Bernardo's POV
In a five star restaurant in the same area around Hotel Valgrande…
The clink of a wine glass against the table broke the stillness.
Dinner had come and gone.
Plates cleared.
Guests departed.
But neither Bernardo nor his eldest daughter moved—nor talked.
The lighting was dimmed around them.
No waiters.
No staff hanging about.
Only the ghost of truffle oil and aged balsamic—a luxury clinging to the air like a secret.
Like this undisclosed meeting.
Bernardo swirled the last of his Barolo.
Rei di vini—the king of wines.
Fitting.
For he will be king in a few minutes.
A sardonic smile graced his lips.
But his gaze was distant.
His mind was on a certain hotel near where he was.
Across from him sat Beth.
The daughter that was born from a business trip in America—before his marriage with Alessandro's mother.
Before his burning ambitions turned ruthless.
One of many.
But the only one that he can use.
A CIA agent.
Useful.
A specter of a past he never acknowledged.
She's quietly sipping her own wine.
Calm.
Poised.
Utterly unreadable.
"You look tired," she said.
An observation.
Not kind.
Not warm either.
Bernardo let out a short, bitter laugh.
"I haven't slept properly in years."
He set the glass down with a dull thud, the red liquid splashing inside.
Then he added—
"You know that, figlia (daughter)," a strange softness in his voice.
Like a real father talking to his child.
'There it was again..' Beth thought.
That false tenderness.
She tilted her head slightly.
Unamused.
Her long wavy hair fell like a curtain across one cheek as she studied him some more.
The father she never knew existed for years.
She didn't know what to feel about it.
But it's not like she did not wonder about him.
Growing up in different foster homes made her tough.
But that doesn't mean she did not longed for her true family.
Until two years ago.
When she finally became a higher up in the CIA.
She fought with all her might—even going as far as using an underhanded method.
She climbed through grit and teeth.
Then finally, achieving her goal.
And eventually, she pulled strings.
Asked for a trace on her bloodline.
She thought it might bring peace.
Closure.
But she never approached him.
No. Never.
But it didn't matter.
Two years ago, not long after she initiated the trace, he had found her.
As if he's just waiting for her to make the first move.
One of her greatest regrets.
'Then, he must have known about me or what happened to me years ago. But decided not to recognize me or help me when I have no worth.'
Her feelings for this man called 'her father' are very complicated.
And up until now, she doesn't know what she wants.
She followed the current.
But never stopped calculating the tide.
He told her, he needs her help—with his charming rot and old lies.
And Beth obliged.
A help for revenge.
For justice.
For her birth mother who had never held Beth in her arms.
Revenge for her mother that died in injustice years ago, leaving her an orphan.
Bernardo said it was all because of the Santa De Leones family in Italy.
Where Bernardo belonged.
A mafia royalty.
Said that he also received the same injustice from the same family.
That's why it took him years to find her.
He tried growing his own power first.
Using all means.
Like schemes behind the scenes.
To finally get his birthright that they denied him.
"You asked for this meeting, Bernardo."
Her voice was cool.
Clipped.
"So, let's not waste our time playing pretend," she glanced at her watch.
Three in the morning.
A time for wolves.
Then she proceeded to fix the brown envelope she had received from Tony earlier that afternoon.
Bernardo lifted his own glass and drank what remained of his wine.
Distinct.
A blend of tar and roses.
Then he wiped his mouth with a white cloth napkin.
Dropping it on the table without a care.
Then he leaned back on his seat.
Blue eyes glittering beneath his glasses.
"I just wanted to see you, figlia."
Beth's hands faltered for a split second then proceeded to shove the envelope inside her bag.
It was a blatant lie.
She blinked.
Once.
Measured.
No emotion flickered.
"Drop the act, Bernardo. Don't play your 'papa' fantasy on me. We don't really have that kind of relationship. Do we?"
Silence.
Bernardo didn't reply immediately.
Then his eyes narrowed.
His gaze drifted across her face.
"Well if you say so," he said coldly, dropping the act.
'She's just like her mother.'
A beautiful helpless dark American woman.
He smiled sinisterly at the thought.
"You did well on doing what I asked."
Then he raised his eyebrows as if he's impressed.
"Watching that damn brat, Antonio…"
Bernardo picked up his cellphone on the table.
