POV: Marco
The message doesn’t disappear no matter how long I stare at it.
My phone lies in my hand, screen glowing softly in the dim light of the study, the Venetti estate unnaturally quiet around me. The house feels different these days. Too large. Too hollow. Like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to collapse.
You don’t know me, but you might need this.
I’ve read the line a dozen times already. The photos beneath it are worse. Not because they’re graphic or dramatic—but because they’re precise.
Arianna’s office.
Her desk.
Her drawers.
Documents bearing her signature.
Transfers. Checks. Route schedules.
Everything looks… real.
Too real.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tight, anger and unease tangling together until I can’t tell them apart. I want to dismiss it. I want to believe this is another fabrication, another attempt to turn me against the one person who stayed.
But something feels wrong this time.
Not explosive. Not emotional.
Quiet.
That’s what scares me.
I don’t wait.
I call Arianna.
She arrives quickly, as always. Too quickly. When she steps into the study, she looks composed, elegant, perfectly in control. Her eyes flick to my face, reading the tension immediately.
“You sounded upset,” she says gently. “What happened?”
I hold up my phone. “Someone sent me this.”
She doesn’t rush toward it. That alone tells me she already knows.
I swipe through the images, turning the screen toward her. “Explain.”
Arianna’s gaze sharpens as she studies the photos. For a moment—just a fraction—something flickers across her face.
Annoyance.
Not fear.
“This again,” she says softly. “They’re persistent.”
“They?” I snap. “Who is they, Arianna?”
She looks at me then, really looks at me, her expression shifting into wounded disbelief. “You’re asking me that after everything we’ve been through?”
“I’m asking you because I’m tired of being told to ignore my instincts,” I reply. “These documents weren’t found in the street. They were found in your office.”
Her shoulders lift slightly as she exhales. “Then you already know how easy it is to plant things.”
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
Silence stretches.
She steps closer, lowering her voice. “Marco… look at me. Do you really think I would be this careless?”
That’s the problem.
No.
I don’t.
And yet—
“Someone wants me to find this,” I say slowly. “That’s obvious. But that doesn’t automatically make you innocent.”
Her eyes glisten faintly. “You don’t trust me.”
“I want to,” I say.
She reaches out, her fingers brushing my wrist, the touch warm, grounding. “Then do.”
The contact sends a familiar jolt through me—comfort, attraction, history colliding into something dangerously persuasive.
“You think I didn’t expect this?” she continues softly. “You think I didn’t know they’d come after me the moment I got close to you?”
“That doesn’t explain the signatures,” I say. “The accounts.”
“I’ve used those accounts for years,” she counters smoothly. “Anyone who’s watched me long enough could replicate the pattern.”
Her hand slides up my arm slowly, deliberately. “I’m not perfect, Marco. But I’m not stupid.”
The words land where they’re meant to.
She steps closer again, her body heat pressing into me, her voice dropping. “You were there when they tried to kill us. You saw it. I didn’t run. I didn’t hide. I stayed.”
I swallow hard.
“That’s not proof,” I say, even as my resolve wavers.
“No,” she agrees. “It’s loyalty.”
I close my eyes briefly.
I want to believe her.
God, I want to believe her.
Because the alternative means I’ve been played so completely that I didn’t just lose Carmen—I endangered my entire empire.
“I believe you,” I say finally.
The words taste wrong.
Arianna exhales softly, relief washing over her features as she leans in, pressing a light kiss against my cheek. “Thank you. I knew you’d see reason.”
But even as she pulls away, something inside me doesn’t settle.
It tightens.
After she leaves, the silence feels louder than before.
***
Luca doesn’t knock when he enters later.
He never does when something matters.
“You called for me,” he says, stopping a few feet away.
“Yes,” I reply. “Sit.”
He doesn’t. That alone irritates me.
“I confronted her,” I say instead.
“And?” Luca asks carefully.
“And I told her I believe her.”
Luca’s expression doesn’t change. Not surprise. Not relief.
Just patience.
“That wasn’t the question you actually wanted answered,” he says.
I grind my teeth. “I want your advice.”
“You already know my opinion,” he replies.
“Say it anyway.”
He exhales slowly, finally sitting across from me. “Arianna is dangerous.”
“That’s not new.”
“She’s dangerous because she doesn’t rush,” Luca continues. “She waits until people are tired. Angry. Lonely. Then she offers clarity.”
I stiffen. “You think she’s manipulating me.”
“I think she’s very good at making you feel understood,” he says. “And very bad at making anything better.”
I lean back, staring at the ceiling. “And Carmen?”
Luca hesitates. Just long enough for me to notice.
“Carmen warned you,” he says carefully. “And she left when she realized she couldn’t protect you from yourself.”
The words cut deeper than I expect.
“You think she didn’t betray me,” I say.
“I think Carmen Venetti doesn’t betray,” Luca replies quietly. “She burns bridges only when she believes they’re already collapsing.”
I close my eyes, the weight of it pressing down on me.
“I told Arianna I believe her,” I admit.
Luca’s gaze sharpens. “Do you?”
I open my eyes and look at him.
“No,” I say quietly.
The truth settles between us like something fragile.
“I don’t,” I continue. “And that scares me more than if I did.”
Luca nods once. “Then watch. Don’t confront. Let her move.”
“And Carmen?” I ask.
His expression softens just a fraction. “If she comes back into this… it won’t be to destroy you.”
I don’t respond.
When Luca leaves, I’m alone again, standing in a house filled with echoes and doubts.
I told Arianna I trusted her.
But trust doesn’t feel like this.
Trust doesn’t leave you staring at your phone at three in the morning, wondering which woman you’ve already lost—and which one is quietly tightening the noose.
And for the first time since this began, I allow myself to admit the truth I’ve been avoiding.
I don’t know who to believe anymore.
But I’m starting to know who I shouldn’t.