The mansion was eerily quiet except for the sound of Carmen’s shaky breathing.
Marco’s eyes swept the room, calculating, assessing.
They were outnumbered.
Armed men stood in the shadows, barely visible but waiting for the order to strike.
Ella had planned for this.
She had expected them.
And now?
She was enjoying every second of it.
She stood at the top of the staircase, one hand resting lightly on Matteo’s shoulder, her other tracing the edge of the wooden railing.
“You have one chance to leave, Marco,” she said softly, her voice steady and certain.
It wasn’t a warning. It was a statement. A fact.
Marco’s jaw clenched.
“Let him go,” he demanded. “Now.”
Ella smiled, but it never reached her eyes.
“Marco, Marco, Marco…” she sighed, shaking her head. “You still don’t understand, do you?”
She turned to Matteo, kneeling beside him as she gently smoothed his hair back.
“Look at him,” she murmured. “So calm. So happy. So at peace.”
Marco took a step forward, ignoring the way guns immediately lifted toward him.
“Matteo, buddy,” he said carefully, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “Come here, son.”
Matteo stared at him for a moment.
For one painful, fleeting second, Marco thought—hoped—he saw something in his son’s eyes.
A flicker of doubt. A shadow of recognition. But then—Matteo took a step back. Away from him.
Carmen let out a choked sob, her hands clenching at her sides.
“No,” she whispered.
“Matteo, sweetheart, don’t do this,” she pleaded, stepping forward.
Marco could feel her breaking beside him.
Could hear it in the way her voice shook with pure, agonizing fear.
“Please,” Carmen begged. “It’s me, baby. It’s Mama. You love me, don’t you?”
Matteo’s tiny hands curled tighter into Ella’s dress.
His lips parted slightly, as if struggling to say something.
But in the end? He said nothing. He didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t cry.
And that was what destroyed her.
Carmen’s knees gave out beneath her, and she collapsed onto the marble floor, her shoulders shaking.
“He doesn’t remember me,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Ella sighed, rubbing Matteo’s back in slow, soothing circles.
“It’s time to accept it,” she said simply.
She lifted her gaze to meet Marco’s, her expression cold and final.
“He’s not yours anymore.”