The Weight of Secrets
The mansion was quieter after the attack, but the quiet didn't bring peace—only tension. Guards now lined the hallways, and Amara noticed their eyes following her more closely than before. She wasn't sure if they were protecting her… or watching her.
Lorenzo barely spoke to her over the next day. He spent hours locked in his office with Matteo, his deep voice rumbling through the walls during heated phone calls. Amara caught fragments when she walked past: "territory," "betrayal," "no negotiations." None of it made sense, and none of it answered the question clawing at her heart.
Why did Marco want her?
That night, after tucking Isabella in, Amara returned to her room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the folded note she still kept hidden. You're not safe here. Trust no one. Not even him.
Her chest tightened. She wanted to believe Lorenzo was protecting her, but the file in his office, Matteo's warning, the note—they all painted a different picture.
She stood, her decision made. If Lorenzo wouldn't tell her the truth, she'd find it herself.
Quiet as a shadow, she slipped from her room and padded down the dark hall. The mansion's staff had retreated for the night; only the guards remained, stationed at the entrances. Amara's heart pounded as she crept toward the west wing—toward the locked oak door she had found days ago.
But when she reached it, she froze.
The door was ajar.
A faint light glowed from within, flickering like a candle. Slowly, carefully, she pushed it open.
Her eyes widened.
The room wasn't just a storage space—it was an archive. Files lined the shelves, maps covered the walls, and photographs were pinned across boards with red strings connecting faces, names, and places. It looked less like a room and more like a web of secrets.
And in the very center of the board was her face.
Amara staggered back, her hand flying to her mouth to keep from crying out. There she was, connected by red strings to Marco, to Lorenzo, even to people she didn't recognize.
"What… what is this?" she whispered.
Before she could move, the door creaked shut behind her.
Amara spun around—
And standing there in the doorway was Lorenzo. His dark eyes burned with something unreadable, his voice low and dangerous.
"You weren't supposed to see this."
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