Luca smirked coldly, his grip tight on the stack of papers in his hand. His heart pounded, but his face remained calm, calculating. He stood in the kitchen, watching as Ella stirred Matteo’s oatmeal like nothing was wrong.
Like she hadn’t been lying this whole time. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the papers onto the table. “You don’t exist, do you?”
Ella didn’t flinch. She calmly placed the spoon down, wiped her hands on a napkin, and looked up at him with a soft, unreadable smile.
“Oh, Mr. Luca,” she said smoothly. “That’s quite a dramatic statement, don’t you think?”
Luca’s jaw tightened. “You’re not Eleanor Moreau,” he stated. “That name? It’s fake. Wiped clean. Whoever you were before? You buried it.”
Ella tilted her head, her expression infuriatingly composed. “And?” she said simply.
Luca narrowed his eyes. “And that means you’re hiding something.”
Ella let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head as if he were a misbehaving child.
“Mr. Luca, do you know how many people in this world change their names?” she asked, her voice light, amused. “Women who escape bad marriages. People who want to start over. Perhaps I simply wanted a fresh start.”
Luca leaned in, his voice dangerously low. “You’re full of shit.”
Ella’s smile never wavered. “Language, Mr. Luca,” she chided. “There’s a child in the house.”
Luca bristled, his hands clenching into fists. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t even surprised. Which meant—she knew this was coming. “I know you’re hiding something,” he said, his voice like steel. “And I’m going to find out exactly what it is.”
Ella picked up the oatmeal bowl and turned toward the hallway.
“Good luck with that, dear,” she said over her shoulder. And then—she walked away. Luca’s blood ran cold.
Something about the way she said it—the certainty in her voice—sent a chill down his spine. She wasn’t worried. Because she thought she had already won.
***
Marco sat in his office, his fingers pressed against his temple, his phone burning in his grip. “What do you mean they pulled out?” he asked, his voice tight with anger. The man on the other end of the call hesitated.
“They cut all ties, Marco,” he finally said. “The account is frozen. You’re locked out.”
Marco’s stomach twisted. This was one of his biggest accounts. A financial powerhouse. A lifeline for his empire. And now? It was gone. “Who got to them?” Marco demanded.
“We don’t know,” the voice said grimly. “But whoever it was—they had power. Enough to turn them against you completely.”
Marco exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the phone. Another hit. Another piece of his empire slipping away. His enemies weren’t just coming for him. They were erasing him.
And if he didn’t figure this out fast—
He’d have nothing left.
***
Carmen sat on the edge of Matteo’s bed, watching him carefully. “Baby,” she said softly. “Where’s your drawing book?”
Matteo fidgeted, his little fingers curling into the blanket.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled. Carmen’s chest tightened. Matteo never lost his things. “Are you sure?” she pressed gently. “I saw you with it this morning.”
Matteo’s lip trembled. Then, without another word, he slid off the bed and ran to his closet. Carmen’s stomach dropped.
He was hiding something. She stood up, stepping closer as Matteo pulled out his backpack from behind his shoes.
When he turned back to her, his tiny arms wrapped around the bag protectively. “Can I see?” Carmen asked softly.
Matteo shook his head violently. “No!” he cried. Carmen flinched. Matteo had never hidden things from her before.
“Okay, sweetheart,” she murmured. “You don’t have to show me. But if you ever want to talk, I’m always here.”
Matteo nodded slowly. But he didn’t let go of the bag.
***
That night, as Luca stepped out of Marco’s house and walked to his car, he felt it. A presence. A chill. A warning. His instincts screamed at him, but when he turned—no one was there. He exhaled sharply, unlocking his car.
But when he opened the door—
He froze. A single white envelope sat on his seat. Luca’s heart pounded. Slowly, he reached for it, tearing it open with careful fingers.
Inside was a single note.
The words, written in neat, elegant handwriting, sent ice through his veins.
Stay out of this, or you will disappear next.