ANA:
Leo, Narco, and Alessandro—they killed my mother. And there is a mystery killer that my mother wanted to mention. But never succeeded.
The truth hit me like a thunderbolt, leaving me paralyzed, my mind a tangled mess of questions I couldn't untangle. What's the truth? What's the lie? Did my father know about this? What really happened that night? How did she die? Did my father come to see her? Was she able to tell him the truth about his so-called friends?
I don't know. I don't know anything.
But one thing is clear: this letter is hers—my mother's. Her handwriting, her words. I've spent the last twenty-four hours pouring over it, chasing the truth buried in every line. With help and the forensic reports, it's confirmed—the letter is two decades old. It belongs to her.
If that's true, though, the questions only multiply.
What happened in that video? Why would Lucas kill my mother if he was helping her all along? What became of Lucas after that? And the mayor she mentioned—where is he?
How did I survive that night when Benny and Amy disappeared?
I stared down at my wrist, where the faint burn marks remain, scars of a nightmare I can't fully remember. Is this what my mother meant in her letter? Did it all happen that night?
I have to find out.
And there's only one man who holds the answers I need: the Devil himself. Benny.
But there's something else. My mother mentioned a black box. What's inside? And does it mean I'll inherit everything when I turn 25? My birthday is just three weeks away.
Three weeks.
Shit.
I sat at the dinner table, Ava and Jason on my right, and Dad on my left. The air was thick with unspoken tension. Dad looked unusually displeased, his eyes distant, while Ava sat unnervingly quiet. Was now the right time to talk to him about the letter?
"Dad, I need to speak with you about something," I finally said, breaking the silence.
He looked up, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Actually, I need to talk to you too, dear."
I frowned, concern creeping into my voice. "What is it? Is everything all right, Dad?"
He chuckled softly, taking a bite of steak, but the sound felt hollow. "Yes, darling, don't worry about it. It's actually about your birthday."
"My birthday?" I asked, confused.
"Yes," he replied, setting his fork down. "I know I've missed a lot of your birthdays over the years. But I hope you understand—it was all for you. I worked hard to give you the life you deserve."
I nodded awkwardly, unsure where this was going.
"So, this year," he continued, "I've planned something big for you."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Ava abruptly stood, picking up Jason in her arms. Without a word, she walked out of the room, leaving me even more confused.
Dad barely glanced at her as he turned his attention back to me. "I, uh... thought I'd throw you a party. And I have a big surprise planned, my darling."
"What kind of surprise?"
"Well," he hesitated, "let's just say you'll have a big responsibility from that day onward. I need you to behave until your birthday and stay safe. The Alpha needs your support, Ana."
His words were cryptic, layered with meaning I couldn't quite grasp. But that wasn't my biggest concern right now. With Ava gone, this might be my only chance to ask him about Mom.
"Dad, I wanted to ask you about—"
"James!"
The voice that interrupted me sent chills down my spine. Alessandro Russo.
I froze. The man who had vanished after Ben's death. The man we'd been searching for.
"Miss me?" he drawled, stepping into view as if he owned the room.
Panic surged through me. I bolted upstairs, slamming my bedroom door shut behind me. My chest heaved as I pressed my back against the door.
He's here. In this house. Right in front of me.
My mother's killer.
The thought made my stomach churn. Right now, he was probably sitting at the dinner table, eating alongside my father, as if he didn't have blood on his hands.
And yet, I felt helpless.
I need to find the Devil. I need answers.
"Find me before the next eclipse. Only then shall you have your answers."
The words echoed in my mind. The eclipse is in two days.
Two days to find him. Two days to uncover the truth.
But where do I even begin?
The next twenty-four hours were a blur. I scoured every neighbourhood, asking anyone who would listen if they knew someone named Benny. But disappointment met me at every turn. Of course, no one would know the name "Devil," but I clung to the hope that Benny was the alias he used in his everyday life.
Apparently, I was wrong.
With hope slipping away, I found myself standing in front of the one place I thought might offer some peace—Lara's house.
I rang the bell, anticipation and exhaustion weighing me down. Lara's warm smile greeted me as she opened the door, but something about her seemed... different.
"Ana!" she exclaimed, as usual, but there was a flicker in her eyes, something I couldn't quite place.
"Hi," I managed a small smile. "Sorry for dropping by unannounced. I just... I really need a friend right now."
Without hesitation, she ushered me in. We sat in her cozy living room, and she handed me a steaming cup of coffee.
"Is everything okay?" she asked gently. "You look exhausted."
How could I even begin to explain? That I almost killed the Devil without knowing the truth. That he punished me with the very gun I used to shoot him. That he handed me a key—a tantalizing clue that promised answers, yet only deepened the mystery. And now, I was desperate to meet him again but utterly lost on how to find him.
"It's a long story," I said finally, taking a sip of the coffee. "I found a letter written by my mom."
Slowly, I unfolded everything. Piece by piece, I poured my heart out—about the letter, about Alessandro Russo being back in town and currently in my house, about the suffocating feeling of being surrounded by lies and half-truths. And through it all, Lara just listened. For once, she didn't interrupt or offer her usual quips. It felt... odd. This wasn't the Lara I remembered, but I brushed the thought aside.
