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I see my mother’s face flash with shame before hardening into defiance. “You don’t understand,” she snaps. “I was scared. Of Antoni, of the truth coming out. I thought I was protecting her.”
Her words hit me like a physical blow, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. “Protecting me?” I choke out, my voice thick with emotion. “No, you never protected me. You had an endless parade of men in your life and ignored me. Why should I believe that now?”
Cher flinches as if I’ve slapped her. “Sofia, please. You have to understand?—”
“Understand what?” I interrupt, anger finally breaking through my shock. “That you let me believe I wasn’t good enough? That you watched me struggle to raise Lou, to keep Perfezione afloat, and did nothing? All while you lived in this… this palace?”
I gesture wildly at the opulent room around us, feeling sick at the stark contrast between this life and the one I’ve been living.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Cher pleads, her eyes filling with tears. “How do you tell your daughter that her father was murdered because of you?”
“You tell her the truth!” I shout, years of pent-up frustration and hurt pouring out. “You support her! You don’t abandon her and her child to fend for themselves!”
Angelo’s arm around my shoulders tightens, grounding me. I take a shaky breath, trying to regain control.
“All these years,” I say, my voice quieter now but no less intense, “I thought there was something wrong with me. That I wasn’t good enough for you to love. But it was guilt, wasn’t it? You couldn’t bear to look at me because I reminded you ofhim.”
Cher’s silence is all the confirmation I need. I feel something inside me break and mend all at once. The weight of her rejection, which I've carried for so long, suddenly lifts.
“Fuck you,” I spit out, surprising even myself with the venom in my voice. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to explain away your behavior, making excuses for why you couldn’t love me. But now I see the truth. You’re just selfish.”
Cher’s eyes widen, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For once, she seems at a loss for words.
“I hope you have a great life,” I continue, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because I’mdone. I’m done trying to win your approval, done hoping you’ll be the mother I needed. I’ve made it this far without you, and I’ll keep going.”
I stand abruptly, my legs shaking but my resolve firm. “We’re leaving,” I order, not looking at Angelo or Marco. “We’re done here.”
As I stride toward the door, I hear my mother calling my name, her voice tinged with desperation. But I don’t look back. I can’t. If I do, I might crumble, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction.
Let her stew in her guilt, I think bitterly. If she’s even capable of feeling guilt.
I burst out of the house, the bright sunlight momentarily blinding me. I don’t stop, marching straight to the car, my vision blurred by unshed tears.
Once inside, I finally allow myself to break down. Sobs rack my body as years of pain, confusion, and longing pour out of me. I feel Angelo’s arm around me, hear his soothing words, but they seem far away.
All I can feel is the gaping wound where my mother’s love should have been. But mixed with the pain is a strange sense of liberation. The truth, as devastating as it is, has set me free from a lifetime of seeking approval I was never going to get.
As Marco starts the car, I take a shuddering breath, wiping my eyes. I’m done being a victim of my mother’s choices.
Angelo rubs soothing circles on my back as I try to compose myself.
“You know,” he says, a hint of dark humor in his voice, “I could always have my men take care of Cher if it would make you feel better.”
Despite everything, I can’t help but laugh. “No, no. Like I told Lou, violence isn’t always the answer.”
I sigh heavily, leaning into Angelo’s embrace. “At least now I understand why Gino hates me and my family so much. I just wish we had something to hold over his head to make him back off Perfezione.”
Angelo nods thoughtfully. “Zip did identify Gino as his attacker, but that won’t be enough. Even a half-wit lawyer could argue that Zip was confused, given his age and the trauma.”
We lapse into silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Suddenly, Marco’s voice breaks through from the front seat.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says hesitantly, “but are the video cameras Don Angelo had installed at Perfezione working?”
I blink, surprised by the question. “Yes, they’re working perfectly. Why?”
Marco’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Well, if they’re working, shouldn’t we check the footage? We might have video evidence of Gino attacking your grandfather.”
The car falls silent as Angelo and I process this information. Then, Angelo’s face breaks into a wide grin.
