I couldn’t bring myself to answer the door, not now, not with the pain clawing at me from every direction. But the bell rang again, louder this time, forcing my feet to move, as if some external force was pulling me forward.
I opened the door slowly, expecting perhaps another note, or a business associate, or even one of Marco’s lackeys. But it wasn’t. Standing there was Vito—Marco’s right-hand man, always stoic, always quiet. Today, though, his expression was... different. A hardness in his eyes. A weight in his stance that made my heart drop.
“Vito,” I said, my voice cracked and uneven. “What are you doing here?”
He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze flicking past me to the inside of the house, then back to my face. “I need to talk to you, Celia. We need to have a real conversation. I’m sorry, but… it’s time you knew the truth.”
The air in the room thickened with tension the moment Vito stepped inside, closing the door with a soft but final click. His expression was unyielding, his presence oppressive.
“What’s going on?” I asked, barely managing to steady my voice. “Where’s Marco? Why would he leave me like this, with just a letter?”