Knowing Kiara

12

Author note: ⚠️I made a change to the very end of the last chapter where Luca's dad finds Kiara. Make sure you've read it before reading this chapter guys! :)⚠️

"How did you know her?"

Hopefully the stern faced man can decipher my question through my uncontrollable sniffles.

I look up at him, glassy eyes wide and bottom lip trembling.

I don't even know what's going on here. My head is spinning, reeling with possibilities.

One thing I do know is this girl in the photo is my mother. On her right a youthful Angelo has his arm through hers and on her left stands the other man from the dining room. Only, in the photo there's not a single grey hair on his body and not a trace of a scar on his face.

Mamma is smiling like she doesn't have a worry in the world. Her lips are the same shape as mine when we smile and our eyes are identically cat shaped. I have all of my dad's pigments and all of my mamma's features. Admiring her beauty gives me an appreciation for myself that I never would've had without the few photos I have of her.

"I think the better question is what do you know of her? Why are you really here." Angelo persists, the aim of his gun steady.

"She's my mamma." I cry.

His gun slips from his hands and clatters to the hardwood floor with a loud clunk.

He hurriedly crouches to pick it up but at the last moment has a change of heart, remaining level with me on the floor.

He tucks the gun into his blazor pocket and his dark furrowed gaze bores into me with a scrutiny it previously lacked, which is hard to believe given his persistent distrust of me. Up close he's twice as intimidating. His eyes travel over every inch of my face making me hyper-aware of my disguise. His son sussed it out within a split second so when he inevitably does he'll have double the amount of questions and theories.

I swear I see him ever so subtly softening by the second. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, tracing his fingers down my face with a feather light touch. My heart flutters and my tears persist but rather than from grief it's hope and yearning. The minuscule possibility that I've somehow unintentionally crossed paths with my mamma's family is increasing with every gentle touch. He hums in thought and I know that he's realised it too. He has to know that I'm telling the truth.

"I thought so."

I don't have to question his words for long because he grips the professionally blended lace edge of my wig and tears it off my head.

The sting of the glue nipping at my real hairline doesn't hurt half as much as Angelo's mistrustful glare.

This is worse off then where we'd started. Not only does he not believe that I'm telling the truth about my mother but he thinks that I've snuck into his family home to con them into believing I am. He's taken my disguise and twisted it around on me to hurt my case before I've made it.

How am I supposed to prove the truth now? A DNA test? My only worry is that they might knock me out and lock me up for questioning before I can suggest it.

My red plaits fall over my shoulders and my gentle trickle of tears turn heavy and ugly. There's no worse feeling that could compare to this. I feel completely hopeless, disappointed, rejected and powerless. He's my mamma's family and he doesn't believe I'm her daughter.

My audible cries are so consuming that any objections I might be able to muster stay buried in the corners of my mind.

A calloused finger swipes roughly against my cheek and through my blurry vision I see Angelo examining the makeup on his fingers and then the freckles underneath it all on my face.