Vincenzo closed the distance between them in slow, deliberate steps, his gaze so intense it made her skin prickle. He stopped just inches from her, his woody cologne and aura of power enveloping her like a trap.
"I don't need to kidnap anyone, Lara. When I want something… I take it." His eyes burned with a restrained fury. "Including you."
She backed away, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. But before she could respond, something in his expression shifted.
"Wait."
He answered his phone, a phone she hadn't even noticed ringing, stepping away as he spoke rapidly in Italian, his voice low and sharp as a blade. When he hung up, his face was grim, the muscles in his jaw tight.
"The car was cloned."
"What do you mean?"
"It was one of my fleet's cars, yes. Or at least, identical. But the license plate was fake. And the driver… no one on my team recognizes him."
"So you're saying someone pretended to be you?"
"Maybe someone who already knows my system." He rubbed his chin, his eyes distant, focused on some unseen point. "This isn't a coincidence. It's a message."
"Message from who?"
He hesitated, and for the first time, Lara saw something rare in him: doubt.
"From someone who knows my past. And yours."
She frowned, her heart kicking up again.
"What do you mean?"
Before he could answer, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She picked up on the second ring, her fingers ice cold.
"Hello?"
A man's voice, distorted through a voice modulator, replied:
"Congratulations, Lara. You paid a million to get your father out of prison… and now you'll have to pay much more to keep him alive."
Her blood froze.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"No police. No Vasquez. You have twenty-four hours. Or he dies."
The call disconnected.
Lara stood frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear, the world around her blurring.
"They want more money," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vincenzo tore the phone from her hand, his fingers gripping hers firmly.
"We'll trace it."
"They said… no police. No you."
He stared at her, his eyes dark as cold steel.
"And you believe criminals?"
She shoved him hard, rage and desperation exploding in an impulsive burst.
"You don't understand! He's my father! I've already lost everything! I'm not losing him too!"
Her scream echoed through the office, and for a brief instant, Lara felt like a lost child, alone in a game whose rules were written in blood.
Vincenzo stepped closer, slowly, and brushed his fingertips across her face.
"And you think I'd let you face this alone?"
She blinked, confused. For the first time, his coldness wavered.
"Why do you care?"
"Because you're here. Because even when I hate your name, your family, your past… I can't hate you."
Lara pulled away from Vincenzo's touch, hating that for a second, just a miserable second, the warmth of his hand had softened her fury. But she couldn't afford weakness. Her father was in someone's hands. And all she had was a distorted threat, an impossible deadline… and a man who might be either an accomplice or an ally.
"I need to think," she whispered, turning away from him.
"You don't have time."
"And you don't have a heart."
Vincenzo drew a deep breath, his jaw tight, his eyes vacant as if staring at some ancient ghost. In silence, he walked over to his dark oak desk, pressed his palm over the lower drawer, and with a soft beep from the biometric lock, it slid open.
Slowly, he pulled out a thick red envelope tied with a black ribbon. The color seemed deliberate, as if announcing what it contained: blood, sin, the past.
Lara watched him, frowning, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.
"What is that?" she asked, her voice hoarse with contained fear.
Vincenzo looked at her for a long moment, his eyes darker than ever. There was pain there. There was anger. But above all… There was something Lara had never seen in him before: hesitation.
"The other side of the story," he finally said.
"The story of what?"
"Of what your father did. Of what he and mine built together. And of what they destroyed. Together. But him… more than anyone."
Lara stepped closer, cautiously, as if afraid the envelope might explode in her hands. When she took it, she felt its weight, not just physical, but symbolic. This was more than paper. It was a sentence.
With trembling fingers, she undid the black ribbon. Inside was a stack of bound documents: copies of bank statements, international transactions, confidential files, receipts bearing recognizable signatures.
But what made her stomach turn was a photograph tucked between the pages. An old picture, slightly yellowed, but still clear. Two young men. Smiling.
The one on the left, she recognized instantly: Renato Fernandes, her father. Elegant, youthful, with the same shrewd look he always had.
The other… she knew only from framed photos in Vincenzo's office. His father.
Together. Side by side.
Behind them, a metallic façade with large letters:
FER-VAZ S/A
"They were partners?" The question slipped out in a whisper, as if she feared hearing the answer.
Vincenzo nodded slowly.
"They were soul brothers. They built everything together. The empire started with the two of them."
His voice carried more than mere memory. It carried pain, the pain of a son orphaned of truth, of justice, of peace.
"My father… he never spoke about this. Not a single word. Not even a hint."
"Because in the end, he was the reason it all collapsed," Vincenzo said, his voice firmer now, bitter as bile. "He stole. He betrayed. Not only did he siphon off money, he also handed over tax secrets, evasion schemes, compromising documents… all of it to the feds, behind my father's back."
Lara fell silent. Each word was like a stone hurled at the idealized image, crumbling before her eyes.
"And why would he do that?"
"To save himself. To clear his own name. The Fernandes name always had to stand above any guilt. Even if it meant destroying the man who helped him build that name."
She gazed down at the photo again. Her father's smile no longer seemed friendly. There was something cynical there, superior. This was a version of Renato Fernandes she didn't know, or perhaps had refused to see her entire life.
"Are you sure about all this?" she asked, even though the answer was already painfully clear before her eyes.
Vincenzo didn't reply. He simply pointed to the lower corner of the envelope. Lara pulled out what was tucked there: an old note, handwritten in shaky but still recognizable script.
"One day you'll forgive me, Vincenzo. But I could never drag my daughter into a scandal. Sadly, your father had to pay the price. May God judge me for it. — R."
Lara felt the ground vanish beneath her feet. "He knew…" she whispered. "He knew what he did to you. And still…"