Chapter 120 DO WHAT YOU CAME HERE FOR

Chapter 120 DO WHAT YOU CAME HERE FOR

~SEVEN DAYS AGO~

The night bleeds silence.

The phone rings while Lorenzo sits in his study, half a glass of scotch untouched before him.

The lamp burns low, painting gold on the papers scattered across his desk. He doesn’t even flinch when the phone vibrates….only glances at the name flashing on the screen.

Matteo…One of his boys.

He lifts the phone to his ear, voice calm and measured. “Yes.”

A pause follows….. too long, too heavy.

“Boss…” Matteo’s voice cracks. “It’s… it’s Donna Isabella.”

Lorenzo straightens slowly.

“What about her?”

“There was an ambush on the highway. Two black SUVs, unmarked. We fought back, but….” Matteo swallows. “Her car got hit by a trailer and it got crushed.”

The world stills.

Lorenzo doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe. He just stares into the dim light, expression unreadable.

Matteo continues, voice trembling. “It looks like a hit from the Bianchi men. I’m sorry, Boss. We….”

The line goes dead.

Lorenzo lowers the phone, his reflection trembling in the glass of scotch. The amber liquid catches the light like blood.

For a long time, he doesn’t move. Then he exhales softly, the sound closer to a sigh than grief.

He whispers, “So it’s done.”

Just then, his phone rings again and he answers the call.

“Boss, it's done. She is dead,” Scorpion, one of his boys who does his dirty work tells him.

“I know. Well done,” Lorenzo tells him, then ends the call.

He stands, walks to the cabinet, and refills his glass. His hand doesn’t shake.

Outside, thunder rolls low across the horizon, echoing like distant gunfire.


The next morning, the mansion is shrouded in silence.

Lorenzo descends the staircase slowly, his face pale but composed. The house smells faintly of roses...Isabella’s favorite, and it twists like a knife in his chest.

He finds one of his men waiting near the foyer. “Is it clean?” Lorenzo asks, voice quiet.

The man nods once. “Yes, Don Romano. No trace back to us.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightens. “Good. Keep it that way.”

The man leaves.

Lorenzo turns toward the grand portrait on the wall, the one Isabella insisted on hanging when she moved in. Her painted eyes seem to follow him wherever he goes, filled with the same defiance she showed the night she confronted him.

Her words still echo in his mind.

“You killed them, didn’t you? Your first wife. Your daughter. You did it.”
“If you think I’ll stay silent after this, you’re wrong. I’ll find Elena, take her with me and leave your life. I can't do this anymore. I thought I loved you so much to spend the rest of my life with you but after finding things you did…most especially to my husband, I can't be with you anymore.”

He remembers the rage that flared in him that night… the cold, quiet fury that always came before violence.

He had told her softly, “You won’t leave me, Isabella. You belong to me dead or alive. You will never leave me.”

And now, she never will.

Lorenzo looks up at her portrait, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You shouldn’t have threatened me, cara mia.”

He turns and walks away.

~PRESENT DAY~

Seven days pass, but time refuses to move forward inside Lorenzo Romano.

The mansion breathes her name.

Isabella.

Her scent still lingers in the corridors….rose oil and something softer, warmer. Lorenzo has forbidden the staff from changing anything.

Her room remains untouched. Her clothes hang exactly where she left them, shoes aligned as if she might return to slip her feet into them.

Every night, he goes there.

He sits in the armchair opposite her bed, a glass of scotch in hand, staring at the empty space where she should be.

“You’re punishing me,” he murmurs into the silence. “You always did.”

Sometimes he imagines her voice answering back. Sometimes he swears he hears her footsteps in the hallway and his heart jolts like a foolish boy’s.

He loved her. Not gently. Not safely.

He loved her like possession masquerading as devotion. Like obsession dressed in silk and gold. He had given her everything—money, protection, power…yet demanded her world in return. Her thoughts. Her loyalty. Her silence.

Love, to Lorenzo, had always meant ownership.

