Chapter 35
Carmen sat at the edge of the balcony that overlooked the sprawling gardens of the Venetti estate. The cool evening air bit at her skin, but she didn’t care. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, and her thoughts spiraled through the firestorm of Marco’s accusations.
“How do I know the baby is mine?”
The words echoed relentlessly in her mind, sharp enough to reopen every wound she thought had started to heal. Carmen pressed her knuckles against her mouth, fighting to hold herself together. It wasn’t the doubt in Marco’s voice that cut her the deepest—it was the fact that, after everything, he had let himself believe it. Arianna’s poison ran deep, and Marco had willingly swallowed every drop.
Her hand drifted protectively to her stomach as a surge of anger ignited in her chest. She wouldn’t let Arianna win. She wouldn’t let her destroy Marco—or the life she had fought so hard to protect. If Marco couldn’t see the truth, then she would find a way to bring it to light herself.
The faint sound of footsteps broke her focus, and she turned to see Luca approaching. His face, always calm and watchful, now carried a shadow of frustration.
“You look like hell,” Luca said quietly, stopping a few steps away.
“Funny,” Carmen replied bitterly. “I was just about to say the same about you.”
Luca smirked faintly, but it didn’t last. “You need to stop letting him tear you apart like this.”
Carmen exhaled sharply, turning back toward the garden. “It’s not that simple, Luca. He’s listening to her. He won’t stop until he destroys everything we’ve worked for—or until Arianna takes it all from him.”
“I know,” Luca replied, his voice steady but hard. “And you’re not wrong. But Marco’s not seeing clearly. If we wait for him to come around, it’ll be too late.”
Carmen looked at him sharply, her gaze narrowing. “What are you saying?”
Luca hesitated for a beat, then stepped closer. “I’m saying we don’t have to wait. Arianna’s got Marco blind, but she hasn’t won over everyone. Some of the men—Pietro, a few of the others—they’re starting to question her. They’re starting to question him.”
“And what does that mean for us?” Carmen asked quietly, her fingers gripping the railing.
“It means we can start building our own power,” Luca said, his voice low and deliberate. “If Marco won’t listen, we’ll give him no choice. Arianna’s playing him like a puppet, but she can’t survive without his allies backing her. If we start turning his people against her—against both of them—we might have a shot at saving what’s left.”
Carmen stared at Luca, her heart pounding at the weight of what he was suggesting. It was a dangerous move—pushing Marco’s disillusioned allies to her side. It felt like betrayal, even if her intentions were to save him.
“And if Marco sees this as treason?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Luca met her gaze, unflinching. “Then he’s already lost.”
Carmen looked away, her jaw tight as her thoughts swirled. Luca was right. She could sit back and let Arianna finish what she’d started, or she could fight. For Marco. For herself. For their child.
“Fine,” she said finally, her voice firm. “Find Pietro. Talk to the others. I want to know exactly how many of Marco’s allies are willing to listen.”
Luca nodded once, a flicker of relief in his expression. “I’ll take care of it.”
As he turned to leave, Carmen’s gaze drifted back toward the darkened gardens, her voice carrying quietly into the night. “This ends with her, Luca. One way or another.”
________________
In the days that followed, Arianna’s presence seemed to spread like a stain across the estate. Carmen felt it everywhere—in the whispers of the guards, in the furtive glances of the advisors who no longer looked her in the eye. She knew Arianna was making her moves, but the scale of it became clear only when Luca delivered the news.
“She’s got new records,” Luca said grimly as he paced Carmen’s sitting room, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Letters. Communications. They’re all falsified, but they look real. She’s showing them to Marco.”
Carmen frowned, her stomach twisting. “What kind of records?”
“Letters between you and Vincent,” Luca replied darkly. “Conversations that make it look like the two of you were planning to move against Marco while you were gone. That the baby… isn’t his.”
Carmen’s blood ran cold. “She’s trying to twist everything.”
“She’s not trying. She’s succeeding,” Luca muttered, stopping to face her. “He’s buying it, Carmen. Or at least, he’s not pushing back against it.”
Carmen sank onto the edge of the couch, her mind reeling. “How could he believe her?”
“Because he’s angry. Hurt,” Luca said simply. “She knows how to use it against him.”
Carmen looked up, her eyes burning with frustration. “I need to talk to him. I need to make him see the truth.”
Luca shook his head. “It’s too soon. He won’t listen, Carmen. Not yet.”
Carmen gripped her hands tightly in her lap, fury building inside her. Arianna had been one step ahead for too long, and Carmen was done playing catch-up.
“What about the men?” she asked. “The ones who are questioning Arianna?”
“Pietro’s on the edge,” Luca replied. “And a few others have started to pull back from her. But it’s not enough yet.”
“Then we keep pushing,” Carmen said firmly. “Arianna’s lies won’t hold forever. She’s desperate now—I can feel it. If we can get Marco to listen, even for a second…”
“Carmen,” Luca interrupted, his voice gentler this time. “You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t. If Arianna keeps this up, he might not come back.”
Carmen looked up sharply, her expression hard. “He will.”
Luca hesitated, studying her. “And if he doesn’t?”
Carmen’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then I’ll tear her down myself.”
________________
Marco stood in his private study, the flickering light of the fire casting long shadows across the room. The letters Arianna had given him sat in a neat pile on his desk, their edges slightly crumpled from where he had gripped them too tightly.
Vincent.
He’d read the forged messages over and over again, trying to find the holes, the inconsistencies—something that would prove Arianna wrong. But the words on the page looked real, too real, and they painted a story he didn’t want to believe but couldn’t seem to ignore.
The conversations detailed meetings, whispered promises, and plans to move against him. The final message cut the deepest—words supposedly written by Carmen herself: “Vincent, I don’t know if it’s Marco’s or yours, but I can’t go back now. I won’t.”
Marco’s chest tightened, his throat dry as the words echoed in his mind. It wasn’t her handwriting. Not exactly. But Arianna had been so certain, so careful, and the doubts already rooted in him had begun to fester.
The door creaked open, and Luca entered without knocking, his face as unreadable as ever.
“What do you want?” Marco asked, his voice gruff.
Luca stopped in front of the desk, his gaze dropping to the pile of letters. “You’re still looking at those?”
Marco didn’t answer.
“They’re not real, Marco,” Luca said firmly. “You know that.”
“Do I?” Marco shot back, his voice sharp. “You saw the letters, Luca. You read them.”
“And I know Carmen,” Luca replied. “So do you. She wouldn’t do this, and you know it.”
Marco exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair as he turned away. “Arianna’s been right about so many things…”
Luca stepped closer, his voice quieter but no less forceful. “And maybe she hasn’t. If you can’t see the holes in her story, then you’re not looking hard enough.”
Marco didn’t turn around, his jaw tight as he stared into the flames.
“Before you destroy everything, Marco, look again,” Luca said softly. “Or you’ll regret it.”
Luca left the room, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Marco alone with the letters and the storm in his mind. He closed his eyes, the words on the pages clashing with the memories of Carmen—of her love, her loyalty, and her defiance.
What if Arianna was lying?
But what if she wasn’t?
The fire crackled in the silence, and Marco stood frozen between the two possibilities, unable to move.
