I knew something was up when my father called me into his office that night. He never talked to me unless it was something important. Something necessary.
He hadn't spoke a work the whole dinner. I doubt Maria even noticed, but I did. His brooding, cold personality that I saw myself in too many times. We had the same eyes, the same bone structure. It wasn't enough that I looked like him, I had to sound and act like him also.
But we were different.
He had no heart, no soul. He only cared about himself. The only reason he had a family was because it was necessary. My sister was merely an accident. She wasn't needed in his plan, but he used her anyways. His own little personal spy. His killer.
"Thank you for coming, son." His stern voice bellowed in the room as I sat across from him at his desk. I knew he didn't mean it. Me coming wasn't a choice. It was an order.
"Don't call me that." I glanced up at him with cold eyes. He just laughed.
"Why not? That's what you are... my son."
"I stopped being your son the moment you got me roped up in all this shit." I spat. He wasn't smiling anymore.
"This shit," he sat up from his chair, "is your life, il figlio, don't you ever forget that." He take a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, "You were born for this shit. You'll die for it, too."
I'm quiet again, and he smiles.
"Figlio, I noticed your little donna you brought along." He chuckled, "Pretty one isn't she." (Son, girlfriend)
"Can you not." I gritted through my teeth. I didn't want him talking about her like that. I didn't want her talking about her at all.
"You know who she is don't you?" He blew smoke into the air. I looked at him weird.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, so you haven't dug anything up about her." He paused, "Amalea was suspicious about her, so I had Il Falco do a background check on her. Do you know how her parents died?"
"No," I answered sternly, "and don't you dare tell me."
"Fine, fine." He threw his hands up, "Just know she isn't telling the truth. She was rich before the passed. Lived in a penthouse in London with her parents. They had a whole floor bought out for themselves. She excelled in academics, even more in ballet classes. They were very well-known aristocrats." He glanced up at me. I stayed silent.
"She isn't who you think she is, figlio." He paused making me roll my eyes, "After her parents died... it was so traumatic for her she was kept in an asylum for a year. Then group homes the years after. She was a wild teen," He chuckled, "Three arrests for driving under the influence. Two overdoses. Multiple suicide attempts."
My jaw tightens. This couldn't be true. Maria Wilson wasn't like that. She was the sweetest, most innocent girl I'd ever met.
"You're lying." I glared at him.
"See for yourself." He threw a stack of papers in front of me. Medical reports and filed arrests. It was true.
"She was kicked out of the group home at eighteen. Child protective services couldn't do anything because she was an adult, so she got a job and an apartment, living in London until she was twenty-two."
"No-"
"That's not even the big finale." He smirked slightly. He was amused by this.
"I don't want to know-"
"Her father was Italian, Amalea told me. I dug into that also." He put out his cigarette in the small bowl in front of him, "Her name isn't Maria Wilson. No, they gave her, her mother's last name after her parent's deaths... Can you guess her last name?" My father asked me. My hands were clutching the chair's armrest.
This wasn't right. He shouldn't be telling me this. This information was too much. Everything was too much. The fact Maria wasn't who I thought she was. That fact she was keeping all of this from me. It makes her a whole different person.
"Romano. Her name is Maria Guilia Romano." He told me, and I nearly fell out of my chair, "Granddaughter of Santino Romano, heiress to Marcello Romano's fortune, and member of the Romano Famiglia." He said the words, and I feel myself crumble.
"No..."
"Yes, Christian." He leaned forward, looking straight into my eyes, "They've been keeping eyes on her, and once they find out she's with us, they will come for her."
"Liar!" I yelled, standing up. The chair I was sitting in fell behind me as I slammed my hands onto his desk.
"Once they come none of us are safe!" He yelled back at me, "You brought her here, figlio, she is your responsibility now. They will not come peacefully and you will pay the price!"
"Why didn't they take her back when her parents were killed!"
"How the hell am I supposed to know!" He shouted. I started backing up from him, "Do you care for this woman?"
"Yes." I find myself saying, "Of course I do." My hand on the doorknob.
"Then you better warn her." He held a finger up at me, "Because you will lose her, son. If they take her now without her knowing she won't take it well." He gave me a grim look, "Warn the girl before it's too late."
