Chapter 4: Revelations
Zara
The towel I'm holding to chest almost falls to the floor.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I yell, my heart hammering in my chest.
Stefan doesn't lift his head from his phone and lets out an annoyed breath, "Didn't I tell not to talk to me with that tone? Or would you like a reminder?"
God, this man is so infuriating. Here I was hoping to have a proper conversation.
Instead of acting on my urge to smack him, I put on an extremely fake, bright smile and clasped my hands in front of my chest, "Mr. Esposito, what an honor to see you here. Would you rather I wear clothes or should I just sit here and converse with you naked?"
The moment these words leave my mouth, I mentally curse myself. This right here is a dangerous man. He just killed two people without showing any remorse. And if I don't keep my sarcasm away, God knows what he'll do to me.
Stefan doesn't reply. Instead, he motions to the bed with his free hand where a pair of sweats and a T-shirt have been neatly placed and on the floor is a fuzzy pair of black slippers.
My eyes once again move to Stefan.
And now, in the clear lighting of the room, when I look at him, and I mean really look at him, I cannot seem to look away.
This silent, brooding man sitting in front of me, in one word, is beautiful.
His almost black hair has been perfectly styled and kept back from his face. A thin layer of stubble covers his defined jaw and he has high cheekbones, good enough to make me jealous. His lips are pursed in concentration at whatever he is reading on his phone. The suit he was wearing has been swapped for a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt.
"I'd advise you to quit drooling and put on some clothes, Zara." his amused voice snaps me out of my daze, "We have important things to talk about."
I glare at him, snatching the clothes off the bed and stepping into the slippers. Making my way to the closet, I grumble under my breath, "I was so not drooling."
When I step out the closet, I head to the couches and plop down on the one opposite to Stefan. He finally puts his phone away and looks up at me.
"You should get those bruises attended to. I'll send someone up." he offers, gesturing to my face.
"Thank you for that." I tell him, anticipation bubbling inside of me, "But can we please get to the part where you tell me what is going on?"
He nods, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together.
"Whatever I tell you next, I want you to listen very carefully." he starts, "So put aside all your questions and sarcasm and just hear me out."
I nodded eagerly.
"There were three ruling Mafia families in the states- the Espositos, the Lombardis and the Romanos." he goes on, "Have you ever heard these names before?"
"Not until very recently." I say, but I am still rooted on his first sentence.
Mafia.
Realization dawns on me when I think of the files, weapons and money I'd found in the basement of my old house.
And then the kidnapping, men in suits, guns. How could I have not guessed sooner?
"Up until two decades ago, these families existed peacefully but then, some incidents took place that led to a falling out, leading to the Espositos and Lombardis on one side and Romanos on the other."
I listen carefully, hanging on to every word.
"The Lombardi family left the States and went back to Italy, and among the families that remained, Espositos slowly rose to expanding all over the country and so did the Romanos. However, latter were not as powerful as the former."
Stefan takes out a picture from the file that was kept before him and holds it up for me, "Do you recognize them?"
My eyes scan the photograph. It shows a late- twenties couple holding a little baby in their arms. They look like a perfect little family. But something about them tugs at my heart.
I look at Stefan in confusion, "They somehow seem familiar, but I don't think that I have ever met them."
"They woman in the picture was your biological mother." he states.
"What?" my eyes widen as I take the picture from him and look even more closely. And sure enough, I can make out the similarities- the eyes, hair and we even have the dimples on our right cheeks.
"How old was I here?" I ask, my throat closed up with emotion.
"About a year and a half." Stefan answers.
"Where is she now?" I ask, still unable to tear my eyes away from my mother's picture.
Stefan sighs deeply, and takes a couple of moments to answer.
"She is dead."
I stare at him, unblinking, shocked.
"How? When?"
My words are limited, unable to form full sentences.
"Almost twenty years ago, this family was attacked." he answers, "We lost a lot of people that day, and your mother was one of them."
"What about my father?" I ask, hating the way my voice cracks so miserably, and I quickly swipe the end of my sleeve against my cheek, "Is he dead too?"
"Your father is very much alive." Stefan states.
When I notice the change in his tone, I look at him, only to his eyes narrowed in anger. His demeanor has hardened and he is furiously clutching the file in his grip.
"But he won't be for long." he finishes.
"What? Why?" I ask, baffled by his sudden rage.
"Because I am going to kill him."
For the umpteenth time that night, I am shocked.
"And why is that, Stefan?" I enquire.
My eyes are fixed on his, and for a fleeting moment, I can't help but admire how beautiful they are- steel grey with specks of light blue.
"You remember that night two years ago?" he asks suddenly.
I freeze at the mention of it alone. A chill runs down my spine as those haunting green eyes flash in my head.
"How do you know about that?" I whisper, my voice shaking, as image after image of that night starts flitting through my mind.
"I have every single detail of what happened that night, Zara." he answers quietly, "We would have saved you had we not been out of state. By the time I reached your house, you were being wheeled away in an ambulance."
I look away, the sudden pain and dread that always came at the mention of that night, creeping into my chest.
"Zara," Stefan leans forward, covering my hand with his.
As if stung by his touch, I pull my hand away, my heart constricting.
He pulls his hand away and I am grateful. Something tells me he didn't mean to do that, and I believe him when he mumbles a small apology.
"I was the one who arranged the funerals of Theo and Celine." he says, leaning back in his seat.
I lean back, trying to remember the day I'd been discharged from the hospital. Our neighbor and the closest we had to a friend came to pick me up and told me that the arrangements had been made anonymously by someone and all I had to do was attend it.
"It was your father, Diego Romano, who sent his men to your house to murder the three of you."
This was the last I heard from Stefan, and it felt like a blow to my already bruised body.
Tears were flowing freely down my cheek and I didn't even bother to wipe them. The thought that Stefan knew everything I went through that night, made my stomach lurch painfully and I knew I was going to be sick.
Holding one hand on my mouth, I bolted from my seat and ran into the bathroom. I fell down next to the pot and emptied the contents of my stomach, gagging and retching painfully. My sobs still hadn't subsided, and it felt like someone was clawing at my insides.
The last thing I remember was a warm hand pushing back hair from my face, before darkness took over.