Looking Through Files
I stared blankly, absorbing the information slowly. “Do you think he knows about me?”
“I think he’s always known,” Rowan admitted softly. “That’s why your mother ran. She was trying to protect you from a life filled with danger.”
I closed my eyes, letting it all sink in. My heart still ached, but at least now the pieces began to align into something that made sense—even if it hurt.
“I’m tired of secrets, Rowan,” I whispered, leaning into him. “I’m tired of everyone else’s choices deciding my life.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, holding me closer. “No more secrets. No more lies. You get to decide now, Remi. You control your life. And whatever you choose, I’m here.”
I believed him. For once in my life, I fully believed him.
“I want answers,” I said softly, looking up at him. “I need to find Cedric. If he’s still out there… I deserve to know him.”
Rowan nodded slowly. “We’ll find him. Together.”
I breathed out, relief filling me for the first time in days. Rowan wasn’t going anywhere—and neither was I. We were going to face whatever came next, side by side.
“Thank you,” I murmured softly.
“For what?”
“For being you,” I whispered, smiling weakly.
He gave me a soft, genuine smile back, gently brushing another tear from my cheek. “Always.”
I sighed deeply, leaning back into his chest. The quiet settled around us, warm and comforting despite the painful truths I’d just uncovered. Rowan’s arms tightened gently around me again, his steady heartbeat anchoring me.
No matter how complicated, no matter how tangled the roots of my family tree were—I wasn’t alone. For the first time, I felt safe enough to face whatever was waiting.
My mother’s life might have been a mystery, one filled with tragedy and secrets, but my life didn’t have to follow the same path. With Rowan beside me, I had a chance—a real chance—to build something different. Something honest.
Something real.
“Will you stay?” I asked softly, glancing up at him again.
His gaze softened, eyes filled with sincerity. “Always, Remi.”
And right then, I believed him. I really, truly did.
****
Rowan spread out the files on the dining table like they were puzzle pieces, each one a whisper of a man who didn’t want to be found. The name “Cedric De Luca” was printed in crisp black on every folder, but it still didn’t feel real. My father—my biological father—was a man I knew only through someone else's memories. Not mine.
I sat across from Rowan, feet tucked under me, my fingers brushing over the top page. “There’s so much here,” I murmured. “How did you even get all this?”
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he studied the scattered documents. “Some from the public record. Some… not so public. Let’s just say the Vaughns keep detailed archives. My grandfather may have been a bastard, but he had eyes everywhere.”
I flipped to a page stamped CONFIDENTIAL in red. It had an old photo—grainy and creased—of a man leaning against a vintage Rolls Royce. Even in black and white, he was intimidating. Strong jaw. Dark eyes. Arrogant posture.
“Is that him?” I asked softly.
Rowan leaned in. “Yeah. That’s Cedric. Late 90s. Right before he disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” I looked up.
Rowan nodded. “Vanished. No death certificate. No body. Just… gone. Around the same time your mom left with Joseph.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “You think he went underground?”
“It’s possible. With a name like De Luca, it’s also possible he was taken out. Either by his own people or someone he pissed off.”
“Why are all the men in my life either ghosts or weapons?” I muttered.
Rowan gave a short, dry laugh. “You forgot emotionally stunted billionaires.”
I looked at him, deadpan. “You’re not off the hook.”
He raised his hands. “Fair.”
I sighed and rubbed my temples. “None of this tells me who he is, though. Not really. There’s nothing about how he treated people. What he loved. If he had… dreams. Morals. A favorite song.”
Rowan tilted his head. “You want to humanize him.”
“No, I want to know him,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Even if I end up hating him, I want that choice to be mine.”
He nodded, slowly. “You’ll get that. I promise.”
I turned to the next file and scanned the first page. “Here’s something. Cedric’s name on a joint business account with a guy named Rafael Devereux.”
Rowan’s brows lifted. “That name sounds familiar.”
“It should. He’s one of the old mafia heads from Italy, isn’t he?”
Rowan reached for his laptop and typed something quickly. After a few clicks, he turned the screen toward me. “Yep. Rafael Devereux. Listed as deceased. But rumor has it he faked his death after a federal sting. Cedric might’ve followed the same playbook.”
I narrowed my eyes at the grainy photo on Rowan’s screen. “So he had powerful connections. And probably enemies.”
“Powerful enemies,” Rowan added. “Most of the names tied to Cedric are either missing, dead, or hiding under new identities.”
I leaned back in my seat, exhaling slowly. “Do you think my mother ever reached out to him? Before she died?”
Rowan hesitated. “Maybe. Maybe not. If she did, she wouldn’t have left a trace. She knew exactly what danger looked like.”
Silence settled between us for a second. It wasn’t awkward—just heavy. Like we were sitting inside a storm that hadn’t fully hit yet.
Rowan glanced at me, then reached for another file. “There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
He flipped it open. Inside was a faded birth certificate. It wasn’t mine.
“This is…” I squinted. “A sibling?”
“Half-sibling, maybe. There’s no name listed for the mother. Just Cedric.”
My mouth went dry. “So… there might be more of me out there.”
Rowan nodded, watching me carefully. “Looks like it.”
I didn’t know how to feel about that. It was already hard enough trying to make sense of my identity. The idea that I wasn’t Cedric’s only child—it was a whole new fracture in my understanding of who I was.
I looked over the files again, hoping to find something, anything that could ground me.
“I’m tired of guessing,” I whispered.
Rowan reached across the table and took my hand. “Then let’s stop guessing. Since we can't find information, we would have to go through all means and find him.”
I looked up at him. “You’d do that?”
“I’ve broken more laws for less,” he said dryly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Besides… I want to know who he is too. For you.”
My chest ached at that.
Before I could say anything, a sharp sound cracked through the air.
Gunfire.
I froze.
Rowan shot up from his chair. “Down. Now.”
Another shot. Closer this time.
The front window shattered. Glass sprayed across the floor like glittering shrapnel.
“Someone’s broken in!” I gasped, heart slamming against my ribs.
Rowan grabbed my arm and pulled me behind the island counter in the kitchen just as more shots rang out—closer, louder. The thud of footsteps echoed down the hallway.
He pulled a drawer open and retrieved a small pistol, checking the magazine before c
ocking it with a deadly calm that terrified me more than the gunshots.
“Stay behind me,” he said, voice low, cold, controlled. “Don’t move.”
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