Makayla didn’t breathe.
She couldn’t.
She wanted to believe that this was him—that the man lying in front of her, blinking slowly, expression blank, was the same father she had grown up with.
But something in her gut told her otherwise.
Something deep inside her, something primal, something that whispered run, told her that this—this—wasn’t right.
Gino’s gaze was distant, unfocused. His chest rose and fell, his breathing steadier now, but his body remained unnaturally still, like he was listening to something they couldn’t hear.
A chill slithered down Makayla’s spine.
This wasn’t relief.
This wasn’t peace.
This was wrong.
Mikhail took a slow step forward, cautious, guarded.
“Dad?”
The word hung in the air, thick and heavy.
Makayla hated the way it sounded.
Because there was n
