Chapter 33
The Venetti estate seemed quieter than usual, but Carmen knew better. Silence in this place wasn’t peace; it was tension, stretched tight enough to snap. She felt it in the wary looks from Marco’s guards as she passed, in the whispers that died whenever she came near. Arianna’s poison was spreading again—she could feel it seeping through the walls like smoke.
Standing in the dim corridor outside Marco’s office, Carmen braced herself, smoothing her hands down the front of her coat. You have to keep him focused, she thought. He needs to see the real threat.
Taking a breath, she pushed open the heavy door without waiting for an invitation.
Marco sat behind his desk, slumped forward with his elbows on the wood, a glass of whiskey within arm’s reach. The faint glow of the desk lamp threw shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his brow and the lines etched into his jaw. He glanced up when she entered, his expression unreadable.
“You didn’t knock,” he said flatly.
“I didn’t think I needed to,” Carmen replied, closing the door behind her.
Marco leaned back slowly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “What do you want, Carmen?”
She ignored the bitterness in his tone and stepped closer, pulling a folder from her bag and placing it on his desk. “This.”
Marco didn’t move, his gaze locked on her face instead of the folder. “More documents?”
“Yes,” Carmen said tightly. “More proof. Arianna is still feeding information to the De Luca remnants. She’s regrouping, Marco. She’s in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.”
Marco’s lips twisted into something halfway between a smirk and a scowl. “And you just happened to find this?”
Carmen’s jaw clenched. “Yes. My contacts—”
“Your contacts,” Marco interrupted, his tone sharp. “Your network. It’s always something you can’t prove, Carmen.”
“It’s all there!” Carmen snapped, pointing at the folder. “You just have to look. Arianna hasn’t stopped, Marco. She’s turning everyone against you.”
Marco’s expression darkened. “And what about you, Carmen?”
The question hit her like a slap, the accusation lurking just beneath his words. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Marco rose from his chair, rounding the desk slowly until he stood in front of her. His gaze was hard and searching as if he were trying to peel away every layer she had built around herself.
“You left,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You ran to Vincent. You spent weeks under his roof. And now you come back, telling me Arianna’s the threat, that you’re the one trying to save me. Why should I believe you?”
Carmen stared at him, stunned. “You still think this is about Vincent?”
Marco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.
Carmen took a step closer, anger flickering in her eyes. “You’re so blind, Marco. You’re so wrapped up in Arianna’s lies that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. She’s been playing you since the beginning.”
“And what were you doing with Vincent?” Marco fired back, his voice rising. “You still haven’t told me the truth about that. Why did you go to him? Why stay with him for so long?”
“Because I didn’t have a choice!” Carmen shouted, her frustration boiling over. “You let Arianna turn you against me, Marco. I was alone. I had nowhere to go.”
“You could’ve come back,” he said, though his voice cracked faintly.
“To what?” Carmen shot back, her tone cutting. “To a man who wouldn’t believe me? To a man who let her tear us apart? I tried to save us, Marco, and you pushed me away.”
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire burning in the corner of the room. Marco looked away, his shoulders tense, his hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Maybe I did,” he said finally, his voice rough. “But that doesn’t explain everything, Carmen. Not the secrets. Not the lies.”
Carmen froze, realization crashing over her. “What has Arianna been telling you?”
Marco didn’t answer, his silence louder than words.
“She’s lying to you,” Carmen said, her voice softer now. “I don’t know what she said, but whatever it is—it’s not the truth. You know me, Marco. You know me.”
Marco turned back toward her, and for a fleeting moment, Carmen thought she saw something crack in his expression—uncertainty, regret, something she couldn’t quite place.
“You don’t understand what this is doing to me,” he muttered.
“Then let me help you,” Carmen said firmly, stepping closer. “Let me fix this before it’s too late.”
Marco stared at her for a long moment, his gaze searching her face. But then, as quickly as it came, the softness vanished, replaced by the hardened mask he had worn for weeks.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” he said quietly.
Carmen’s breath hitched, the words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. “Marco—”
“Leave,” he said, turning his back on her.
Carmen stood there for a moment, her chest rising and falling as the hurt twisted inside her. She had come to warn him, to save him, and yet Arianna’s lies had burrowed too deeply.
Finally, she turned and walked to the door, pausing just before she opened it. “You’re wrong about me,” she said softly, not looking back. “And when you finally see the truth, I hope it’s not too late.”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Marco alone in the quiet room. He ran a hand over his face, his mind a tangled mess of Carmen’s words and Arianna’s lingering whispers.
He wanted to believe Carmen—wanted it more than anything. But doubt gnawed at him, relentless and unshakable.
Her secrets still hung in the air, unanswered. And no matter how hard he tried to push it down, Arianna’s words echoed in his mind like a poison he couldn’t purge.
“Do you really think the baby is yours?”
Marco poured another glass of whiskey, the liquid swirling as he stared into the fire. Carmen’s warning lingered, but Arianna’s shadow loomed larger.
And Marco wasn’t sure which one he feared more.