"Don't worry, Ana," she said quietly after I finished. "I think you're closer to the truth than you realize."
Her words made me pause. I frowned, unsure what to make of her sudden seriousness. Lara wasn't usually this reflective. All I could do was stare at her, searching for something in her expression, but she gave nothing away.
We spent hours talking after that—about my mother, about Russo, about the mess of it all. She told me she'd finally found her father, only to discover he'd passed away. There was a heaviness in her voice that mirrored my own.
Eventually, as I stood to leave, Amara came running out of nowhere, bumping into me so hard I spilled coffee all over my jeans.
"Oh my gosh!" Lara exclaimed, rushing to scold her. "Amara!"
"It's okay," I said quickly, waving her off. "It was just an accident. Can you point me to the bathroom?"
I cleaned up as best I could, the warm water calming me, if only for a moment. But as I stepped out of the bathroom, I crashed into someone.
For a split second, I thought I'd hit the floor, but strong hands steadied me.
It felt like déjà vu.
When I opened my eyes, I gasped.
"Enzo," I whispered, the name barely audible over the thundering of my heart.
"Hello, Piccola," he said with that same disarming smile, his charm as effortless as ever.
I froze.
I couldn't believe it. He was really here—right in front of me, alive, safe, and seemingly... okay.
All those nights I'd spent agonizing over his absence, imagining worst-case scenarios—was he sick? Hurt? Dead? I'd been wrong about everything.
He was perfectly fine. Standing right in front of me, wearing his usual dark blue jeans and a black jacket, looking every bit as put-together as the first time we'd met.
"I... you... here..." The words faltered on my lips as I stared into his eyes. Those familiar, captivating eyes. Yet, for the first time, a pang of guilt twisted in my chest. Guilt for how often I'd thought of Benny. The dark, haunting familiarity of their eyes was too much to ignore—they were so alike.
Enzo steadied me, his hands still on my waist. "You okay?"
His voice—God, his voice. The same voice I'd longed to hear for months. But now it sounded so disturbingly familiar that it sent shivers down my spine. I nodded wordlessly, feeling suffocated by the intensity of it all.
Then I noticed his hands still resting on me. My body tensed, and I pushed him back, my palms landing against his chest. He winced, just for a second, before regaining his composure.
We stood there in the thick, awkward silence. Well, I was awkward. Enzo, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, his gaze fixed on me like nothing had changed.
"So... you're back?" I managed to ask, my voice barely steady.
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Depends."
I frowned. "Depends on what?"
A grin spread across his face, the kind that could make hearts flutter—and mine clench. "Depends on what she wants."
She?
The single word echoed in my mind like a taunt. There's someone else?
I glanced up at him, my expression betraying the sharp sting of his words. But Enzo only looked back with those same flirty, shameless eyes he used to give me in college. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn't disappeared for months without a word.
And now he was just... standing there? Smiling?
I didn't waste another second. Turning sharply, I walked away without looking back. Lara was nowhere to be seen in the hall, so I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
Just as my hand reached the knob, a small voice stopped me.
"Are you okay?"
I frowned, trying to calm myself as I replied, "Yeah... it's okay, Amara. It happens—it was just an accident. But I really need to go now..."
"I wasn't talking about the coffee," she said quietly, pointing toward the stairs. My gaze followed her hand until it landed on Enzo, who was ascending slowly.
"He's hurt, and you just hurt him again," Amara added, her voice trembling yet firm.
I blinked, taken aback by her words. "Hurt him? What are you talking about? What did I do?"
"Don't you know?" she asked, looking at me as if I'd missed something obvious. "He was shot in the chest! The doctor said he shouldn't even be walking until he's healed. And when he caught you just now... you pushed him. He must be in pain!"
Her words hung in the air, heavy and bewildering. I stared at her, trying to make sense of it. Amara rarely spoke this much—stringing so many words into a sentence seemed almost like a Herculean effort for her.
But her words... they didn't make sense. Shot? Enzo? When? How?
"When?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"You didn't know?" Amara looked surprised. "It happened a few days ago. He came home covered in blood. Mark was really upset. I wasn't allowed to go near him because I'm too small, but I heard him calling someone. I think it was his girlfriend—the one he misses all the time. He even has big portraits of her in his room. And... she looks a lot like you."
Shot. Blood. Girlfriend. Portraits.
The words blurred together in my mind, too many revelations hitting me at once. My head spun, trying to untangle the puzzle.
I walked to my car in a daze, each step heavy with confusion. My thoughts felt too jumbled to sort through. The pieces didn't fit. Nothing made sense anymore.
And then, like a jolt, it hit me.
Wait.
He was shot. In the chest. He has portraits of me in his room.
Those familiar dark eyes. The hauntingly identical voice.
No... No.
This couldn't be true. It couldn't be.
Biting my lip hard enough to sting, I pulled out my phone. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through my contacts, stopping at the name I dreaded. Enzo.
I pressed the call button.
The dial tone rang once. Then twice.
He picked up.
For ten long, breathless seconds, neither of us spoke. My heart pounded, and I silently begged to be wrong.
Then his voice came through. Deep. Familiar. Haunting.
"Hello, Estrellita."