POV: Carmen
The problem isn’t that Arianna got away again.
The problem is that she did it clean.
I sit at the long table in Vincent’s study, the lights dimmed low, the air heavy with the smell of old leather and whiskey. The screens in front of me replay the same loop over and over—security feeds, fragments of audio, still frames pulled from Luca’s glasses before the signal cut. Perfect timing. Perfect chaos. Perfect disappearance of proof.
She didn’t just interrupt the truth.
She erased it.
Vincent leans against the wall near the window, arms crossed, watching me in that silent way of his that always means he’s already five steps ahead and waiting for me to catch up.
“She didn’t panic,” he says finally. “That’s what bothers you.”
“Yes,” I reply. “Anyone innocent would’ve panicked. She performed.”
“She always does,” Vincent says. “That’s how she survives.”
I rub my temples, exhaustion pressing in behind my eyes. “We had everything. Bernardis. De Lucas. Financial trails. Patterns. And she still managed to turn it into sympathy.”
Vincent scoffs. “Because you’re still trying to beat her with truth.”
I look up sharply. “You think that’s a flaw?”
“In this world?” he says. “Yes.”
The word lands hard.
“You don’t win against someone like Arianna by proving she’s guilty,” Vincent continues calmly. “You win by making her look guilty in a way no one can ignore.”
I lean back in my chair slowly. “You’re suggesting we frame her.”
“I’m suggesting we fight her the way she fights everyone else,” he replies. “Dirty. Quiet. Convincing.”
The idea settles into my chest like a stone.
I don’t like it.
Which probably means it’s the only thing that will work.
“She’s already done worse,” Vincent adds, reading my hesitation easily. “And you know it.”
“I know,” I say softly. “I just hoped we wouldn’t have to become her.”
Vincent’s gaze hardens. “You won’t become her. You’ll end her.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy with implication.
“Luca,” I say finally.
Vincent nods. “I already thought of him.”
***
Luca arrives an hour later.
He looks tired. Not physically—mentally. The kind of exhaustion that comes from standing between loyalties, from watching a man you respect dig himself deeper into a hole you warned him about.
“You saw what happened,” he says the moment he steps inside. “She turned it.”
“Yes,” I reply. “And she’ll keep turning it until there’s nothing left to turn.”
Vincent pours him a drink without asking. Luca doesn’t touch it.
“What are you proposing?” Luca asks.
I meet his gaze directly. “We stop trying to convince Marco. We let him convince himself.”
Luca’s jaw tightens. “How.”
“We give him something he finds on his own,” I say. “In her space. With her signature all over it.”
Vincent steps forward. “We plant evidence.”
Luca exhales sharply. “If this goes wrong—”
“It won’t,” Vincent interrupts. “Because we won’t make it obvious. We’ll make it familiar.”
I slide a tablet across the table toward Luca. “Everything Arianna has ever done follows patterns. The way she names files. The accounts she uses. The language in her internal notes. We copy that.”
Luca studies the screen, scrolling through mock documents, forged transfers, falsified but meticulously accurate payment logs. My stomach tightens as I watch him read.
“This is… good,” he admits quietly.
“It has to be,” I say. “Marco won’t believe anything sloppy.”
“And how do you get it into her estate?” Luca asks.
I look at him. “You.”
Silence drops instantly.
“No,” Luca says flatly.
“You’re the only one who can,” I reply. “She already thinks you’re on the fence. That you’re tempted.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t,” he snaps. “If she catches me—”
“She won’t,” Vincent cuts in. “Not if you do it clean.”
I reach forward, picking up a pair of sleek, ordinary-looking glasses from the table. “Your glasses. They’ll stream everything to us in real time. We record it. Every step. Every planted document.”
Luca stares at them. “You want me to walk into her house and leave proof behind.”
“I want you to walk into her house,” I correct, “and let her house betray her.”
I can see the war on his face. Loyalty. Fear. Duty. All of it colliding.
“If Marco finds out this came from you—” he starts.
“He won’t,” I say firmly. “Because he won’t hear it from us. He’ll find it himself.”
Vincent nods. “People believe what they discover more than what they’re told.”
Luca looks at me then, really looks at me. “You’re sure about this?”
I swallow hard. “No.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because she’ll destroy him,” I say quietly. “And she won’t even feel it.”
That does it.
Luca exhales slowly and reaches for the glasses. “Tell me what to plant.”
***
Night falls heavy and dark.
I sit in the monitoring room Vincent prepared, multiple screens lit up in front of me. One shows Luca’s point of view through the glasses. Another tracks his vitals. A third monitors Arianna’s estate perimeter.
My heart pounds harder with every step he takes.
“Gate clear,” Luca murmurs quietly through the feed.
I watch as he moves smoothly, confidently, security nodding him through. Arianna’s guards recognize him. Trust him. That alone twists something painful in my chest.
He enters the house.
The interior is exactly what I imagined—sleek, elegant, cold. Arianna’s aesthetic. Controlled chaos disguised as luxury.
“Office ahead,” Luca whispers.
I hold my breath as he steps inside.
The room is immaculate. Desk polished. Screens dark. Shelves lined with neatly labeled folders. This is where she plans. Where she calculates ruin.
“Begin,” Vincent says softly beside me.
Luca moves with precision.
He slips the first folder into a drawer beneath her desk—financial transfers bearing her signature, routed through accounts we know Marco has flagged before. Then a second—communications logs with Enzo and Sofia, phrased just ambiguously enough to look like coordination rather than coincidence.
“Camera steady,” Vincent murmurs. “Angle left.”
I watch every second, my nails digging into my palms.
Luca plants a checkbook next. Signed. Dated. Made payable to a shell company already linked to previous scandals. Then a flash drive, labeled in Arianna’s handwriting—copied perfectly.
My stomach twists.
This is wrong.
This is necessary.
“She’s coming,” Luca whispers suddenly.
My breath catches.
I watch as he slides the final document into place—a printed route schedule for the dock. The same dock Marco was ambushed at.
Then footsteps.
Luca straightens, closing the drawer smoothly, turning just as Arianna’s voice echoes faintly from down the hall.
He exits through the side corridor moments before she enters the office.
I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Recording secured,” Vincent says quietly. “Every second.”
Luca is out minutes later, the feed cutting as he removes the glasses safely outside the estate.
The room goes silent.
I stare at the screens, at the still image of Arianna’s office frozen in time—documents now waiting patiently to be discovered.
“Marco will find it,” Vincent says confidently. “He always checks when doubt gets loud enough.”
“And when he does?” I ask.
Vincent looks at me. “He won’t need us anymore.”
I close my eyes briefly, pressing a hand to my stomach.
I never wanted this path.
But Arianna Ricci made sure there wasn’t another one.