Chapter 27
The warehouse fire raged like a living thing, smoke billowing high into the night sky as flames consumed everything in sight. Marco stood at the edge of the blaze, his face illuminated by the glow of the inferno. Around him, his men scrambled to contain the chaos—shouting orders, dragging wounded out of harm’s way, but it was too late.
This had been one of his most critical operations—storage for weapons and supplies that kept the Venetti family armed and stable. And now it was gone.
“Boss!” Pietro ran up to him, panting, a thick smear of soot across his face. “We found this.”
Pietro handed him a small, crumpled document—a manifest, charred at the edges but still legible. Marco unfolded it slowly, the name at the bottom glaring up at him like a dagger.
Vincent Rossi.
Marco’s jaw clenched as his gaze swept over the remains of the warehouse, his breathing slow and controlled despite the fire raging both in front of him and inside his chest.
“He’s making moves,” Pietro said, his voice bitter. “Vincent’s been quiet for too long. Now this?”
Marco didn’t answer, his mind racing. Vincent. The name tasted like acid. And Carmen—Carmen had been hiding with him. She had chosen him. Arianna’s words echoed in Marco’s mind—warnings about their plotting, their betrayal.
“You think this is Vincent’s doing?” Luca’s voice cut in as he approached, his eyes sharp and unreadable.
“The evidence says it is,” Marco replied coldly, holding up the manifest. “You see this? Vincent Rossi’s name is all over it. The bastard sent his men into my territory and torched my operation.”
Luca hesitated for a moment, studying the document in Marco’s hand. “It doesn’t add up,” he said carefully. “Vincent’s smart—he wouldn’t be that obvious.”
“Then he’s making a statement,” Marco snapped, his voice taut with anger. “And Carmen’s helping him do it.”
The words hit harder than Marco expected as they left his mouth. He turned back toward the flames, his expression darkening. Somewhere deep in his mind, the doubt he’d been trying to bury clawed its way to the surface. It didn’t feel right. Vincent was too cautious for something this reckless. And Carmen—Carmen wouldn’t.
Would she?
Arianna had told him time and again that Carmen’s silence was proof of her betrayal. Now, standing here, surrounded by smoke and ruin, it felt like everything was coming undone.
“We’re moving against Vincent,” Marco said, his voice low and final. “Tonight.”
Luca didn’t argue, though his gaze lingered on Marco for a moment longer before he turned to follow the others.
________________
Carmen stood in Vincent’s study, clutching a piece of paper in her trembling hands. The words written there made her chest tighten—a single report from her network, confirming what she’d feared.
The warehouse attack had been Arianna’s doing, but the evidence left behind pointed squarely at Vincent.
“They’re going to come for you,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying across the room.
Vincent, leaning casually against his desk with a glass of whiskey in hand, raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
“Marco,” Carmen replied, looking up at him. “Arianna’s planted evidence tying you to the attack. Marco’s going to believe it. She’s turning him against you, Vincent. You have to get out before it’s too late.”
Vincent’s smirk faded, his gaze sharpening. “And how do you know all of this?”
“My network,” Carmen said quickly, stepping forward. “You know I’ve been watching Arianna. I can prove it, Vincent. She’s orchestrating all of this.”
Vincent set his glass down with a quiet clink, his demeanor hardening. “Why are you so sure he’ll come for me?”
“Because Arianna’s poisoned his mind,” Carmen said, her voice breaking slightly. “And because I’m here. He blames me for everything—for leaving, for running to you. She’s using that, Vincent. She’s feeding his anger.”
Vincent stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And what about you, Carmen? What are you doing in all of this?”
Carmen hesitated, her hand drifting unconsciously to her stomach as she tried to steady her breathing. Vincent noticed the gesture immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.
Carmen’s throat tightened. She looked away, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”
The word hung in the air like a hammer blow. Vincent straightened, his smirk gone entirely. “Pregnant?”
She nodded, her hand still resting protectively over her abdomen. “It’s Marco’s. I haven’t told him, and I won’t—not yet. But that’s why I can’t let Arianna win. I can’t let her destroy him. Or me.”
Vincent’s expression darkened, a flicker of something protective in his gaze. “And you’re just telling me this now?”
“Because I need your help,” Carmen said desperately. “If Marco moves against you, you need to be ready. I can’t fight Arianna alone, Vincent. I need you to survive.”
Vincent exhaled sharply, pacing away from her before turning back. “Marco’s a fool to let that woman get this far. But if he comes for me…” He trailed off, his gaze steady. “Fine. I’ll play your game, Carmen. For now.”
Relief flooded her, but it was short-lived. There was no winning this without risk, and she knew it. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Vincent poured another glass of whiskey, but his focus remained on her. “If you’re putting me in the line of fire, you’d better be damn sure you know what you’re doing.”
“So would I,” she murmured, her hand never leaving her stomach.
________________
Marco sat alone in his office later that night, the lights dimmed as he stared at the shattered remnants of his empire. Papers were scattered across the desk, the crumpled manifest implicating Vincent lying at the center.
His hands clenched as memories crept into the room, unbidden and unwelcome. Carmen’s laugh echoing in the garden. The look in her eyes the night she promised to stand by him. Her touch, her smile, the way she always managed to pull him back when he fell too far.
And then the last memory—her leaving. Running. Choosing Vincent over him.
“Why?” Marco whispered to the empty room, his voice rough. “Why did you do this to me?”
He stood abruptly, pacing toward the window. The anger he felt—toward Vincent, toward Carmen—warred with the creeping suspicion that something wasn’t right. Every time he tried to steady his mind, Arianna’s voice rang in his ears: She betrayed you. She’s working with Vincent.
Marco slammed his fist against the window frame, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Damn it,” he hissed.
For weeks, Arianna had been his constant, his advisor when everything else crumbled. But now, doubt clawed at him, refusing to be silenced. Luca’s words echoed in his mind—You need to look closer.
He turned, staring back at the manifest on his desk. The fire. The attack. The evidence. Everything fit together too perfectly, like a puzzle where the edges had been forced to align.
And Carmen—Carmen wouldn’t… would she?
His phone buzzed on the desk, pulling him from his thoughts. The message was from Arianna.
“We need to act tonight. Vincent is waiting for you to hesitate. Don’t let him win.”
Marco stared at the screen, his breathing slow and measured. His mind screamed for him to act, to put an end to this war, to silence the doubts eating away at him. But somewhere deep inside, the smallest part of him whispered another word.
Wait.
He slammed the phone face-down on the desk, retreating to his chair. For the first time in weeks, Marco felt the weight of the choice before him—a choice that could cost him everything.
And he wasn’t sure which path would save him and which would destroy him.
