I pulled back from my father, but he didn’t let me go. Instead, he made room beside him on the sofa and held me snugly against his side. “I’m not really sure,” I tried to explain. “I was terrified and confused. I couldn’t understand why Dad left Marco bleeding on the ground or how he knew how to fight. I knew I wasn’t supposed to see what had happened. When he got back in the car, I closed my eyes and hid, pretending to be asleep. I think I just shut down, unable to face what had happened. Then, when you all told the story of how Marco had died, I knew it was a lie but couldn’t understand why. It took me a while, but I watched and learned. Once I figured out about our mafia ties, it made it easier to spot all the other lies.”

My mom shook her head, heartbroken she’d had no idea what I’d been going through.

Alessia’s mouth gaped open, stunned that I wasn’t the perfect angel she always teased me about being. “You knew the whole time? I just learned about the family from Luca. I had no idea.”

“Luca?” I asked, eyes darting to my father.

“He’s a member of the Russo family,” my dad explained.

My head tipped back in a slow nod. “That explains a lot, but I still want to know exactly what happened with Alessia—the truth.”

“I want to hear just how the Russians entered the picture,” Dad said pointedly.

I gave a guilty smile. “Alright, my story first, but I want to hear hers too.”

For the next half hour, I told them about my secret life—about the paintings and Michael. Nico volunteered to unveil what had happened to him and the story of how he’d pushed me away. We took turns, giving explanations and opening up to one another—Nico and I, along with Alessia and my parents.

The process made me feel more connected to my family and loved than I ever had before. There was vulnerability in sharing your secrets, but there was also a tremendous reward. I was trusting them with my truth and was honored when they did the same. The process knitted us together, bonding us in a way simply being related hadn’t.

The only person who was notably silent was Maria. My father admitted that Maria had been a part of the outfit for many years, but Maria offered no further insights into herself. I couldn’t force her to see the benefit of sharing, but I hoped one day she would. It was a tremendous relief to unload those burdens, and I highly doubted she was simply burden-free.