Valentina.
“Luca is here!” Someone shouted from somewhere in the forsaken warehouse, the words cutting through the distant gunfire like a blade.
Chaos erupted around us.
The echoes of bullets ricocheted through the warehouse, sharp and unforgiving. The air felt heavy with the tang of metal and sweat, pressing down on me with every breath I took.
My heart thundered in my chest as I turned to Matteo. His face was a mask of focus, his jaw clenched tightly as he scanned the room for threats.
“We have to leave,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “Now.”
“No!” I yelled, my hands trembling as I gestured to the figure tied up on the floor. “We can’t just leave her here!”
My mother’s glare burned into me from where she sat, bruised and bound, as though this entire mess was somehow my fault.
“She doesn’t want our help,” Matteo snapped, his voice as cold as steel.
I stared at him, disbelief twisting in my gut. “That doesn’t matter! I’m not leaving her!”
The gunfire grew louder, closer, and Matteo’s hand shot out, gripping my arm in a bruising hold. His dark eyes bored into mine, his expression unreadable.
“This isn’t up for debate, Valentina,” he said.
Before I could argue, before I could even think, Matteo shoved me backwards into the room. I stumbled, my balance faltering as the heavy door slammed shut behind me.
“Matteo!” I screamed, throwing myself at the door.
The sharp clink of metal sent a wave of panic crashing over me.
He’d locked it.
The bastard locked me in.
“What are you doing?” I shouted, pounding my fists against the steel.
His voice came through, muffled but firm. “It’s for your own safety.”
“Safety?” I spat, my voice cracking. “You think locking me in here is safe? Open the damn door, Matteo!”
But he didn’t answer. His footsteps echoed faintly, growing fainter until they disappeared altogether.
I slammed my fists against the door, my chest heaving with fury. “I hate you!” I screamed, my voice raw and broken. “Do you hear me? I HATE YOU!”
Behind me, my mother’s voice cut through the silence, low and biting.
“You’re wasting your breath.”
I spun around, my face hot with tears and rage. “And you’re wasting mine,” I snapped. “You could have helped me talk him out of this.”
Her bruised face was an unreadable mask as she leaned back against the wall, watching me with something between pity and disdain. “You think talking him out of this would help anything?”
“Yes!” I shot back, gesturing wildly at the door.
She tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “He wants to save you. I wonder why.”
I recoiled as though she’d slapped me, anger flashing hot and fast. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means what I say it means,” she said, her words dripping with mockery. “I have no idea why he would want to save the woman who ran away from him. Is it love?”
I stared at her, stunned into silence for a moment. Then, shaking my head, I turned away.
She wasn’t worth it. Not her, not her words, not her disdain.
Instead, I focused on the room around me.
The air was thick with the scent of rust and mildew. Broken pieces of wood and scraps of metal littered the floor, and a heavy steel grate covered the only window, casting dim shadows across the concrete walls.
My eyes darted to the padlock Matteo had used to chain the door shut. My fingers ran over the cool metal, searching for any weakness, but it was solid.
“Damn it,” I muttered, kicking the door in frustration.
How had I not even known that he carried a padlock and key with him?
More gunfire erupted outside, louder now. The sound sent a chill down my spine, and I pressed my ear to the door, straining to hear anything beyond the chaos.
I couldn’t make out much… shouts, the faint crackle of Lorenzo’s voice on someone’s earpiece, and the relentless sound of bullets.
My stomach churned, and I clenched my fists, my anger at Matteo mixing with something far more painful.
Fear.
I sank to the floor, my back against the cold steel of the door.
“Coward,” my mother muttered.
I didn’t even look at her. I couldn’t afford to.
Instead, I buried my face in my hands, tears slipping through my fingers as the weight of it all crashed down on me.
I hated this. I hated Matteo for locking me in here. I hated Luca for forcing us into this nightmare. And most of all, I hated myself for being so helpless.
The gunfire outside suddenly stopped, replaced by an eerie silence that made my blood run cold.
“Matteo,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please be okay.”
The silence stretched, suffocating me. My breath hitched as I pressed my ear to the door again, desperate for any sound, any sign of life.
Then, I heard it.
Footsteps.
They were slow and deliberate, drawing closer with every step.
My heart raced as I scrambled to my feet, my hands trembling as I reached for the gun still strapped to my side.
The lock clicked, and the door creaked open.
I held my breath, the gun shaking in my hands as the figure stepped into the room.
My blood froze.
“Isabella.”
My sister stood before me, her face calm, almost serene, as though the chaos outside hadn’t touched her.
Her lips curled into a slow, smug smile. “Miss me, dear sister?”
My grip on the gun tightened as I stared at her, a mix of disbelief and fury surging through me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice sharp.
She raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the room. “Saving you, apparently.”
“I don’t need saving.”
She tilted her head, her smile widening. “Don’t be ungrateful.”
Before I could respond, the warehouse’s speaker system crackled to life.
A familiar voice boomed through the static, calm and menacing.
“Attention, everyone,” Luca said, his tone dripping with smugness. “I hope you’re all enjoying the festivities. I know I am.”
My stomach dropped, and I turned toward the speaker mounted in the corner of the room, my heart pounding.
“Valentina,” Luca continued, his voice almost playful. “I hope you’re comfortable. I went to great lengths to ensure you’d have the best seat in the house.”
I clenched my jaw, anger surging through me as his words echoed around the room.
“And now,” he said, his tone shifting to something darker, more triumphant, “I have a special announcement. One I think you’ll all find… interesting.”
The silence that followed was suffocating, every second stretching unbearably.
Then, his next words hit me like a sledgehammer.
“Pedro Nevarro is dead.”
My breath caught, and the world seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head as the weight of his declaration sank in.
Luca’s voice came again, colder now, filled with a sick sense of triumph.
“And I,” he said, drawing out each word with cruel precision, “am the new Don of the Nevarro mafia gang.”