Chapter 44
Chapter 44
Vanessa doesn’t go far.
She walks until the cold air cuts into her lungs, until the night feels thick enough to swallow the thoughts clawing inside her head. Arturo’s estate is quiet, lights dimmed, guards posted at the corners like statues carved from the dark.
She heads toward the gravel path behind the house, where the garden stretches wide and wild—untamed, overgrown, nothing like the manicured Santoro property she grew up staring at.
She likes it better.
It feels honest.
She sinks onto a stone bench beneath a twisted olive tree and presses the heels of her hands to her eyes.
She should feel clarity. Determination. Purpose.
Instead she feels hollow.
A thin ache that crawls beneath her ribs.
Victor.
Her parents.
The list in Arturo’s file.
The steady way he looked at her.
The warmth in his voice.
She hates all of it.
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
The deep voice breaks the silence.
Vanessa’s head snaps up.
Arturo stands a few steps away—hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, like he knew exactly where she’d run.
She exhales sharply. “You following me now?”
“No,” he says. “But I guessed.”
She hates that he can guess her so easily.
He approaches slowly, giving her room to push him away if she wants. She doesn’t. Not right away.
He nods to the bench. “Can I?”
She shrugs, affecting indifference. “It’s your property.”
Arturo sits beside her—close, but not touching. His presence warms the cold space between them.
He glances at her profile, studying her in that quiet, steady way of his. “You look like you’re thinking yourself into a corner.”
“Maybe I am,” she mutters.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
A soft huff leaves him—almost a laugh. “Not surprised.”
Vanessa smirks despite herself. A small one. Barely there. “I’m trying to wrap my head around everything.”
“What part?”
She hesitates before answering.
That alone tells him enough.
“All of it,” she finally mutters. “My parents. Victor. Your father. This… alliance.”
His jaw tenses slightly at the word father, but he lets it pass.
Vanessa picks up a small stone and rolls it between her fingers. “I spent years believing one truth. One path. Revenge. Kill the man who took my family. And then I find out… it wasn’t that simple.”
“It never is.”
She looks at him sharply. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Speak like you understand.”
He tilts his head. “You don’t think I do?”
“I think you know loss,” she admits. “But you didn’t lose your entire world at eight years old.”
Arturo’s voice drops. “No. I lost it at sixteen.”
She stills.
He doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t press. Not yet.
He shifts slightly, leaning back against the bench. “What are you afraid of, Vanessa?”
She scoffs. “I’m not afraid.”
“Yes, you are.”
His tone isn’t mocking. It’s firm. Certain.
She turns fully toward him, irritation flaring. “Oh really? And what exactly am I afraid of, Castellano?”
He meets her gaze without flinching.
“Finding out the truth isn’t what you wanted it to be.”
Her breath catches.
He continues.
“You built your life around revenge. Around the idea that Victor saved you. That you owed him. That killing my family was justice. Now you know the truth—and the foundation you built yourself on is collapsing.”
Vanessa’s jaw tenses hard. “You don’t know anything about what I built.”
“I know pain,” he says, voice low. “I know what it feels like to cling to the one thing that keeps you moving. And I know what it feels like when that thing shatters.”
She looks away.
He doesn’t stop.
“And I know you’re angry. Angry at Victor. Angry at your parents for dying. Angry at yourself for believing the lie. Angry at me for stepping into the middle of it.”
She swallows hard. “I’m not angry at you.”
“No?”
She hesitates.
She hates how heavy her chest feels.
“I don’t know what I feel toward you,” she admits, barely above a whisper.
Arturo’s expression shifts—subtle, almost imperceptible. Something softens behind his eyes.
“Vanessa.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t.”
He exhale slowly, carefully. “Fine. Then tell me what the plan is. For you. For Victor. For everything.”
She lifts her gaze toward the stars. “I want him dead.”
“Good,” he says. “So do I.”
“But I want answers first,” she adds. “I need to know exactly why he targeted my parents. What they knew. Who else was involved.”
“We’ll find out.”
She snorts. “You say that like it’s easy.”
“It won’t be.” His voice is all business again. Sharp. Focused. “But you won’t be alone.”
She stands abruptly, pacing the gravel in front of him. “You keep saying that. Like it’s supposed to mean something.”
“It means exactly what it sounds like.”
She turns on him. “Why?”
Arturo rises slowly from the bench. “Why what?”
“Why help me? Why risk your life? Why put yourself against Victor when you know what he can do?”
His answer is immediate.
“Because it’s the right thing.”
She stares at him. “That’s bullshit.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Nobody in this world does anything because it’s ‘right.’ You know that.”
Arturo steps closer—slow, deliberate, careful.
He stops just inches away.
“Fine,” he says softly. “Then here’s another reason.”
Her breath tightens.
He leans in—not touching her, just close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating off him.
“I’m doing this,” he says, voice low and rough, “because I see you. Because I know what it means to be forged into something you never asked to be. Because I won’t let Victor take anything else from you.”
Vanessa’s pulse stutters.
“That’s not an answer,” she says, but her voice breaks on the edges.
“It’s the only one you’re getting at this hour.”
She hates how her body reacts to him—how her chest tightens, how her throat burns, how the space between them suddenly feels dangerous.
She steps back—fast.
“Don’t get too close,” she mutters.
“Too late for that,” Arturo replies quietly.
She looks away, sucking in a shaky breath she hopes he doesn’t hear.
He does.
Of course he does.
Arturo slips his hands into his pockets again. “Then rest. Tomorrow, we start digging.”
She nods. “Tomorrow.”
He turns to leave, taking a few slow steps along the path.
Vanessa calls after him.
“Arturo.”
He stops but doesn’t turn.
She doesn’t know why she says what she does next.
“Thank you.”
He glances over his shoulder.
And the look he gives her…
It’s not mocking. Not arrogant. Not triumphant.
It’s warm.
Too warm.
“Good night, Vanessa.”
When he disappears into the house, Vanessa stays in the garden, gripping the cool stone of the bench, trying to steady her breathing.
Tomorrow, they hunt the truth.
Tonight, she battles the one thing she never expected—