35

35


Lorenzo was the first to speak,
“Vivienne,” he said, leaning forward just enough “Congratulations are in order. Your marriage to Lucian was… wise. A union that gives the Morettis strength, protection, stability. Your father would’ve approved.”

My jaw tightened, though I kept my expression composed. My father would never have let you corner me into it, I thought.

“Wise,” I repeated softly, walking further into the room. “That’s the word you’ve always used, isn’t it, Lorenzo? When you want me to swallow something bitter and pretend it tastes sweet.”

A faint murmur rippled across the table, but Lorenzo only smiled thinly.

“It was necessary,” he said. “The Riveras were circling like wolves. Alone, you would have been… vulnerable. Lucian’s name protects you. Protects all of us. Don’t forget, it was for the family.”

I placed my hand on the back of a chair, but I didn’t sit yet. I let my gaze sweep across the table. “The family,” I said, echoing his words. “Is that what we call it now? Because from where I’m standing, it looked less like protection and more like survival—for you. You needed Lucian’s shadow just as much as you thought I did.”

Salvatore chuckled under his breath. “She has her father’s tongue, that one.”

I ignored him, fixing my eyes on Lorenzo. “Tell me, how have the Riveras been? You speak as if they’re still a threat, yet I don’t recall seeing any of you handling them directly. Lucian and I—our people—have kept them at bay. You sit at this table, sipping whiskey, while we bleed for the ground you claim to guard.”

Lorenzo’s fingers stopped drumming. He looked at me steadily. “We chose this path for you so you wouldn’t have to bleed alone. You should be grateful. Lucian’s strength is your strength now.”

I leaned forward, my voice calm but sharp as glass. “Make no mistake, Lorenzo. Lucian’s strength is his own. What I build—what I command—belongs to me. The Riveras haven’t been kept out because I wear his ring. They’ve been kept out because I made it clear that crossing me comes with consequences.”

Pietro shifted in his seat, rings glinting as he steepled his fingers. “Still,” he said, “the marriage gives us the upper hand. Without it, the Riveras would’ve carved through our businesses already. You can’t deny that.”

I finally sat, slowly, deliberately, claiming my father’s old seat at the head of the table. “I don’t deny that it served a purpose. But don’t mistake the alliance for ownership. Don’t mistake my marriage for weakness.”

Silence spread through the room.

“You wanted me tied to Lucian so the Riveras wouldn’t devour us. Fine. I played the role you wrote for me. But hear me now—what happens from this point forward is my decision. I will not be a pawn on your board. And the Riveras… when they fall, it won’t be because I married a man you chose. It’ll be because I chose to crush them.”

Lorenzo’s lips curved faintly, “You sound just like him,” he said. “Your father.”

I met his stare without flinching. “Good. Then you remember what that means.”

\----------

When the meeting was over, I rose from the table without another word. Their silence followed me down the hall, but I didn’t give them the satisfaction of looking back.

I pushed open the heavy doors to my father’s office and stepped inside. Marisol slipped in beside me

"I have something,” she said.

Her tone made me sit up . “Go on.”

She stepped closer to the desk. “You asked me to look into the name Elena.”

My chest tightened. My first thought had been what anyone would assume—that Elena was Lucian’s first love. A girl he’d once held close, maybe someone who’d broken his heart. The kind of ghost men carry in the corners of their minds. I had prepared myself for that.

But Marisol’s eyes told me I was wrong.

“Elena,” she said, “is his mother. Her full name is Elena Isadora Valenti DeMarco.”

The words hit me like cold water. I blinked, feeling stunned, my lips parted but no words came out at first. “His mother?” I finally whispered.

Marisol nodded. “Yes. Before she became a DeMarco, she was Elena Valenti. The Valentis were a respected family—old money, old blood. Enzo DeMarco forced her into marriage as a way to bind her family’s power to his own. It wasn’t love. It was leverage.”

My stomach twisted. I had lived long enough in this world to know what forced marriages meant. Chains dressed as wedding rings.

“Rumors spread for years,” Marisol continued. “That Enzo abused her. That he was cruel not just to her, but to Lucian as a boy. There were whispers of bruises, screaming behind closed doors, nights when servants were dismissed so no one would hear.”

I clenched my fists under the desk, imagining Lucian as a child in that kind of house. My chest ached in a way I hadn’t expected.

Marisol’s eyes hardened. “more than fifteen years ago, people said Elena threw herself from the balcony of their estate. Some claimed she tried to kill herself. Others said Enzo drove her to madness. She didn’t die… but she came close.”

My breath stopped. “And then?”

“She was sent away. Hidden. The story told was that she was placed in a psychiatric nursing home. After that… she vanished from public life. No one saw her again. Her name disappeared, her existence was erased.”

I sat frozen in my father’s chair, staring at nothing. My mind was filled with the image of Lucian—the arrogant, sharp man I knew—once being a boy living through that nightmare. His mother’s scream echoing in his memory.

No wonder his name for her slipped out when he was drunk. No wonder it haunted him.

I looked up sharply. “Were you able to find where she’s being held?”

Marisol hesitated, and that alone told me the answer. “No,” she admitted. “Her location is guarded more tightly than anything I’ve seen. Even getting this much was difficult. And from what I gathered, Lucian himself is the one keeping her hidden. He is… fiercely protective of her.”

"Find her,” I said, my “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care who you have to pay, threaten, or break. Get me the information on where she’s being held. At all costs.”

Marisol replied “As you command.”

I pressed my fingers against my temple. Memories of boarding school came back to me—Lucian, the arrogant bully, smirking at me, mocking me. I had hated him. But now I wondered how much of that had been armor. How much of it had been pain carved into him by Enzo’s hand.

For the first time, I felt something I hadn’t expected. Pity. Not for Lucian the man, but for Lucian the boy.

But above all, I felt this: Elena was the key.If I found her, I wouldn’t just learn the truth.
I would finally hold something over him.

And I intended to.