Chapter 78 – Uncover Who Lit The First Match
Chapter 78 – Uncover Who Lit The First Match
Lucia’s POV
Vincenzo.
My stomach dropped the moment I opened the door and saw him standing there like a storm in a designer coat—tailored, smug, dangerous. His hair was slicked back, his sharp jaw dusted with stubble, and his eyes… God, his eyes were as dead as I remembered. Cold. Calculated.
He looked like a man who had come not to visit, but to ruin something.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, voice low and sharp. “How did you find this address? Who let you in?”
Vincenzo cocked his head, amusement flickering in his eyes like a match being struck. “I have my ways,” he said smoothly. “Or did you forget who I am?”
“And who are you?” I snapped, heart pounding with fury and something darker.
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his voice dropping like poison in honey.
“The man who knows how to make ghosts talk,” he murmured.
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Dante pulled a stunt on me,” he said smoothly, like it was just another line in a business report. “Some shady little move I didn’t appreciate. And then you vanished. Forgive me for assuming you might be rotting under a collapsed building.”
I flinched—not from fear but from fury. From the cold, casual way he spoke about death like it was just an inconvenience.
“You’ve seen what you came for?” I snapped. “Good. Now leave.”
But he didn’t move.
Of course he didn’t.
Instead, he stayed planted on the porch like he belonged there, eyes lazily scanning the faint light spilling out behind me.
“You really traded up, cara,” he said with a smug curl of his lips. “From a dump… to what? A safe house wrapped in Dante’s dirty money?”
I stepped half out the door, body blocking the entrance like a barrier. “What the hell do you want, Vincenzo?”
He smirked. “Just making sure you were still breathing. Heard Dante’s not keeping his strays anymore.”
“Go to hell.”
“Or maybe”—his voice dipped—“you finally found out what Dante’s been hiding about your parents.”
I froze.
He smiled, satisfied. “Figures.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re still angry,” he said. “Is this about the boy? Daniel?”
My blood turned to fire.
“You killed him,” I said, voice low and sharp. “You burned the warehouse. It was all you.”
Vincenzo only laughed. “You’ve got no proof.”
“Get off my porch before I drag the truth out of you myself.”
He chuckled again and walked away, whistling like it was all a game.
And I stood there shaking, every bone in my body screaming.
⸻
It was barely an hour later when the doorbell rang again.
I opened it, expecting the worst.
It was Lucas.
He looked uncomfortable in his navy trench coat, his eyes flickering past my shoulder like he half-expected to see Dante appear behind me.
“Lucia,” he said with a small nod.
“What do you want?” I asked, more tired than angry now.
“I came to check on you,” he said. “You’ve been greatly missed.”
I leaned against the doorway. “Let me guess. You were sent.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Dante’s worried,” he said. “You leaving—he hasn’t been the same.”
I crossed my arms. “Good.”
Lucas sighed. “Look, I’m not here to take sides. But Alina’s also sick. Like, really sick.”
My stomach dropped. “Alina?”
“Yes,” he said gently. “Your friend.”
I swallowed hard. “What happened?”
“She collapsed yesterday. Fever, nausea… They rushed her to the hospital. Dante’s been trying to reach you ever since.”
Guilt hit me like a punch to the chest.
Alina had been there since day one. Gentle, kind, always knowing when I needed space and when I needed soup. She’d braided my hair when I was too numb to function. Almost died because of me. And I wasn’t there when she needed me.
“I…” I hesitated. “I can’t go back there.”
Lucas studied me for a long moment. “Then maybe just send a message. She asks about you.”
I nodded, barely holding it together. “Thanks for telling me.”
He turned to leave, then paused.
“He misses you,” he said quietly.
I didn’t answer.
After Lucas left, I pulled the old shoebox from under my bed—the one crammed with evidence I’d been too afraid to look at again. But Vincenzo’s visit had shaken something loose. Left me restless. I needed to remember the truth, to remind myself why I couldn’t trust any of them.
Receipts. Transaction records. Anonymous letters filled with veiled threats and cryptic warnings. It was all still there. Waiting.
But something else caught my eye.
A thin folder separate from the others. One of the first envelopes I’d received from the anonymous tipper. I’d skimmed it once, dismissed it as old news. But I’d never looked closely.
I opened it.
Inside were a few printed emails—most redacted, but one stood out. A fire report from years ago.
Dante’s family estate. The fire that killed his parents.
My heart stopped as I read it. There was nothing accidental about it. The accelerant used was military-grade. The door locks had been tampered with from the outside.
Attached to the report was a grainy, photocopied surveillance still.
A man. Average height. Broad shoulders. Walking away from the estate minutes before the building went up in flames. His face half-turned toward the camera, just enough to show he wasn’t Dante. And he sure as hell wasn’t Dante’s father.
Scribbled in blue ink beneath the surveillance image was something that made my pulse trip:
“Surv. cache + email logs backed up. Retrieve: 72.211.43.9 / Location: 311 Edgewater Blvd, Palmera City. Ask for ‘M.’”
An IP address. A physical location. And a letter.
I stared at the line for a long time, the words sinking in like fangs.
This wasn’t just about Daniel. Or my mother. Or my father’s sins.
This was bigger.
Darker.
And Dante… he’d never really talked about that night.
If there was something more behind that fire, I had to find out.
And now I had a name. A lead. A location.
I didn’t want to go back to Dante’s world. But maybe I’d never truly left.
And maybe, just maybe… I’d have to walk back through hell to uncover who lit the first match.