POV: Carmen
Don Matteo Giordano’s residence doesn’t announce itself.
There’s no excessive security display, no armored arrogance screaming power from the gates. The walls are old stone, weathered but intact, built to last rather than impress. The kind of place that survives wars simply because it has learned how to wait.
I step out of the car slowly, the gravel crunching under my shoes loud in the evening quiet. The air smells faintly of rain and cold earth, grounding in a way I didn’t realize I needed. Two guards watch me approach, their expressions neutral, hands relaxed near their weapons. They don’t stop me. They don’t ask my name.
That tells me everything.
Inside, the house is dim but warm, lit by soft lamps and the glow of a fireplace somewhere deeper within. The décor is restrained—dark wood, worn leather, framed photographs that hint at decades of alliances and betrayals without explaining any of them. Power lives here quietly. Confidently.
I’m led into a study where Don Matteo Giordano sits behind a heavy desk marked with the scars of time. His hair is silver now, his face lined, but his eyes are sharp and alert. This is not a man who survived by accident.
“Carmen Venetti,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “You’re braver than most for coming alone.”
“I didn’t come to be brave,” I reply evenly. “I came to be clear.”
That earns me a slow, thoughtful nod. He gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit.”
I do, keeping my posture straight, my hands relaxed in my lap. Every movement matters here. Every pause.
“You don’t seek out men like me unless you’re cornered,” he says. “So tell me what’s chasing you.”
I meet his gaze directly. “Arianna Ricci.”
For the first time, something shifts in his expression. Not surprise. Recognition.
“That woman again,” he murmurs. “She has a talent for surviving ruins she creates.”
“She creates them deliberately,” I say. “And she doesn’t stop once she’s done.”
Don Matteo leans back, studying me carefully now. “You speak with certainty.”
“I have proof,” I reply. “Patterns that go back fifteen years. Two families destroyed from the inside. De Lucas. Bernardis. And now Venetti.”
“Your husband’s family,” he notes.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
“And yet you’re here,” he continues. “Not protecting him directly.”
“I’m protecting what’s left,” I answer. “Before there’s nothing to protect.”
Silence stretches between us. Don Matteo drums his fingers lightly against the desk, the sound slow and deliberate.
“You want my help,” he says.
“I want your protection,” I correct. “And your reach.”
“And what exactly are you offering in return?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate. “I will dismantle the De Luca family completely. Their power. Their resources. Their ability to retaliate. And I will personally make sure Arianna Ricci never manipulates another family again.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You’re asking me to align against two forces.”
“I’m asking you to align against instability,” I reply. “Arianna doesn’t rule. She erodes. And erosion doesn’t stop once it starts.”
Don Matteo rises slowly, walking toward the window. He looks out at the grounds, thoughtful. “I’ve seen women like you before.”
I remain still. “And what happened to them?”
“They either burned out,” he says, “or they changed the game.”
I hold his gaze. “I’m not interested in burning.”
He turns back to me, studying my face, my posture, the quiet determination I no longer bother hiding. “You understand the cost of this?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ve already paid part of it.”
“Your marriage,” he guesses.
“And more,” I add, my hand instinctively tightening against my coat.
Don Matteo nods slowly. “Very well. I’ll offer you protection. Quiet. Limited. No public alignment.”
“That’s all I need,” I say.
“But understand this,” he continues. “When this begins, it will not stop cleanly. People will fall. Alliances will fracture.”
“I know,” I reply. “That’s why I came to you instead of pretending this could be handled politely.”
A faint smile touches his lips. “You’re more honest than most.”
He extends his hand across the desk. I take it, his grip firm, steady.
“When this is over,” he says, “the De Lucas are finished.”
“They will be,” I promise.
“And Arianna Ricci?”
“She will have no ground left to stand on,” I say. “No allies. No leverage. No lies that work.”
Don Matteo releases my hand. “Then we have an understanding.”
***
The drive back to Vincent’s estate feels longer than usual.
Not because of distance, but because of what I’ve just set in motion. Every streetlight I pass feels like a checkpoint I won’t cross again the same way. There’s a finality to this decision that settles deep in my chest.
Vincent is waiting when I arrive, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, a glass in his hand. He doesn’t ask how it went. He already knows.
“You went to Giordano,” he says.
“I did,” I reply, shrugging off my coat.
“And you didn’t die,” he adds dryly.
“That was never the risk,” I say.
He watches me for a moment, then pours another drink, sliding it toward me. “So?”
“He’s in,” I say. “Quietly.”
Vincent exhales slowly. “You just escalated this.”
“No,” I correct. “I matched her level.”
He studies me, something unreadable in his gaze. “You’re doing this knowing it might never bring Marco back.”
The truth stings more than I expect. “I’m doing this knowing it might save him.”
Vincent says nothing to that.
Later, alone in my room, I sit on the edge of the bed, the weight of the day finally pressing down on me. I place a hand over my stomach, breathing slowly, grounding myself.
I didn’t choose this war lightly.
But Arianna Ricci has turned destruction into a strategy, and she won’t stop until someone stronger than her refuses to play by her rules.
Tonight, that someone is me.
And this time, I won’t hesitate.