"...feeding his team those Florence vacation lies."
The LCD light illuminated his face.
"Blowing them when you found out he's not coming."
Thumb sliding across the screen.
"Luring him in Italy."
Then he started typing.
"It's all within your calculation right? On how he will act? Although I don't think he believed your tale."
Beth's right eye twitched.
"That brat's always been… perceptive."
"He believed it," she immediately countered.
Quiet, but firm.
Bernardo said nothing but he started to hum.
Crossing his legs.
His eyes are still on his phone.
"Well, in the end, you pushed him exactly where I needed him to be."
He smiled without warmth.
"Good girl," Bernardo chuckled darkly.
He finally threw a glance at her.
"Maybe blood knows its place, after all."
Beth didn't flinch, but the words felt dirty coming from his supposed father's mouth.
Foul.
Disgusting.
"It was for the mission," she said coolly.
Another step in the ladder.
Her voice didn't waver.
Then she quickly added:
"And for my mother."
A pause.
Then she looked him straight in the eyes.
"Not for you."
Her unlucky mother.
Who died of childbirth—her.
Now she felt like they killed her.
His father was the one that shoved the gun.
And she was the one that pushed the trigger.
She wanted to grimace.
She already knew what kind of man her father was—from what she read.
From what she dug up herself.
He was a villain—through and through.
Delusional.
A pervert.
Psychopath.
'He seduced a kid barely in her teens and got her pregnant because of this crazy tradition for first borns.. His own niece! So, I know he was not normal.'
She clenched her fist that was now under the table.
'But when he found out that the old lion of Santa De Leones broke their sacred tradition of handing the family to the first born.. He snapped. Killed her without mercy. Made it look like suicide or something."
It curdled something in her.
"What's her name again? Antonia? The unlucky first born?'
Her stomach.
Her blood.
Her faith in justice.
'But I'm already in too deep to turn back now.'
She had sold too much of herself already.
'And he promised that he'll give me Luchese,' her eyes gleamed.
And..
As much as she hated it—
He was still her father.
Her flesh and blood.
The only connection to a mother she never knew.
Then she continued, "Don't make it sound like you're my boss. 'Cause you're not."
'I really want to put you behind jail if I could.'
But Bernardo simply waved a hand as if he was swatting away her anger like smoke.
He stood up.
Checked the time on his phone once more, then slipped it into his pocket.
He adjusted his brown suit jacket.
One nod—a gesture to his bodyguard—who in turn moved closer with his coat.
"Well, I think your people are done cleaning up. It's time to get this show going."
Then came the grin—knife-sharp.
Grotesque.
The kind that belonged to men who believed in bloodlines over love.
"After tonight, the Santa De Leones will be mine."
His eyes burned with feverish certainty.
"Finally! As it should've been."
Then he turned his back to Beth.
Walked away.
Each step felt like a gavel hitting wood..
Like a verdict long-delayed.
And he hummed as he went—a man walking to his own coronation.
**
Hotel Valgrande. Ground floor restaurant.
Gray eyes.
Red dots.
That's the only thing he's focused on as Tony sprinted forward.
Too fast.
Too loud.
His heart was hammering like a war drum.
The world narrowed to a scream.
He couldn't stop it.
He could only look in horror.
"GET DOWN NOW!" Tony screamed—giving all of his desperation in his voice.
He felt helpless.
Again.
Like the weak kid from before..
Unable to do anything.
Unable to stop the movements of fate.
Like that time with Antonia.
Her cold body on the floor.
Her head—gone.
Reduced to mushy bits and pieces.
They said she was high.
They said she did it herself.
Gun still held tightly in her hands.
'Nonno's gun..(grandfather's gun)'
The memory slammed into him like the first bullet.
It shattered something in him like the wall glass.
Don Leon jerked forward, blood blooming on his white dress shirt, like a flower.
He choked—then flinched.
The old lion fell on the floor with a loud thud.
Like a slab of meat that hit the ground.
Then came another round of shots.
A volley.
It cracked through the air.
Tony dove.
Alvaro was still frozen in his chair, eyes wide.
Blood oozed on his shoulders and arms.
Tony tackled him—sent the chair crashing—and threw himself over his brother just as another volley split the air.
And then..
Only silence remained.
**