Elena's POV
"You were chosen."
Those words echoed in my head long after he said them.
Not married.
Not matched.
Chosen.
Like a weapon.
Like a strategy.
Like a goddamn chess piece.
I sat down slowly on the edge of the panic room cot, trying to process it. Lorenzo stood across the room, watching me, jaw clenched like he regretted saying anything at all.
I lifted my eyes to meet his. "What does that mean?"
He didn't speak at first. Just moved toward the cabinet in the corner, pulled out a bottle of water, and tossed it to me.
It hit my chest and bounced into my lap.
"I deserved more than that answer," I said.
Lorenzo leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and finally said, "Two years ago, your name came up on an internal Orlov list. Not as a threat. As a target."
That got my attention.
"What kind of list?"
"The kind that gets people killed." He ran a hand down his face. "They were tracking high-value mafia daughters. Women with legacy. Bloodlines tied to the top five families. Yours included."
"Why?"
"Because your father refused to sell them weapons."
My breath caught.
"What the hell does that have to do with me?"
"They wanted leverage." Lorenzo's eyes darkened. "Your father refused their alliance, so they planned to take you. Use you to control him—or replace him altogether. And before they could, my father intercepted the intel."
I stood up. "So he married me to you to protect me?"
"No." His voice sharpened. "He married you to me to protect himself. He knew war was coming. He thought if we joined our families—Vitale and Romano—we'd have the power to survive it."
I took a step back, rage curdling in my stomach.
"So I was bait."
Lorenzo's face shifted. "No."
"Don't lie to me, Lorenzo. Not now."
"You were never just bait," he said quietly. "You were the only thing my father ever feared."
I froze.
"What?"
He pushed off the wall and walked toward me. "He saw your name and panicked. Because you were more than a mafia princess. You were the daughter of the only man who ever defied him and lived. He didn't trust that. So he tied us together."
"But why you?" I asked.
His smile was bitter. "Because I'm the only one he couldn't control."
Silence.
Thick. Electric.
I looked down at my hands. "So you knew who I was before we met."
"Yes."
"You knew the wedding wasn't just a deal. That I was in danger. That my own family sold me off for power."
He didn't answer.
But he didn't need to.
I walked past him toward the door. "I need air."
"We're not safe yet—"
"I don't care," I snapped. "If I stay in this room with you, I'll start to believe I ever had a choice."
Lorenzo didn't stop me.
He just watched me walk away.
The hall outside the panic room was dimly lit and eerily quiet. Most of the fires had been put out. The marble floors were still soaked from sprinklers and blood.
I walked barefoot, letting the cold sting me. I needed to feel something. Anything.
I ended up on the rooftop balcony.
Trapani stretched below, silent in the night. Lights flickered in distant homes, unaware that two mafia empires were on the verge of war.
I gripped the railing and stared out, my hair whipping in the wind.
Chosen.
What a cruel word.
It didn't mean wanted. It meant useful. It meant convenient.
I had spent my whole life fighting to prove I was more than my name, more than a daughter, more than a pawn—and now, I realized I had already been played before the first move.
"Beautiful night to hate the world."
I turned.
Lorenzo stood in the doorway, a jacket draped over his arm. He tossed it to me without a word. I didn't thank him.
He didn't expect me to.
We stood in silence for a long time.
Then he said, "You weren't supposed to find out like this."
I laughed bitterly. "What? You wanted to tell me after we had our first kid? 'By the way, I picked you out of a file folder'?"
He exhaled through his nose. "No. I wanted you to find out when you were strong enough not to let it break you."
"And who decides when I'm strong enough? You?"
He didn't flinch.
"I'm sorry," he said instead.
That stopped me.
Because I wasn't expecting it.
And somehow, that made it worse.
"I don't want your sorry," I said. "I want the truth."
"You've had more of it than anyone else."
I turned to face him. "Then answer this—if your father hadn't told you to marry me, would you have?"
Silence.
"Lorenzo."
"I don't know," he said finally. "But I know this—every time I had a chance to walk away, I didn't."
My breath hitched.
"I stayed. Even when I found out what your family did to mine. Even when I saw the target on your back. Even when I realized this would destroy us both." He stepped closer. "I stayed."
"Why?"
He looked at me like I was stupid.
"Because you're not a pawn. You're the queen."
I swallowed hard.
He was too close now.
Too warm.
Too much.
And I hated that I didn't hate it.
"I should kill you," I whispered.
His voice dropped. "Then do it."
I reached for the gun at his side, and he didn't stop me.
Didn't flinch when I pressed it to his chest.
His heart beat steady beneath my hand.
"I hate you," I said.
He nodded.
"I know."
I pulled the gun back.
Turned.
And walked away.
But neither of us believed it was over.
The next morning, a package arrived.
No note.
No return address.
Just a wooden box, nailed shut.
Lorenzo opened it with a crowbar.
Inside:
A severed finger.
A torn crest from the Romano family ring.
And a phone.
The screen lit up with a video.
We all leaned in.
It was Anton.
Tied to a chair. Bloodied. Bruised. Barely breathing.
A voice off-camera spoke in Russian-accented Italian.
"Your cousin sold you out. He gave us the wedding plans. The codes. The safehouse list."
Lorenzo tensed.
"He was willing to trade you, Elena. For freedom."
I covered my mouth.
Anton's voice croaked on the video.
"I didn't tell them everything. I swear—"
The voice laughed.
"Of course not. You're saving something for leverage, yes?"
A gun cocked.
"No—wait, wait—"
Then, silence.
A flash.
And the screen went black.
I stepped back, heart pounding in my throat.
"He's dead," I whispered.
Lorenzo's expression was cold steel.
"Good."
I turned to him. "He was my family."
"He was your traitor."
I stared at the box again.
The blood. The ring. The warning.
It was a message.
Loud and clear.
We know where you are.
We know who you are.
And we're coming for you.
Lorenzo picked up the phone and scrolled through its files.
"Wait," he said. "There's something else here."
He opened a folder marked "X-79."
Inside:
Photos.
Blueprints.
Surveillance footage.
Of what?
I leaned in—and my heart stopped.
It was a house.
A remote villa on the coast.
My father's summer estate.
And in the basement?
Cages.
Men in masks.
And a woman.
Tied. Gagged. Alive.
Lorenzo zoomed in.
My knees buckled.
Because I knew that face.
I knew that face.
Even after all these years.
"Is that—" I choked out.
Lorenzo looked at me, eyes wide.
"Your mother?"
( LITTLE CLIFFHANGER 😉 FOR MY CUTIES )
I backed away from the screen like it burned me.
"She died when I was thirteen," I whispered.
Lorenzo's voice was hollow.
"Then someone lied."