POV: Carmen
Arianna doesn’t announce herself.
Of course she doesn’t.
If there is one thing she has always understood instinctively, it’s how to move through spaces as if she belongs there—even when she doesn’t. Especially when she doesn’t. I sense her before I see her, the way you sense a change in pressure, a subtle wrongness in the air that makes your shoulders tense without explanation.
I’m alone when it happens.
Deliberately so.
The meeting with the smaller families ended hours ago, and I stayed behind in the building afterward under the pretense of finalizing documents. Luca wanted to assign additional security. I refused. Not because I underestimate danger, but because I recognize invitations when they present themselves.
This one is intentional.
I hear her heels before I hear her voice—measured, unhurried, echoing softly down the corridor. She doesn’t rush. She never does. Arianna has always believed urgency is something other people need.
I don’t turn around right away.
“You chose an ugly place,” she says lightly, her voice smooth, almost amused. “Very symbolic.”
“Neutral ground,” I reply, still facing the window. “It suits me.”
She stops several feet behind me. Close enough to be invasive. Far enough to pretend restraint.
“So,” she continues, “this is where you’ve been hiding.”
I finally turn.
Arianna looks exactly as she always does—impeccably composed, dressed in a way that suggests elegance without effort. Her expression is calm, curious, faintly indulgent. Anyone watching from a distance might mistake this for a cordial encounter.
That’s the danger of Arianna.
She doesn’t need to bare her teeth. She trusts you to walk closer on your own.
“I’m not hiding,” I say. “I’m working.”
Her gaze flicks briefly to the table behind me, to the scattered folders and secure tablet. “You always were industrious,” she says. “It used to irritate Marco.”
I don’t respond to that.
Silence stretches, taut and deliberate.
“You’ve been busy,” she adds. “Negotiating. Aligning. Reframing the board.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t invite me,” she notes.
“No.”
Her smile sharpens slightly. “You’ve replaced me.”
I tilt my head. “I was never you.”
She laughs softly at that, the sound controlled. “No,” she agrees. “You were always… adjacent. Useful. Invisible until you weren’t.”
I step closer, closing the distance she’s been using as leverage. “You mistake patience for invisibility.”
Her eyes flicker. Just once.
We stand there, studying each other—not as rivals, but as women who understand exactly what the other is capable of. There is no shouting. No threats. This isn’t a confrontation meant for witnesses.
This is intimate.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Arianna says quietly. “The Consortium doesn’t forgive exposure.”
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I reply. “I’m planning an end.”
She inhales slowly, considering me. “You think they’ll let you?”
“I think they’ll try to stop me,” I say. “Which means I’m already effective.”
That earns me a real reaction—a tightening at the corner of her mouth, a subtle shift in posture. For the first time since she arrived, Arianna looks annoyed.
“You’ve changed,” she says.
“So have you,” I answer. “You’re cornered.”
Her laugh this time is sharper. “Careful.”
“Why?” I ask. “Because you’ll kill me?”
The words hang between us, unflinching.
Arianna’s gaze drops—not to my face, but lower, to where the baby had been resting earlier before I handed them off to security. Her expression changes then. Not horror. Not softness.
Calculation.
“I would,” she says calmly. “If it came to that.”
I don’t react.
“I wouldn’t let the Consortium do it,” she continues. “They’re sloppy. Impersonal. You’d become a lesson.”
She steps closer again, voice lowering. “I’d rather it be me. Clean. Intentional.”
The honesty is chilling in its restraint.
“And the child?” I ask.
Her lips press together briefly. “Collateral.”
I nod once. “Thank you for confirming what I already knew.”
She stiffens slightly. “You think this makes you strong?”
“No,” I reply. “I think it makes you predictable.”
Her eyes narrow. “You always did think you were smarter than me.”
“I think you’ve always underestimated how much I see,” I correct.
We circle each other slowly now, not physically but conversationally, each word chosen with care. This isn’t about dominance. It’s about delineation.
“You took Marco from me,” she says suddenly.
I stop. “No,” I say. “You never had him. You had access.”
Her jaw tightens. “He trusted me.”
“He trusted the version of you that needed him,” I say. “Not the one standing here.”
Arianna’s composure cracks—not fully, but enough. “You think you’ve won because you’ve gathered allies,” she snaps softly. “Because you’ve made yourself indispensable.”
“I don’t need to be indispensable,” I reply. “I need to be effective.”
She exhales sharply. “This ends badly.”
“Yes,” I agree. “For you.”
For a moment, something dangerous flares behind her eyes—not rage, but wounded pride. That’s the most lethal version of Arianna. The one who believes she’s been wronged.
“You should have stayed quiet,” she says. “You should have taken your child and disappeared.”
I meet her gaze without blinking. “I don’t disappear.”
She studies me for a long moment, then steps back, reclaiming her distance, her mask sliding smoothly back into place.
“This isn’t over,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “It isn’t.”
She turns to leave, pausing at the doorway. “When this ends,” she adds, “Marco will hate you for what you forced him to become.”
I don’t rise to it. “Marco is becoming what he should have been all along.”
She leaves without another word.
The door closes softly behind her, and only then do I allow myself to exhale.
My hands are steady.
My pulse is controlled.
Fear lingers, low and cold—but it doesn’t own me.
Arianna didn’t come here to negotiate. She came to mark territory. To remind me that she is willing to cross lines others won’t.
Good.
That means she’s running out of space.
I gather my things methodically, signaling security only after I’m ready to leave. As I step back into the night, the city feels different—closer, sharper, more honest.
The Consortium knows I exist.
Arianna knows I won’t yield.
And now, for the first time, I know exactly how this ends.
Not loudly.
Not chaotically.
But decisively.
Because Arianna Ricci doesn’t fear death.
She fears irrelevance.
And I intend to give her exactly that—right before the end.