I Was The Mafia’s Maid Now I’m Their Regret Chapter 25
When my father called, I was in the library.
I stepped out to the lounge area and answered.
“Cosima.”
He sounded tired.
It was the first time he had said my name without immediately following it with something he wanted me to do.
“You have five minutes.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
“What the consigliere said was true.”
“It was me. I was the one who wouldn’t let him record the things you did.”
I gripped the phone, saying nothing.
“I thought it was just household routine.”
“You did it well, and you never refused. Little by little, I started to feel that whatever you did was simply your duty.”
“Only after you left did I realize that none of it was your duty.”
His apology had come even later than my mother’s.
If I had never placed first nationally, never become world champion, never made other Families take notice of my name, he probably would never have realized any of it.
“Dad, it’s not that you couldn’t see.”
“You just didn’t want to sign for me, and you didn’t want to reward me.”
“Because once you admitted those things counted as service, you would have had to admit that I mattered just as much as Francesca and Nico.”
For a while, all I could hear was his breathing.
I kept going.
“I started doing things for this family when I was six. You had twelve years to notice.”
“You’re saying you’re sorry now. It’s too late.”
“I know.”
He didn’t argue, not the way he used to.
“I bought that silver bracelet for you.”
I lowered my eyes to my wrist.
There was already a thin silver chain there.
My high school classmate had given it to me.
She had said she would bring it the next day, and she had handed it to me the very next day.
When I left the estate, I didn’t bring many clothes, but I had kept that bracelet at the bottom of my suitcase.
“No, thank you.”
“Didn’t you always want it?”
“When I wanted it, someone else already gave it to me.”
“She remembered just because I helped her with one small thing.”
“Keep the one you bought for yourself.”
My father didn’t speak again.
The five minutes were up.
Just before I hung up, he asked quietly, “Can I still call you in the future?”
“If you have something you need to say, contact Mom first.”
That wasn’t forgiveness.
I just no longer wanted to waste my energy blocking every new number he found.
When I went back into the library, Luca looked up at me.
“You okay?”
“I’m okay.”
I sat down across from him and slid over the latest lab proposal.
The school had approved the first round of independent research funding.
The money came from my competition winnings, academy programs, and a grant my advisor had secured.
No Marino. No Bellandi.
Luca turned to the last page.
“You wrote the credit rules into the charter?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone has to confirm their own work. No one can claim credit for what someone else did.”
He looked at the line and suddenly smiled.
“Strict.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I like it a lot.”
He picked up the pen engraved with my name and signed under *co-founder*.
“At least I know I won’t have to worry about you dismissing my work as just chores one day.”
I laughed, too.
“I won’t.”