Lorenzo is in his study when Marco knocks, tense, cautious.

“Boss,” he says. “We have confirmation.”

Lorenzo doesn’t look up. “Speak.”

“Miss Elena and your sons are almost here.”

Lorenzo finally lifts his head. His eyes darken, something dangerous flickering beneath the surface.

“Where?” he asks quietly.

“On their way here. They’ll arrive at the estate shortly.”

~ELENA~

Florence doesn’t welcome us.

The moment our car passes through the iron gates of the mansion, my chest tightens like something invisible is squeezing my lungs.

The house stands tall and proud, exactly the way I left it….cold, beautiful, and hiding too many secrets behind its walls.

The car hasn’t even come to a full stop before the front doors fly open.

Lorenzo steps out. His jacket is discarded, white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, his face carved into something sharp and dangerous.

Pure, unrestrained rage pours off him in waves as his eyes lock onto us—onto me—onto his sons standing beside me without fear.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roars.

We barely have time to step out before he’s already in front of us.

The air snaps.

“Who gave you permission to return?”

His voice cracks like a whip.

Vincenzo moves instinctively, stepping half a pace in front of me. Riccardo’s jaw clenches. Nico’s fists curl slowly at his sides.

No one answers.

“I told you to stay away,” Lorenzo snaps, his gaze burning into Vincenzo. “I told you not to come back here until I gave permission!”

Vincenzo doesn’t flinch.

“Elena needed to come,”he tells his father calmly.

“That does not give you the right to defy me,” Lorenzo thunders. He pointed at us, eyes burning. “That is not your decision to make! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’ve dragged yourselves into?”

I swallow. My heart is pounding so hard I feel dizzy, but I force myself to stay still.

His eyes flick to me, sharp and assessing. Too sharp.

“Alessandro’s father is tearing this city apart looking for you,” he continues furiously. “The police are watching every property connected to this family. Every move we make is under suspicion!”

Riccardo steps forward. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have raised us to be fearless.”

Lorenzo turns on him violently. “Fearless gets you killed.”

Silence slams into the space between us.

“And you,” Lorenzo says sharply. “You should not be here.”

I swallow hard, my hands shaking—but I don’t look away.

“I came to see my mother,” I say quietly.

The words crack my voice.

Lorenzo’s expression shifts—just slightly.

Something unreadable flickers across his eyes before he masks it with irritation.

“She is dead,” he snaps and his jaw tightens. “There was no reason for you to return. She is already gone.”

“Yes, there was.” I take a step forward despite Vincenzo’s subtle warning touch on my arm. “She hasn’t been buried yet. I deserve to see her. I deserve to say goodbye.”

Lorenzo scoffs. “Funerals change nothing.”

“She is my mother,” I say softly, painfully. “And I’m not leaving until I see her.”

For a brief moment, it looks like Lorenzo might explode again.

His eyes search my face, probing, suspicious. For a terrifying second, I think he sees something—something dangerous.

But I look away.

I remember Vincenzo’s voice.

Not yet. We need proof.

“I want to see her,” I repeat softly. “Before she’s buried.”

Lorenzo exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This is not the time for sentimentality.”

“She’s my mother,” I say, my voice breaking despite my effort. “Please.”

A long silence stretches and I think he is never going to say a word to me again.

Instead, he exhales sharply.

“Fine,” he says coldly. “But don’t mistake this for weakness. You are all on borrowed time here. One wrong move, one wrong face seeing you—and I won’t be able to protect you.”

His gaze cut into his sons. “And when this all comes crashing down, remember—you chose this.”

Vincenzo holds his stare, and his voice is deadly but calm.

“We didn’t ask for your protection.”

Lorenzo’s lips twitches.

“Fine,” he echoes, as if tasting something bitter.

He turns away, walking back into the house.

“Go,” he barks. “Do what you came for.”

I nod once.

Yes…I am going to do what I came for and by the time I am done, you won't be able to get away with it, Lorenzo Romano.