The moment Marco’s eyes landed on the location circled in blood-red ink, his heart stopped.
His childhood home.
For a second, the present blurred, and all he could see was the past.
That old, rotting house. The suffocating walls.
The smell of whiskey and blood, the constant fear of what waited behind locked doors.
A place that was never a home—only a prison. And now, Matteo was there.
A cold chill ran down Marco’s spine.
“No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Luca’s voice cut through his haze, sharp and urgent.
“We have to move. Now.”
Marco blinked, snapping back to the moment. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
“She did this on purpose,” he muttered. “She knew I’d understand the message.”
Carmen stepped forward, her face pale with fear.
“Marco, if we take too long…” She swallowed hard, her voice breaking. “He may be lost forever.”
Her words hit like a blade to the chest.
Matteo was already slipping away.
Every second they wasted, Ella’s poison sank deeper into him.
Marco turned to Luca.
“Get everything ready,” he ordered.
Luca nodded sharply and pulled out his phone, barking orders to their men.
Marco grabbed his gun from the table, loading it with quick, precise movements.
His hands were steady. Cold. Deadly.
He had never wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to kill Ella Moreau.
Carmen watched him, her breath shallow.
“We end this tonight,” Marco said, his voice lethal.
He met her gaze.
“Matteo is coming home with us today.”
***
The black SUV cut through the darkness, speeding toward the house that Marco never wanted to see again.
The place that held every ugly memory from his past.
But none of that mattered now.
Because Matteo was inside.
And Marco was going to bring him home—no matter what.
The tension in the car was thick, pressing against them like a heavy storm.
Carmen sat in the back, her fingers curled into tight fists.
Her heart sank lower and lower with each passing mile.
She already knew.
“He won’t come willingly,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.
Marco sat in the passenger seat, his expression cold, unreadable.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Then we’ll crush him.”
Carmen flinched, turning toward him with wide, horrified eyes.
“Marco—”
“Not him,” Marco interrupted, his voice deadly calm. “Her.”
Carmen let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of her seat.
Luca’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
“We have another problem,” he muttered.
As they neared the estate, the headlights illuminated the perimeter.
And what they saw made Carmen’s stomach twist painfully.
Guards. Dozens of them. Armed, stationed at every possible entry point. Waiting. Watching. Ella had prepared for this.
She knew they were coming.
Marco exhaled sharply, tilting his head.
“She really doesn’t want to give him up,” he murmured.
Luca let out a bitter laugh.
“No shit.”*