Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty- Two
Settimo’s POV
Alice stood before his desk with her head bowed so low she couldn’t bring
herself to look at him.
"I... I lied." She almost choked on her words.
Settimo’s pen stopped moving.
The room fell silent.
"What did you say?" He asked, his interest piqued.
Her fingers intertwined so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"I told you Asli’s DNA result was negative before the laboratory
completed the analysis."
His gaze slowly lifted to her.
"Why?" His lips barely moved.
"I thought it was impossible." Her voice shook. "I was
certain it would come back negative, so I reported what I believed the result
would be."
For several seconds, Settimo simply stared at her. His mind failed to process
what he had just heard.
Then he rose. The chair scraped violently against the floor.
His mind hurtled back twenty -three years: To smoke choking the night sky. When
Marco had invaded his Villa and caused chaos, burning his daughter’s room into
ashes. The only memories left from that night
were the unbearable certainty that his little daughter had died somewhere
in that room, leaving behind a grief that had haunted him and his wife every
single day since. If his daughter wasn’t the one who died in the fire, then who
did? This was impossible.
"You... what?"
Alice flinched. "I was wrong."
"You LIED to me?" His voice thundered through the study. "On
a DNA report?"
She took an involuntary step backward.
"I didn’t mean..."
"You didn’t mean?" He slammed both palms onto the desk so
hard the papers jumped. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"
His breathing had become uneven.
The image of the young woman standing defiantly in his hall the previous
night crashed into him without warning.
"I just want to know who my biological father is."
Her eyes.
Those desperate eyes...
He had seen them.
He had pitied her.
He had promised to help her find where she belonged.
And all along...
Settimo staggered back a step.
His hand gripped the edge of the desk. He kept repeating to himself; his
daughter hadn’t died. She had lived. She had grown up in Marco’s hands.
Marco...
He hadn’t killed her. He had stolen her.
Raised her. He turned her into exactly what he wanted.
Filled her head with enough hatred to make her walk into this villa,
believing he had murdered her parents.
His own daughter. She had spent her entire life wanting to kill him. He
wouldn’t have known this if Ahmet had not accused him.
Settimo’s knees nearly buckled. His hand shot to the desk, gripping it
before he could fall.
The name alone sent something violent tearing through his chest.
His little girl...
The child he’d buried in his heart over two decades ago...
The child his wife still cried herself to sleep over...
She had been alive.
All this time.
A harsh laugh escaped him before it broke into something that sounded
dangerously close to pain.
His eyes burned.
He blinked once.
Twice.
He refused to let the tears fall.
Instead, he rounded the desk so quickly that Alice stumbled backward.
"You knew she was searching for her parents!"
"I thought..."
"I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THOUGHT!" The walls seemed to shake with
his voice.
Alice’s father had served under him for years. If not for that, and for the fact
that he had promised his wife he’d never fire a gun again unless necessary, he would’ve
sent a bullet through her skull.
His chest rose and fell heavily. Every breath hurt.
His daughter was alive.
And he had not hugged her. He had denied her the fatherly love she was searching
for when they met for the first and only time.
She had walked away after they argued.
His face drained of color.
"Asli..." The name escaped him before he realized he’d spoken it
aloud. "My Catalina."
Settimo didn’t remember leaving the study.
One moment, Alice was standing before him.
Next, he was already halfway down the corridor.
"Boss?" A guard straightened at the sound of hurried footsteps.
Settimo didn’t stop.
"I need to see her." He mumbled.
The guard blinked.
"...Sir?"
His pace never slowed.
"I said call her." He ordered as if the man knew who he was talking about or
the number of whom he was talking about.
"Who, Boss?" The confusion on the man’s face only lasted a heartbeat.
Settimo stopped so abruptly that the men behind him nearly collided into one
another.
He turned. His eyes were wild. "My daughter."
No one spoke nor even dared breathe. The guards exchanged uncertain glances.
Daughter?
Settimo took one step toward them. "She should be home by now or somewhere
thinking she hasn’t found her father yet." His voice was clipped, every word
laced with urgency. "Philip told me Ahmet moved her to one of his hideouts.
Find out which one."
No one moved and his gaze hardened. "If my son knows where she is, then I
want him brought to me." His voice rose, echoing through the Villa.
"Move!"
The entire hallway jolted into motion.
"Honey?" His wife’s voice cut through the chaos.
Everything inside him seemed to stop.
Slowly, he turned.
She stood at the foot of the staircase, one hand resting against the
polished railing. Her eyes moved from the rushing guards to Alice’s
tear-stained face, then settled on him.
"What happened?" She asked as her eyes fell on Alice again. She seemed to be
following him around regrettably.
He opened his mouth, yet nothing came. How was he supposed to tell her?
How did anyone tell a mother that the child she’d buried in her heart for
over twenty years had never been dead?
No, that wasn’t it. How would he tell her the young lady she didn’t want to
hear anything about was her child?
She descended another step.
Fear slowly replaced the confusion in her eyes.
"Settimo..." She called his name.
His lips parted.
"Catalina..." He stopped himself as he saw her freeze.
The name hung between them. Her fingers tightened around the railing.
"What?"
He couldn’t look away from her.
"Our daughter..." His throat tightened. "...is alive."
The world seemed to stop.
She stared at him and gave a tiny, disbelieving laugh. Then, as if struck by
lightning, her expression changed into anger. "That’s not funny."
He didn’t answer.
"Settimo..."
His eyes filled before he could stop them. "I’ve found her. No, she found
us."
The color drained from her face. Her knees weakened so suddenly she reached
for the railing.
"Don’t play with me " The whisper barely existed.
"Please, don’t..."
Her breathing became uneven. She shook her head over and over.
"It is not possible, right?" The denial slowly gave way to hope. A more
terrifying hope.
"Where is she?"
Settimo closed his eyes.
"I..." The answer caught in his throat. "I... You’d have to sit for her name."
Suddenly, a car screeched to a stop outside. The front doors burst open.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the entrance hall.
"Father!" Ahmet’s voice called.
Settimo turned. He had forgotten this aspect. If Ahmet was also his son,
then word would be that both his children had committed an abomination.
Regardless of what truth they tell, the minor family would want the throne.
His son strode inside with Markus close behind. His clothes still carried
dust from the road. His breathing was uneven.
One hand clutched a crumpled sheet of paper.
He knew what it was.
Ahmet stopped only a few feet away. His eyes searched Settimo’s face
desperately.
For answers. For denial. For anything.
"Tell me..." His voice cracked despite himself. He held up the report. His
hand was shaking. "Tell me this is wrong."
His eyes moved to his mother when he saw his father wasn’t going to give him
an answer.
When he saw his mother crying, his stomach sank. Was she crying for the
mistake he had made? He was never going to forgive himself. He’d never...
He looked back at Settimo.
"Tell me that my father isn’t her father."
Settimo looked at him. His lips parted, yet nothing came out.
What would he say? What could he possibly say?
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