at me, startled.

"What are you doing here?"

"We were talking about the past and future," I reply, stretching my hand to invite her to sit on my lap. "Feeling better?"

"Yes." She sits, facing her father and brother. "Hi."

"Hi, sweetheart." Bartolomeu stands, kissing his daughter’s forehead. "Everything’s fine. You followed your heart; there’s no need to fear the choice you made."

"Thank you, Dad." She hugs him tightly. "I love Michael. It was killing me not to tell him the truth about myself. I felt it wasn’t right to love and be loved without him knowing the risk he might face because of me. I didn’t want to betray our family..." Bartolomeu puts his finger to his lips, signaling Hope to be quiet.

"You never betrayed us. I forbid you to say that again. Michael is a man of honor." Bartolomeu kisses her hair. "He will protect you as I did. I am not angry or hurt, only sorry for making you suffer so much. Forgive me, Hope."

"There’s nothing to forgive, Dad." Her voice trembles as she meets her father’s eyes, identical to hers. "I love you so much and will always be grateful for everything you’ve done for me and our family. We just made it a little bigger, right?"

"Yes, and we’ll make it even bigger with my grandchildren."

Those words move my beloved. Her eyes fill with tears as she rests her head on her father’s chest. Black, who had watched everything silently, stands, placing his hands on his sister’s back and hugging her from behind, holding my girl between them.

Hope may not be Bartolomeu’s biological daughter, but in their hearts, they are father and daughter.