POV: Carmen
I know Marco is going to move against Vincent before anyone tells me.
The city has a way of whispering when something is about to explode. Calls that don’t connect. Cars slowing just a second too long outside gates. Men who suddenly remember errands they don’t need to run. Tension carries through concrete and wire like static, and I feel it in my bones long before Luca’s name lights up my phone.
I don’t answer immediately.
I’m standing at Vincent’s window, staring out over the darkened grounds of his estate, watching guards move in silent patterns below. Vincent’s men don’t posture. They don’t threaten. They prepare. And tonight, they are preparing.
That terrifies me.
I answer the call.
“Marco is furious,” Luca says without greeting. “He thinks Vincent stabbed one of his guards.”
My stomach drops, cold and sharp. “That’s impossible.”
“I know,” Luca replies. “You know. But he saw the dagger.”
Of course he did.
Arianna’s hand is all over this. I can almost see her smile in my mind—elegant, patient, satisfied. Turn Marco against Vincent. Turn his jealousy into rage. Push him to act without thinking.
“Is he moving?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Luca says. “But he will. Soon.”
I close my eyes, pressing my forehead briefly against the cool glass. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Be careful,” Luca adds quietly. “If he comes for Vincent, things will escalate fast.”
The line goes dead.
I stand there for a long moment, breathing slowly, trying to steady the chaos inside my chest. Every path feels wrong. Every move carries consequences I can’t fully control anymore.
Behind me, Vincent’s voice cuts through the silence. “He’s coming, isn’t he?”
I turn.
Vincent stands in the doorway, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looks infuriatingly calm. As if the idea of Marco Venetti marching toward him with an army is little more than an inconvenience.
“Yes,” I say honestly. “Soon.”
Vincent takes a sip of his drink. “Figures.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” I snap.
He lifts an eyebrow. “On the contrary. I’m taking it exactly as seriously as it deserves.”
“One of Marco’s men was stabbed,” I say. “With your knife.”
Vincent laughs—a short, humorless sound. “I don’t miss. And I don’t announce.”
“I know,” I say. “But Marco doesn’t. Not right now.”
Vincent studies my face more closely, something shifting in his expression. “You’re worried about him.”
“I’m worried about everything,” I reply. “This is what Arianna wants. Chaos. Blood. No thinking, just reaction.”
Vincent sets his glass down. “If Marco comes here looking for war, I can end this tonight.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want,” I say sharply.
He tilts his head. “Why?”
Because I still love him.
The truth presses against my ribs, painful and inconvenient. I don’t say it. I don’t need to. Vincent sees enough in my silence.
“You think he’ll listen to you,” Vincent says slowly.
“I think he might,” I reply. “If I can get to him before she does.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then I make sure he sees the truth another way.”
Vincent watches me for a long moment. “You’re not trying to save him anymore.”
I shake my head. “I’m trying to stop him from destroying himself.”
He nods once. “Then do what you need to do.”
***
By evening, my decision is made.
If Marco won’t listen to warnings, then he’ll have to listen to evidence. Not fragments. Not planted suggestions. Everything.
I spread the documents across the table in the guest room Vincent gave me—bank records, communication logs, transaction trails, names Arianna thought no one would ever connect. Fifteen years of betrayal, laid bare piece by piece.
Bernardis.
De Lucas.
Now Venetti.
Patterns emerge when you stop looking at events and start looking at behavior.
I organize everything carefully, chronologically, methodically. No emotion. No commentary. Just truth.
Then I take out a blank sheet of paper.
My hand hesitates before I start writing.
This is the hardest part.
“ I’m not asking you to trust me. “
The words look small on the page, but they carry more weight than any threat ever could.
“ I’m asking you to trust yourself. “
I pause, swallowing.
“ Look at what you’ve become since she entered your life again. Look at what you’ve lost. Look at who you’re fighting. “
My chest tightens, but I keep going.
“ If you keep following her, you will burn down your own empire and call it victory. “
I stop there.
No pleas. No apologies. No declarations.
Just truth.
I fold the letter carefully and place it on top of the stack.
Now comes the dangerous part.
***
The park is empty when I arrive.
The night air is cool, carrying the faint scent of rain and asphalt. Streetlights cast long shadows across the paths, turning the world into something half-real, half-dreamed.
Sofia De Luca waits near the far bench, her posture stiff, alert. She looks surprised when she sees me approach.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly.
“Neither should you,” I reply.
She eyes the envelope in my hand. “What is this?”
“Something Marco needs to see,” I say. “From someone he won’t immediately dismiss.”
Her lips press together. “Why me?”
“Because you’re a strategist,” I answer. “And because you know Arianna better than anyone.”
Sofia studies my face, searching for deception. Whatever she sees convinces her.
“This will put me at risk,” she says.
“So will doing nothing,” I reply.
Silence stretches between us.
Finally, she reaches out and takes the envelope. “If this backfires—”
“It already has,” I interrupt. “I’m just trying to limit the damage.”
She nods once. “I’ll deliver it.”
“Don’t add commentary,” I say. “Don’t warn him. Let him read.”
Sofia slips the documents into her coat. “He won’t forgive you easily.”
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I reply. “I’m asking for clarity.”
She hesitates, then turns and disappears into the darkness.
***
I return to Vincent’s estate feeling hollow.
Every move I’ve made tonight feels final, irreversible. Whatever happens next, there will be no going back to what Marco and I were before Arianna.
Vincent is waiting for me in the living room, arms crossed. “You look like someone who just set fire to a bridge.”
“I did,” I say quietly.
He studies me for a moment. “You did the right thing.”
“I hope so,” I reply.
Later, alone in my room, I sit on the edge of the bed, hands resting over my stomach, breathing slowly.
Everything is moving now.
Marco. Arianna. Vincent. De Lucas.
And me—standing in the middle, trying to end a war before it devours everyone.
I close my eyes.
If Marco listens, maybe there’s still something left to save.
If he doesn’t—Then I’ll finish what Arianna started.
But I’ll do it with my eyes open.