Chapter 28
The rain fell steadily that evening, a rhythmic drumming against the roof of Vincent’s countryside estate. Carmen sat at the writing desk in the guest room, a single lamp casting a faint pool of light over the paper in front of her. Her hand trembled as she hovered the pen over the parchment, the weight of her words pressing harder than any storm outside.
How did you speak to a man who had built walls so high you could barely see the other side? How did you reach someone who refused to listen?
She took a steadying breath, her thoughts narrowing to Marco—his face, the sharp lines of his jaw when he was angry, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her once upon a time. Those eyes felt a lifetime away now.
Slowly, deliberately, she began to write:
Marco,
I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I need to try. I know you’ve shut me out, and I know you have every reason to doubt me after everything that’s happened. But what’s happening now—what Arianna is doing—will destroy you, your family, and everything you’ve worked to build.
She’s not who you think she is. She’s not loyal to you. She’s never been. Everything—the fires, the betrayals, the attacks—it’s all her. She’s been playing both sides, feeding the De Lucas just enough to keep you chasing ghosts while she positions herself for the kill.
You don’t have to take my word for it. I know I’ve lost your trust. All I’m asking is that you look closer. Look at the evidence, the documents, the people whispering in your ear. Ask yourself who stands to gain the most if you and the De Lucas destroy each other.
I’m not asking you to believe in me. I’m asking you to believe in yourself, Marco—the man you were before all of this. The man who built an empire with his own hands, who could see through lies no matter how pretty they were wrapped. That man wouldn’t let anyone blind him, not even someone he cared for.
I don’t expect forgiveness, but I hope you can see the truth before it’s too late. I hope you realize who your real enemies are.
Take care of yourself, Marco. Please.
Carmen.
The ink blurred faintly at the edges where her hand had lingered too long. Carmen sat back, her chest tight as she reread the words, looking for some way to make them hit harder, to make them reach him.
There was no mention of the baby. No mention of the life growing inside her that tethered her to Marco more than he could ever know. Telling him now would only give Arianna more ammunition. No, this letter had to be about him—about the truth.
Carmen folded the paper carefully, sliding it into an envelope and sealing it. She held it for a moment, staring at her own handwriting on the front: Marco Venetti.
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Sofia De Luca entered Vincent’s estate through the back entrance later that night, dressed in a long coat that shielded her from the rain. Carmen met her in the hallway, the letter already clutched tightly in her hands.
“You’re sure you can get this to him?” Carmen asked, her voice low and urgent.
Sofia tilted her head, eyeing Carmen carefully. “He doesn’t trust me much these days, but he still listens. I’ll deliver it.”
Carmen hesitated, searching Sofia’s face. “Don’t let Arianna see you.”
“She won’t,” Sofia replied simply, reaching for the envelope. “I’m not new to this game.”
Carmen held the letter for a second longer before finally releasing it into Sofia’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Sofia glanced at her, curiosity flickering in her sharp gaze. “You could have said more. About the baby.”
Carmen shook her head, her expression hardening. “No. If Arianna finds out, she’ll use it against me. Against Marco. This has to be about her—not me.”
Sofia studied her for a moment before tucking the letter safely into her coat pocket. “You’re stronger than I thought, Carmen.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Carmen replied softly.
Sofia gave her a small nod before turning and disappearing back into the storm. Carmen stayed in the hallway for a long time after she was gone, her fingers brushing over her stomach as she whispered into the silence.
“Please, Marco. See the truth.”
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Marco sat in his study, a half-empty glass of whiskey beside him as he skimmed through old reports—shipments, ledgers, casualty numbers. His empire had always been built on precision, but lately, cracks had appeared in places he couldn’t seem to mend.
His eyes burned with fatigue, but sleep wasn’t an option. Not when everything he had spent years building felt so precariously close to slipping through his fingers.
“Boss?”
Marco looked up sharply as Luca appeared in the doorway, a faint tension in his posture. “What is it?”
Luca stepped forward, holding out an envelope. “Sofia delivered this. Said it was urgent.”
“Sofia?” Marco frowned, reaching for the letter. He studied the handwriting on the front, his breath catching slightly as recognition struck him. He’d know that hand anywhere.
Carmen.
Luca lingered for a moment, watching him, but Marco waved him off with a sharp gesture. “Leave me.”
Luca gave a slight nod and disappeared, the door clicking shut behind him.
Marco turned the envelope over in his hands, his heart beating faster than he liked to admit. He hadn’t seen Carmen’s handwriting in weeks, and the sight of it brought emotions bubbling to the surface that he wasn’t ready to face.
Why now?
Carefully, he slid a knife along the edge of the envelope and pulled the letter free. The moment he saw the first line, his chest tightened.
Marco, I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I need to try.
He read the words slowly, deliberately, his gaze lingering on every sentence as though trying to pull the truth from between the lines. Carmen’s voice echoed in his mind as he read her pleas, her warnings about Arianna, and the reminders of who he was before everything had fallen apart.
He set the letter down slowly, his hand shaking slightly as the doubts he’d been ignoring began to crash into him like waves against rock.
Arianna had told him Carmen was manipulating him—that she was working with Vincent to destroy him. And yet, the Carmen he’d known had always been honest. Her words, even now, didn’t feel like lies. They felt desperate. They felt real.
Marco pushed back from the desk, pacing toward the window as he ran a hand through his hair. Outside, the rain fell hard, hammering against the glass like the storm in his mind.
The documents. The planted evidence. Luca’s warnings. Now this letter.
Too many pieces didn’t add up. Arianna had been so careful, so convincing, but Carmen’s words gnawed at the edges of his certainty.
Look closer.
Marco exhaled sharply, grabbing the letter again and rereading it.
“Damn you, Carmen,” he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked venom.
He sat heavily in his chair, his mind spinning. He could no longer ignore the voice in his head whispering that Arianna had pulled him too far into her game. If Carmen was telling the truth, then everything—the attacks, the betrayals—had been orchestrated to leave him blind.
His grip on the letter tightened as he made his decision.
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The next morning, Luca stepped into Marco’s office to find him sitting at his desk, documents spread out before him. The letter from Carmen lay off to the side, creased and worn from where Marco had read it again and again.
“Luca,” Marco said without looking up, his voice calm but firm. “I need you to pull every file we have on Arianna. All of it. I don’t care how far back it goes—financial records, communications, everything.”
Luca blinked, clearly taken aback. “You’re investigating her?”
Marco finally looked up, his dark eyes steady. “I need answers.”
Luca’s expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of relief passed through his gaze. “You’ll have them.”
As Luca turned to leave, Marco leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing with questions that had no easy answers. Carmen’s warning played over and over in his mind, like a melody he couldn’t silence.
“Ask yourself who stands to gain the most if you and the De Lucas destroy each other.”
It was time to look closer. Time to see the truth for himself. And for the first time in weeks, Marco felt as though the fog was beginning to lift.
A storm was coming, and this time, Marco wouldn’t be caught blind.
