My eyes widened to saucers. What do you mean? I asked, my voice small, trembling, as my eyes blinked rapidly—once, twice, too many times.
My father looked at me, and there was nothing but sadness in his expression.
“You’re very smart, Ariella,” he said quietly. “I think you can see it.”
But I couldn’t.
I didn’t.
And now, hearing him say it, my mind began to race. Had I missed something? Was there a piece I hadn’t seen, a truth I hadn’t dared to believe?
He took a breath, long and shaky. “I didn’t tell you everything about my meeting with the Don,” he admitted. “Because I didn’t want you to fear for your life. I didn’t want you to be scared.”
My throat tightened. I swallowed hard.
“I feel like a failure,” he said next. “I feel like I failed you. I feel like I failed your mom. I feel
