POV: Carmen
Vincent notices before I say anything.
He always does.
I’m standing at the kitchen counter, pretending to read something on my phone I’ve already memorized, when I feel his gaze settle on me like weight. He doesn’t ask how my day was. Vincent never wastes time on questions he already knows the answer to.
“You look like shit,” he says finally, pouring himself a drink.
I huff out a quiet breath. “Good evening to you too.”
“That is my good evening,” he replies flatly. “Sit.”
I don’t argue. I lower myself onto the stool, my body heavier than it should be, exhaustion creeping through my bones in a way that has nothing to do with lack of sleep. The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that amplifies every thought you’re trying to outrun.
Vincent slides a glass toward me. “Drink.”
“I shouldn’t,” I say automatically.
He arches an eyebrow. “That bad?”
I hesitate for half a second too long. He notices.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and for Vincent Rossi, that question is dangerously close to concern.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
He scoffs softly. “You’ve always been terrible at that.”
I stare at the glass instead of his face. The amber liquid inside catches the light, steady and calm, everything I don’t feel. My chest tightens unexpectedly.
“She almost got away with it,” I say quietly.
Vincent leans against the counter. “She did get away with it.”
“For now,” I correct. “We had proof. Real proof. And she still managed to twist everything.”
“That’s because Arianna doesn’t fight fair,” he says. “She never has.”
My fingers curl against the edge of the counter. “I was so close. Marco was so close to seeing it.”
Vincent watches me carefully. “And that’s what hurts.”
“Yes,” I admit. “Because it means he can see it. He just… doesn’t want to.”
Vincent exhales slowly. “That’s not on you.”
“I know,” I say, though my voice betrays me. “But knowing doesn’t stop it from hurting.”
He studies me for a moment longer than usual. “You’re weaker than you were yesterday.”
I look up sharply. “That’s rude.”
“That’s honest,” he replies. “And honesty keeps people alive.”
Silence stretches between us, thick but not uncomfortable. Vincent finishes his drink and sets the glass down with a soft clink.
“You did everything right,” he says finally. “You gathered proof. You built alliances. You didn’t rush.”
“And it still wasn’t enough,” I say.
“It will be,” he counters. “Just not the way you expected.”
Something in his tone makes me look at him more closely.
“You’re not planning something without telling me,” I say.
He smirks faintly. “You wouldn’t like it if I did.”
I shake my head. “We need Marco to believe it. Not be forced into it.”
Vincent shrugs. “Belief is overrated. Outcomes matter.”
I slide off the stool and pick up my coat. “I’m meeting Luca.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpens. “Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“At the park?” he guesses.
I nod.
“Be careful,” he says. “If Arianna suspects even a fraction of what you’re doing—”
“She won’t,” I interrupt. “She’s too busy winning.”
Vincent watches me move toward the door. “Carmen.”
I pause.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, his voice quieter than usual, “you’re stronger than everyone in this story.”
Something in my chest gives way.
Before I can stop myself, I step back toward him and wrap my arms around his torso, pressing my face briefly against his chest. The hug is sudden, instinctive, raw.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
Vincent stiffens, clearly startled. Then, slowly, one hand comes up to rest against my back, firm and grounding.
“Don’t get sentimental,” he mutters. “It doesn’t suit you.”
I pull back, managing a small smile. “You’re still an asshole.”
“Always,” he agrees.
***
The park is nearly empty when I arrive.
Streetlights cast soft pools of light along winding paths, the trees towering above like silent witnesses. The city feels far away here, muted, distant. I sit on a bench near the center, my breath visible in the cool night air, fingers wrapped tightly around the USB drive in my coat pocket.
Every instinct tells me how dangerous this is.
And how necessary.
Luca appears out of the shadows ten minutes later, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert. He doesn’t sit immediately. He scans the area first, then finally joins me on the bench, leaving just enough space between us.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly.
“Neither should you,” I reply.
He exhales. “What do you have?”
I pull the USB from my pocket, holding it between us like something fragile. “Everything.”
His eyes flick to it, then back to my face. “Everything everything?”
“Financial trails. Communication logs. Patterns from Bernardis and De Lucas. Proof she’s been doing this for fifteen years,” I say. “It’s airtight.”
He swallows. “Marco needs to see this.”
“Yes,” I say. “But not from me.”
Luca nods slowly. “He won’t believe it if it’s tied to you.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s why it has to come from you. Or appear like it did.”
I place the USB into his hand. Our fingers brush briefly, a reminder of how much trust this requires.
“Give it to him,” I continue. “Tell him it came from a source you trust. Tell him to keep Arianna close while he looks. Don’t let her disappear.”
Luca’s jaw tightens. “And if she finds out?”
“She won’t,” I say. “She thinks she’s already won.”
He studies me carefully. “You’re risking a lot.”
“I already lost a lot,” I reply softly.
Silence settles between us again, filled only by the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves overhead.
“There’s something else,” Luca says after a moment.
I look at him.
“She approached me again,” he admits. “Still thinks I’m considering her offer.”
“Good,” I say immediately. “Let her.”
“You trust me that much?” he asks.
I meet his gaze without hesitation. “With my life.”
Something shifts in his expression at that. Resolve. Loyalty. Maybe guilt.
“I won’t let her hurt him,” Luca says quietly.
“I know,” I reply. “But don’t let her see you protecting him either.”
He pockets the USB carefully. “I’ll handle it.”
I nod, standing slowly. “Be careful.”
“You too,” he says.
As I walk away, I don’t look back.
The night feels heavier now, charged with possibility and danger in equal measure. Somewhere, Marco is standing at a crossroads he doesn’t even realize he’s reached yet.
I press a hand to my stomach instinctively, grounding myself.
I’m doing this not to destroy him.
I’m doing this to save what he can’t see slipping through his fingers.
And if this USB is the key that finally opens his eyes—then everything I’ve risked will be worth it.