Chapter 8 - THE SILVER LIGHTERThe object hit the stone floor with a sharp metallic clink.
We all stared at it.
It was a heavy silver Zippo lighter, engraved with the Rossi family crest.
I recognized it instantly. It was my father’s lighter. The one he always carried. The one that had gone missing from his study the night he died of a sudden heart attack three years ago.
Rafael stared at the lighter, his face turning completely pale. His cocky smirk vanished instantly.
“Where did you get that?” Rafael whispered, his voice trembling for the first time all night.
Beatriz pointed a small finger at him.
“I found it in your dark room,” Beatriz said simply. “In the basement where you kept my real mommy. You dropped it when you were yelling at the man on the phone.”
I looked at Rafael.
“My father didn't die of a heart attack, did he?” I asked, the realization chilling me to the bone.
Rafael stepped back, shaking his head frantically. “Mateo, listen to me—”
“Did you kill him?” I roared, grabbing him by the collar of his suit.
“He was going to fire me!” Rafael shouted, his composure completely breaking. “He found out I was double-dipping, extorting Augusto! He was going to turn me over to the police! I had to protect myself!”
The entire room fell dead silent.
Not only had Rafael kidnapped Isabella and orchestrated the theft of my child, he had murdered my father to cover his tracks.
“Take him out of my sight,” I whispered to my guards. “Before I kill him myself.”
The guards dragged a screaming, pleading Rafael up the stairs.
I stood in the center of the cellar, my chest heaving. The weight of twenty years of lies was finally lifting, leaving behind nothing but the raw, exhausting truth.
I turned around.
Ana was still on her knees, crying quietly. She didn't dare look up. She fully expected to go to prison. She had been coerced, blackmailed into a terrible crime, but she had still loved and cared for Beatriz for four years.
Isabella slowly walked over to Ana.
She knelt down on the stone floor, directly in front of the woman who had raised her daughter.
Ana flinched, expecting a strike.
Instead, Isabella gently placed her hands on Ana’s shoulders.
“You kept her safe,” Isabella whispered, tears filling her eyes. “Rafael wanted her dead, and you kept her safe. You gave her a good home when I couldn't.”
Ana looked up in shock. “I am so sorry. I loved her like my own.”
“I know you did,” Isabella smiled through her tears. “And you always will.”
Isabella stood up and turned to me.
For the first time in twenty years, there were no secrets between us. No rival families. No corporate wars. Just the two of us, standing in a dusty wine cellar, looking at the life we were supposed to have.
She reached her hand out.
I walked over and took it. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was strong.
Then, we both looked down at Beatriz.
The little girl was looking between the three of us—Ana, Isabella, and me.
She didn't look scared anymore.
“Beatriz,” I said softly, crouching down to her eye level. “Do you know who I am?”
She tilted her head, her dark eyes studying my face.
May you like
Then, she reached out and touched my cheek.
“You’re my daddy,” she said.
