Evelina

(xvii)

Evelina

I was about to drift off to sleep when my phone buzzed. Tony was already out cold, his arm draped over my waist. Gently, I slipped out of his embrace, grabbing my phone as I padded quietly to the balcony. The cool night air brushed against my skin as I answered the call.

"What's up, Lex?" I asked, my voice low to not wake Tony.

"I've got the info on who kidnapped you when you were six," Alexa replied casually, "but I'm bored. I think I'll play around before giving you the details."

I closed my eyes, fighting the frustration bubbling inside me. Alexa was a close ally, a sister almost—but damn, she loved her games. Still, this wasn't the time for that.

"Alexa," I said, slipping into my Donna tone, the one I only used when I meant business, "I need that information now. I wasn't the only girl they took. There were more. You saw it when you came to save me, so don't play around. Tell me who they are."

She huffed. "Fine, fine. It was the German Mafia. They started this project to... well, create human weapons. 'Human Bitches,' they called it."

The audacity. My grip tightened around the phone, fury swirling in my gut. Johann and Klaus Schmitt—the names that haunted my childhood. "I swear, one day I'm going to make Johann and Klaus Schmitt beg for their lives before I finish them."

Alexa's voice softened a little. "Don't forget, I was part of that project too. The only difference is, I knew how to escape before they broke me. So don't go hogging the kill. I want a piece of them too."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "You know what my biological father said?" I asked, the words filled with the irony that had been tormenting me for years. "He wanted me to marry Klaus. Can you believe it? The very people who tortured me, who stole my childhood—he wanted to hand me over to them."

I laughed again, this time with a sharp edge of mockery, masking the pain beneath. "Sometimes, I wonder how that man became a Don. How blind could he be? Planning to marry me off to the ones who ruined me."

Alexa's voice turned serious. "You sound... different. Are you okay?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my emotions. "I'm fine," I lied, though my voice betrayed the exhaustion behind the words. "I'm just... angry. If my biological father hadn't forced me to kill when I was six—maybe I wouldn't hate him so much. Maybe I wouldn't be covered in scars. Maybe I'd be someone else."

There was a pause, the weight of my words sinking in. "Alright then," Alexa finally said, her tone lightening. "I've gotta go. The joker and ace have switched roles, and it's chaos on my end. I'll see you tomorrow."

I managed a faint smile. "Good luck with that," I said, before hanging up.

Walking back inside, I placed my phone on the bedside table and slipped back under the covers, cuddling into Tony's warmth. He stirred slightly, his voice groggy with sleep.

"Where were you?" he mumbled, pulling me closer.

"Alexa called. She found out who was behind my kidnapping... back when I was six."

"Hmm..." He let out a soft hum, still half-asleep, but his arm wrapped protectively around me. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I love you, Tony," I whispered, feeling the weight of everything settle as his familiar scent and warmth soothed me. "Buonanotte." (Good night.)

He murmured something unintelligible as he drifted back into sleep, his steady breathing and soft snores becoming the lullaby that finally eased me into slumber.

I woke up to the empty space beside me in bed, Tony already gone. A pang of disappointment hit me, but I quickly pushed it aside. After cleaning myself up, I headed to the kitchen, following the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the comforting warmth of home.

"Buongiorno, Papà! Buongiorno, Mama!" I greeted cheerfully as I stepped into the kitchen. (Good Morning.)

Papà looked up from his newspaper, a smile spreading across his face. "Buongiorno, figlia. How are you feeling today?" (Good Morning, daughter.)

"Good, actually," I replied, a wide smile breaking across my face. "No, better than good—amazing! Alexa called last night. The gang's coming over today. She said she'd be here to see me."

Papà chuckled, his eyes twinkling with joy. "Ah, it's wonderful to see that smile again, figlia. It's been too long." (Daughter.)

My heart warmed at his words, and my smile grew even wider. "Thank you, Papà."

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow in playful disapproval. "Now, where's my hug? You disappear for a little while and suddenly forget your morning hugs? I'm hurt."

Laughing, I walked over and wrapped my arms around him. His embrace was as strong and reassuring as ever, a constant source of comfort in a world that sometimes felt like it was falling apart.

As I pulled away from Papà, another voice cut through the room.

"Can I get a hug too?"

I froze, my body stiffening as the voice echoed in my ears. Slowly, I turned around, my heart pounding in my chest. There he was—my biological father, standing in the doorway, looking at me with an expression I hadn't seen from him in years. Before I could react, he crossed the room and wrapped me in a hug, his arms enveloping me in a warmth that felt foreign yet familiar.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry I was late. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from the Germans. And most of all, I'm sorry for what I did to you when you were six."

I stood frozen in place, the weight of his words sinking into me like stones. "D-dad?" I stammered, unsure if I had even said the word aloud. My voice was shaky, my mind struggling to process the moment.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes glistening with tears. "I mean it, Eve. I'm not trying to pity you—I'm angry at myself. I was so caught up in following the rules, believing that feelings made a Don weak, that I forgot what really mattered. I should've listened to your mother and your brothers. I never should've put you through that test. I know a simple 'sorry' won't change the past, but I'll do whatever it takes to make it right. I just want to be your father again, if you'll let me."

Tears welled in my own eyes, but I blinked them back, too shocked to fully react. I had never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so... human. This wasn't the untouchable Don I had grown up fearing; this was a man—a father—pleading for forgiveness.

Mama, sensing the tension in the room, gently stepped forward. "Figlia, do you want us to leave so you two can talk privately?" (Daughter.)

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak just yet. "No," I finally managed to say. "We'll go to Dad's office. We have a lot to talk about."

With that, I turned and led the way, my biological father following closely behind.